Maybe you saw the cover of this book on a shelf in a bookstore, and opened it, thinking it was the story of a former lady gangster with secrets to reveal -- or possibly the ruminations of a partially recovered escapee from a nut house. Well, tough luck, it's not. That book you are holding in your hand is just something I decided to write to get some old garbage off my mind. I'm not going to glorify it any more than that. I just happen to be an outspoken schnook raised by a pair of other outspoken schnooks, residents of an average neighborhood of nobodies, most of whose lives were pretty boring. So why buy this book? I'm no celebrity -- I'm not even a genius or a compulsive gambler -- although I am compulsive. There are two simple reasons why I wrote it: (1) Now that I'm a seventy-one year old lady, I can finally tell the truth about my undiagnosed insanity because all the other principal players in my personal drama are dead. I also thought it might be a good idea to put some of my childhood anecdotes in book form, rather than have them buried in some sort of time capsule. Knowing my history, nobody I know would ever dig it up anyway. (2) The second reason is that I need your money. I want you to purchase this relatively cheap book as a charitable contribution to my personal fund, and, trust me -- it's not even tax deductible. I'll let you in on a little secret -- I had a third reason. They say senior citizens who want to avoid memory loss should exercise their brains more. So by having to write in sentence form, in halfway decent English, I'm doing it. I am taking my brain out for a walk. I'm a survivor, I think. Yes, indeed, I've just checked my pulse. After living through a tumultuous childhood, crisis-filled puberty, interrupted schooling, multiple marriages, childbirth, divorce, career revisions (I've even practiced law for thirty years), health issues and a few other bumps in the road, it's time for me to be able to let go of pretense and face reality. (Yiikes!) Actually, I hate facing reality. It gives me the itches and takes me on that wild ride back into my past. All those memories are still vivid. When I was a four-year-old tomboy, I had a lack of well-behaved mentors to guide me. I was an only child until age eight of two working parents living in a storefront neighborhood where the only kids my age were rowdy little boys who were always dirty and played mean. I probably thought I was supposed to act like the little devils that they were. Fortunately, this stage of my young life ran its course and I settled down to a relatively calm existence as a mere rebel. I never got over that stage, but I'm harmless enough. I like the idea of starting a new project at age seventy-one, so I'm ready to reduce my craziness and compulsive behavior to a few chapters of light reading. I have tried hard to keep it light because my attitude is, if you want to get into something heavy, you're better off reading one of William Shakespeare's tragedies. I've had fun doing this project, so maybe you'll chuckle a little bit as you follow some of my antics. If you don't, well then, I've still got your money. I have come to the conclusion that it's a mistake to take the road of life too seriously, so I simply view it as a scenic bypass carved out of the murky human jungle.

In her debut middle grade novel—inspired by her family’s history—Christine Day tells the story of a girl who uncovers her family’s secrets—and finds her own Native American identity. All her life, Edie has known that her mom was adopted by a white couple. So, no matter how curious she might be about her Native American heritage, Edie is sure her family doesn’t have any answers. Until the day when she and her friends discover a box hidden in the attic—a box full of letters signed “Love, Edith,” and photos of a woman who looks just like her. Suddenly, Edie has a flurry of new questions about this woman who shares her name. Could she belong to the Native family that Edie never knew about? But if her mom and dad have kept this secret from her all her life, how can she trust them to tell her the truth now?

A compassionate, shame-free guide for your darkest days “A one-of-a-kind book . . . to read for yourself or give to a struggling friend or loved one without the fear that depression and suicidal thoughts will be minimized, medicalized or over-spiritualized.”—Kay Warren, cofounder of Saddleback Church What happens when loving Jesus doesn’t cure you of depression, anxiety, or suicidal thoughts? You might be crushed by shame over your mental illness, only to be told by well-meaning Christians to “choose joy” and “pray more.” So you beg God to take away the pain, but nothing eases the ache inside. As darkness lingers and color drains from your world, you’re left wondering if God has abandoned you. You just want a way out. But there’s hope. In I Love Jesus, But I Want to Die, Sarah J. Robinson offers a healthy, practical, and shame-free guide for Christians struggling with mental illness. With unflinching honesty, Sarah shares her story of battling depression and fighting to stay alive despite toxic theology that made her afraid to seek help outside the church. Pairing her own story with scriptural insights, mental health research, and simple practices, Sarah helps you reconnect with the God who is present in our deepest anguish and discover that you are worth everything it takes to get better. Beautifully written and full of hard-won wisdom, I Love Jesus, But I Want to Die offers a path toward a rich, hope-filled life in Christ, even when healing doesn’t look like what you expect.

