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It seems like you can’t read a newspaper or online news about anything related to medicine (not to mention some novels) without running into terms such as DNA, RNA and protein, all sorts. I thought maybe I could provide a primer, in bite-sized bits, which you could use to follow along. The information I will begin with DNA. DNA is deoxyribonucleic acid, the material that makes up our genes, and it is composed of nucleotides. Each nucleotide contains a phosphate group (phosphorus and oxygen), a sugar group and a nitrogen base. The four types of nitrogen bases are adenine (A), thymine (T), guanine (G) and cytosine (C). They pair up with each other to make a single strand of nucleotides into double stranded DNA: cytosine with guanine, adenine with thymine. Our DNA contains the genetic instructions for the development and function of all living things. Even some viruses contain DNA. So the main of the DNA in any living thing is the long-term storage of information about what makes that life form what it is, and it is passed down from generation to generation. A chromosome is the double stranded DNA is encoded with genes. In most cells, humans have 22 pairs of these autosomal chromosomes plus the two sex chromosomes (XX in females and XY in males) for a total of 46. A gene is a unit of heredity transferred from a parent to offspring, which determines some characteristic of the offspring. Technically, a gene is a distinct sequence of nucleotides forming part of a chromosome. Two personal notes here: the molecular structure of DNA was identified by James Watson and Francis Crick in 1953; their model-building efforts would not have succeeded without the X ray diffraction studs of Rosalind Franklin. I met James Watson in 1962 when he visited Mount Holyoke College in 1962, the year he and Crick won the Nobel Prize in Medicine.  Rosalind Franklin was not included because she had died a few years earlier and the Nobel is never awarded posthumously.  I think this is a shame. You can read about Franklin and her life in two books: Rosalind Franklin and DNA and Rosalind Franklin, the Dar Lady of DNA. There are four types of DNA examined in determining genealogy, which is a currently popular endeavor. I have had my DNA genealogy done twice, one by Ancestry DNA and once by 23 and Me. Both yielded the same results although 23 and Me was a little more specific. The four types of DNA that are examined are: Y chromosome DNA, mitochondrial DNA, autosomal DNA and X chromosome DNA. Y chromosome DNA is passed from father to son, so the women are excluded here. However, there is also mitochondria DNA (the mitochondria is a cell organelle that has its own DNA). Mitochondrial DNA is passed from mothers to both genders of her children, but only passed on by females.  Males carry their mother’s mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA) but they don’t pass it on. Autosomal DNA is the DNA on all the other chromosomes (excluding the Y chromosome in males and mitochondrial DNA). This is a combination of genetic material we get from both our fathers and our mothers. X chromosome DNA. The X chromosome is a part of the 23 sets used for autosomal testing, but the inheritance is different for males and females. Males only inherit an X chromosome from their mother (and a Y from their father which makes them male), but women inherit an X from both of their parents. The X chromosome has some special characteristics that can be analyzed separately from the other autosomes. As for my results, I learned that in addition to being of eastern and western European stock (my grandparents were French and Polish) as well as English stock (other grandparents), I am 13% Irish. I never knew that! There are also companies that will test your maternal lineage and your personal evolutionary history, if you want to delve into your ancient maternal lineage and discover your origins from thousands of years ago. I might try this! My next ‘genetics’ post will be on RNA. 0 0

An old song by Tom T. Hall for Hubs and all of you out there: Here’s a link to a duet by Tom Hall and Tammy Wynette. What more could you ask for? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dWSgGhf0S7w I love little baby ducks, old pick-up trucks, slow-moving trains, and rain I love little country streams, sleep without dreams, Sunday school in May, And hay And I love you too I love leaves in the wind, pictures of my friends, birds in the world, and squirrels I love coffee in a cup, little fuzzy pups, bourbon in a glass, And grass And I love you too I love honest open smiles, kisses from a child, tomatoes on the vine, And onions I love winners when they cry, losers when they try, music when it’s good, and life And I love you too HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY 0 0

Irex is Carl Rackman’s debut novel, and in terms of creating a feeling of doom and tension in totally bleak surroundings, this author succeeds too well! Set in the late Victorian era, the story alternates between the maiden voyage of the steel hulled, tall ship Irex, and the investigation into the causes of its wreck and the fate of the survivors amongst her passengers. The settings: The Firth of Clyde, the North Atlantic and the Isle of Wight – all in late winter with unceasing rain, snow and sleet. Will Hutton, a good and decent married man, has been chose to captain Irex on this voyage, the ship carrying a cargo of three thousand tons of pig iron to Rio Di Janero. Hutton has decades of sailing experience, having served on such ships since he was a boy. In addition to the cargo, there are three passengers on Irex: Salvation Army missionaries George and Elizabeth Barstow and a mysterious man of means, Edward Clarence. Captain Hutton’s developing relationships with each of these passengers is a complex subplot, more so when he discovers that one of them hides a horrifying past and none of them are who they seem. The unending storms preventing Irex from making headway on her journey and an early death of a crew member foretells an ill-fated voyage. Lack of sleep, his physical attraction to Mrs. Barstow, challenges to his authority and blackmail all threaten Hutton’s ability to save his ship and challenge his sanity. Irex wrecks off the Isle of Wight six weeks after sailing from Scotland, and a county coroner, Frederick Blake, is sent to the island to hold an inquiry into the cause. The inquiry is compromised from the start by the existence of a mole within the procedure, and with a disturbing lack of information and witnesses, Blake finds he himself must unravel the events dooming the ship, as well as the character of the crew and its passengers, to reach a finding. When he discovers that powerful forces within the British aristocracy are working to impede his investigation, he is more determined than ever to find out what actually occurred aboard Irex. The atmosphere of this mystery is exceptional and the author’s attention to detail, especially in the chapters dealing with the voyage and the sailing of such a large ship, show an incredible depth of research. The ship, its crew, and their responsibilities are finely delineated – as a sailor myself, I appreciated the descriptions. The author has created a rich Victorian world and spun the tail with colorful, unforgettable characters, weaving in intrigue and mystery. When the truth about Clarence is revealed, the plot unveils a deeper depravity – for me a light bulb moment. My only complaint is the slow pace at which the plot unfolds. The book is dense, very dense, and there were stretches that could have been shortened significantly without affecting the content.  I truly wanted to digest it all but wanted more to get to the resolution! Mr. Rackman is an exceptional writer and this is a superb first outing – a psychological thriller, a seafaring adventure, and first rate murder mystery. I look forward to his next book. About the author Carl Rackman is a former airline pilot with interests in seafaring and mysteries. His reading is multi-genre – historical, sci-fi, fantasy and techno – but psychological thrillers are prime.  He started writing in 2016 and Irex is his first novel. He lives in Surrey, UK. You can reach him on facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/rackmanbooks/ and twitter:  @carlrackman 0 0

I chose to review Echoes of Time as a member of Rosie’s Book Review Team and purchased it to read. I fell in love with books about the Guernsey Isles when I read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Annie Barrows. Until then I had known nothing of the Channel Islands and what their inhabitants had endured during WWII. This book returned me there and had the added attraction of being a time slip novel, alternating between the present time and the time during that war. In 1940, Olive Falla, a fairly independent young woman, who works as a farmhand on her father’s far, married Bill Falla. Falla owns his own farm, and Olive thinks this is the best future for her. She soon discovers she’s made a horrible mistake – Falla is a harsh, unloving, and demanding husband, who sees his wife as a slave to work the farm, take care of him, and give him children. Soon he finds any excuse to beat her. By chance, when collecting sticks for scarce firewood on an estate taken over by the German occupation, Olive meets Major Wolfgang Brecht, a veterinarian. She falls in love with the gentle and caring Wolfgang, who makes excuses to visit the farm to inspect the cows. Flash forward to 2010, when Natalie Ogier returns to her homeland of Guernsey to escape her stalker, a man with whom she had a relationship but who turned abusive. She buys a beautiful cottage, built on the site of a secluded and burned out farmhouse. Her immediate neighbor is Stuart, the grandson of the original owners, Olive and Bill. His mother, their child, has lived off the island since she was old enough to be on her own, leaving her mother and her life there behind.  