Here is the story of Jerry Weintraub: the self-made, Brooklyn-born, Bronx-raised impresario, Hollywood producer, legendary deal maker, and friend of politicians and stars. No matter where nature has placed him--the club rooms of Brooklyn, the Mafia dives of New York's Lower East Side, the wilds of Alaska, or the hills of Hollywood--he has found a way to put on a show and sell tickets at the door. "All life was a theater and I wanted to put it up on a stage," he writes. "I wanted to set the world under a marquee that read: 'Jerry Weintraub Presents.'" In When I Stop Talking, You'll Know I'm Dead, we follow Weintraub from his first great success at age twenty-six with Elvis Presley, whom he took on the road with the help of Colonel Tom Parker; to the immortal days with Sinatra and Rat Pack glory; to his crowning hits as a movie producer, starting with Robert Altman and Nashville, continuing with Oh, God!, The Karate Kid movies, and Diner, among others, and summiting with Steven Soderbergh and Ocean's Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen. Along the way, we'll watch as Jerry moves from the poker tables of Palm Springs (the games went on for days), to the power rooms of Hollywood, to the halls of the White House, to Red Square in Moscow and the Great Palace in Beijing-all the while counseling potentates, poets, and kings, with clients and confidants like George Clooney, Bruce Willis, George H. W. Bush, Armand Hammer, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, Bob Dylan, Led Zeppelin, John Denver, Bobby Fischer . . .well, the list goes on forever. And of course, the story is not yet over . . .as the old-timers say, "The best is yet to come." As Weintraub says, "When I stop talking, you'll know I'm dead." With wit, wisdom, and the cool confidence that has colored his remarkable career, Jerry chronicles a quintessentially American journey, one marked by luck, love, and improvisation. The stories he tells and the lessons we learn are essential, not just for those who love movies and music, but for businessmen, entrepreneurs, artists . . . everyone.

First published in 1996. This new book gives voice to an emerging consensus among bereavement scholars that our understanding of the grief process needs to be expanded. The dominant 20th century model holds that the function of grief and mourning is to cut bonds with the deceased, thereby freeing the survivor to reinvest in new relationships in the present. Pathological grief has been defined in terms of holding on to the deceased. Close examination reveals that this model is based more on the cultural values of modernity than on any substantial data of what people actually do. Presenting data from several populations, 22 authors - among the most respected in their fields - demonstrate that the health resolution of grief enables one to maintain a continuing bond with the deceased. Despite cultural disapproval and lack of validation by professionals, survivors find places for the dead in their on-going lives and even in their communities. Such bonds are not denial: the deceased can provide resources for enriched functioning in the present. Chapters examine widows and widowers, bereaved children, parents and siblings, and a population previously excluded from bereavement research: adoptees and their birth parents. Bereavement in Japanese culture is also discussed, as are meanings and implications of this new model of grief. Opening new areas of research and scholarly dialogue, this work provides the basis for significant developments in clinical practice in the field.

What do remarrying folks worry about? What's this new spouse really like? Will I fail? Will health be a big issue? How about money? Common interests? The past? The issues are as varied and as individual as fingerprints! Adjustment to a new lifestyle is a given, no matter how one's previous marriage ended. In my book, I Promise To Stay Married (This Time), I describe my own adjustment as I leaped over the crevice from my own comfort zone of single life after two failures, to a completely different situation. I moved away from my big city law practice, my grown children, my home and my friends to rewire my head and renew my life. My goal was to adapt to my new husband's retired status and life in a remote rural area. Our routines were so different that I had to make up everything as I went along. I don't know how many people would have bet on me, with my track record. My decision was to go for broke and put my heart and soul into it. My strategy was to find humor in every glitch, a ray of sunlight in every black moment and a willingness to change any bad habits I needed to change. I did it for love.

In 54 chapters that unfold like a series of yoga poses, each with its own logic and beauty, Williams creates a lyrical and caring meditation of the mystery of her mother's journals in a book that keeps turning around the question, "What does it mean to have a voice?"