Stuart knows nothing of his grandparents because his mother is silent on her past.  When strange and eerie things begin to happen in the cottage, accompanied by a threatening voice, Natalie initially tries to tough it out on her own. Eventually she confides in Stuart and her parents. Natalie wonders whose spirit is inhabiting her cottage, and after meeting Stuart’s mother, she becomes convinced that it has something to do with his grandparents. What happened to Olive, Bill and Wolfgang? What spirit inhabits Natalie’s cottage? Is it malevolent and how can it be banished? What links Stuart and his mother to that place? You’ll have to read the book to find out! I thoroughly enjoyed this story. It has several compelling threads and the jumps back and forth in time left me hanging and wanting to read on. The only problem was the prolonged diversion to France, where Natalie is invited to attend Stuart’s mother’s marriage to a gentle and understanding man. It went on far too long, and added virtually nothing to the progress of the story, so I skipped through it. I think it could have been omitted or vastly shortened. Other than that, the author has created believable characters, lovely descriptions of Guernsey, and lots of tension, along with a healthy dose of history.  It is clear why she is a popular author. Well worth the read! About the author (from Amazon): Anne Allen was born to a Welsh father and an English mother, spending many summers with her Welsh grandparents in Anglesey and learning to love the sea.  She now lives in Devon near her daughter and two grandchildren. Her restless spirit resulted in a number of moves during her life, the longest stay being in Guernsey for nearly fourteen years after falling in love with the island and the people. By profession, she is a psychotherapist with a longtime desire to write. Her first novel, Dangerous Waters, was awarded Silver (Adult Fiction) in the 2012 Wishing Shelf Awards in 2012, while her second, Finding Mother, was runner-up in Family Sagas in the 2013 SpaSpa Awards. To find out more about Anne visit her website www.anneallen.co.uk On twitter – @AnneAllen21 and on Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/pages/Anne-Allen-Author/ 0 0

My daughter is the featured person or body part on each of my book covers, and we had so much fun doing them that I thought I’d share some of those photoshoots with you. For the cover for the second book, Death in a Dacron Sail, I needed a background that could be the coast of Maine. Hubs – my photographer, my daughter and drove south to Jordan Lake and I looked for a good setting. I also took the jib sail from my sailboat. We found the right spot almost immediately, but my daughter who had been exposed to freezing December temperatures for the photography of Death in a Red Canvas Chair, was complaining before we were out of the car. Again, it was December and the air was cold. Knowing she would be unhappy, I’d brought along a warm blanket which I dragged down to the shoreline along with the sail, wrapping her up in it before having her get into the sail. Then the only thing left to do was remove the sock and shoe on one foot. This time she was warm and happy in her sail and blanket cocoon! Hubs took pictures from all different angles, and one of them became the cover. When I can find the photos we took for the other two covers – one done on a soccer field at the university and the other in a metal scrap yard in Raleigh, I’ll post them. They are hidden in the depths of one of my husband’s computers. 0 0

This is my entry for the Blogger’s Bash in London in June. The topic for the short story is CONNECTIONS. ********* I flew to Chicago alone to pick up our second child, a Korean adoption. All I knew of her was from a postage stamp-sized photograph of her tiny round face surrounded by a bowl of black hair. And her Korean name, Kim Hyung Ju. I had asked someone who spoke Korean what that meant, and he replied, “Wise Jewel.” I had managed to stay calm during the flight from Raleigh-Durham, but when I was met by an old friend at the airport to spend the time between my arrival and Hyung Ju’s, nervousness and excitement started to mount. The feelings left me unable to eat much of the lunch my friend bought me to celebrate. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “You’d think I’d have this down by now,” I replied, pushing my food around on my plate. “I just wish Gene were here.” My husband had decided to stay at home with our three-year-old son, thinking it would be easier for our daughter to transition to one person at a time. She had lived with her birth parents for two months before being placed with foster parents by the adoption agency in Seoul. After having her for four months, this couple had wanted to keep her. When I learned that, I could only imagine their pain when she was taken away. Along with eleven other infant adoptees, she’d been cared for by another other couple during the flight from Seoul to Seattle, and yet another from Seattle to Chicago. I knew my daughter was old enough to be confused and frightened by the constantly changing faces. Other parents gathered at the arrival gate to meet their new children, but first the passengers had to leave the plane. Finally, just a cluster of remained, many whispering excitedly. When my name was called, I walked down the gangway to the plane and entered coach class. “Mrs. Granger? This is your daughter.” A young woman motioned to one of the babies in the first row. And there she was!  Her foster parents had provided a traditional Korean dress with little rubber shoes and her hair was pulled into a tuft on the top of her head. She was adorable. I gathered her up and took her back to the gate, where I held her on my lap and talked to her. She looked in my eyes… and started screaming. I held her and rocked her, but the screaming continued. I changed her clothes into ones I had brought, soft and comfortable. She screamed. I changed her diaper. More screaming. I offered her a bottle. She took a sip, rejected it and continued screaming. I walked her around and around in the stroller I’d brought and then went to the gate for the flight back to Raleigh. With her still crying at the top of her lungs, we boarded our flight. Once we were seated, I held her in my lap facing me. “Cameron (the name we had chosen for her),” I said in a soft voice, “you need to quiet down now. I’m your mother, your only mother. You’re home.” She suddenly stopped crying. She put her little hands on either side of my face and looked deeply into my eyes for a long moment. There was something there, a moment of recognition, an acceptance. She leaned into my chest and closed her eyes. We’d made the connection. 0 0

Here is the photo prompt from Sue Vincent this week for her #writephoto series: Lady Rowen carefully descended the stone stairs, carrying her shoes so no one would hear her. Her long woolen dress and the hem of her cape rustled on the steps, and the large clock at the bottom whirred and clanked: 4 AM. Today was the day. She had overheard her parents whispering about the soldiers of Henry VIII, led by the snake Cromwell, coming to take their house and lands. She knew why they were coming – she knew every Sunday when the family celebrated Mass in the hidden room behind the library. She also heard their decision to send her to the Cistercian convent of St Mary at Syningthwaite, but she knew the nunnery would not survive the Dissolution ordered by Henry.  Although she was but sixteen, she had decided to leave, hoping to reach her aunt in Ireland. Why don’t my parents leave? Why are they so stubborn about their faith? The groom had, for a piece of silver, saddled and provisioned a horse for her, and it stood ready when she entered the stables. The groom had probably already run. After one last look around, she turned the head of her horse and galloped out of the gates. The sun rose bright and the rime on the grass sparkled in its light as she trotted down the road leading north. She had left the road and hidden behind bushes twice already to avoid riders she saw in the distance. Now she saw a cloud of dust approaching and once again left the road, this time going well into a copse to hide herself. Henry’s soldiers galloped by, and she breathed a sigh of relief to see their backs.  She didn’t hear the soldier come up behind her; he whipped a rope around her neck, dragging her choking from her horse. “Filthy Catholic! Thought you would get away, did yer?” he yelled.  He got down, tied her hands, and taking the reins of the horse, dragged her behind him back to her home. There her parents lay sprawled in the courtyard and soldiers carried their belongings from the house and loaded it into wagons. The house stood empty for many years. It was not a manor any lord would covet, and others were afraid for the association with Catholics. It wasn’t until the rule of Good Queen Bess that a family was given the estate and the house. Two hundred years later, their descendants decided to reconstruct the interior, and the walls of the old library were taken down. The workers reported to the owner that they’d found a door nailed shut. Everyone gathered around as the door was opened. Inside was an altar, and slumped over the prie deux, the skeleton of a woman in a disintegrated dress, the bones of one hand clutching a rosary. 0 0

In addition to being the companion of Danny the Dog (a prolific blogger) and the author of several books, amongst them the recent Yellow Hair, Andrew Joyce has recently been sharing his early life with his followers. Written honestly, some of it has been pretty eye-opening, but no part of it more than his recent post: Thirty Years a Junkie. This is at once amazing, horrifying and inspirational. He asked me to share it with you. “Compared to some, I’ve lived an exciting life. At least parts of it were. However, compared to others, my life has been humdrum. The only thing I’m satisfied about is that all the drama took place when I was young and able to handle it. That would not be the reality today for I have grown old. It’s confession time. I’m not looking for absolution. My only intent is to show some of you out there that there is hope. Nothing is forever. Perhaps my story might help you get to the next stage of your life. Maybe not, but I had help getting there, and I’ll tell you about it in a minute. First, a little background. And please, feel free to judge me. You cannot condemn me any more than I have already condemned myself. When I was kid, I always had a wanderlust. I would see a freight train sitting on a siding, waiting to go on its way, and I would try to imagine its ultimate destination. Those open boxcars called to me. If I could only get into one of those cars, then I would be transported into a new life. Finally, I would see where the rails ended—that magical place. Then, and only then, would I know the secrets of the road. The secrets of the universe. But, at the age of twelve or thereabouts, I wasn’t going anywhere. It would be a few more years before I broke with the bounds of conformitality (a word I just made up). I was seventeen years old. It was summertime. I was between my junior year in high school and my senior year, and I was restless. On the spur of the moment, I decided I was going to hitchhike to California—a three-thousand-mile journey. At the time, I was living in Miami, Florida.” Please read on at: Thirty Years a Junkie P.S. Andrew told me that he is not planning to answer any comments. 0 0

I found myself reciting some of A.A. Milne’s children’s poems the other night, during dinner with my brother and sister-in-law.  I’ve loved them since reading them to my children, which is when I learned them (reading the same thing night after night tends to embed it in your mind). It started when my husband ordered rice pudding for dessert and I launched into the following: What is the matter with Mary Jane?                   She’s perfectly well and she hasn’t a pain, And it’s lovely rice pudding for dinner again! What is the matter with Mary Jane? Last verse of Rice Pudding **** A. (Alan Alexander) Milne (1882-1956) is famous for his stories about Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin, Tigger, Piglet and the rest. His father was the headmaster at Henley House School, and Milne studied there under H.G. Wells. He earned a BA in mathematics at Cambridge University before moving to London, where he worked as the assistant editor of the humor magazine Punch for eight years (1906–1914). Milne served as an officer in the British army in World War I, fighting at the Battle of the Somme. On his return, he devoted his career to writing. After his only child, Christopher Robin, was born, Milne began to write the children’s books for which he is best known. The two poetry books which became worn thin in my household are When We Were Very Young (1924) and Now We Are Six (1927).  Of course, we also had Winnie-the-Pooh (1926) and The House at Pooh Corner (1928).  I didn’t know he had written an adaptation of Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows: Toad of Toad Hall (1930). Mr. Milne also wrote plays, most notably Mr. Pim Passes By (1919) and a locked door mystery novel, The Red House Mystery (1922). I need to read it! Deeply affected by the war, Milne also published poetry for adults (Behind the Lines and The Norman Church  and three nonfiction books on war and pacifism, Peace with Honour, War with Honour, and War Aims Unlimited (1941. He died in January of 1956. *** After I had enchanted my audience with Mary Jane’s rice pudding, I recited another one:                                                     The End When I was One, I had just begun. When I was Two, I was nearly new. When I was Three, I was hardly me. When I was Four, I was not much more. When I was Five, I was just alive. But now I am six, I’m as clever as clever So I think I’ll be six now Forever and ever. And on the way home, my husband and I both recited the first stanza of Disobedience: James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree Took great Care of his Mother, Though he was only three. James James said to his Mother, “Mother,” he said, said he; “You must never go down to the end of the town, if you don’t go down with me.” If you have the time, do read Buckingham Palace and The King’s Breakfast. I just read a post on how reading rhyming and repetitious stories to children – like nursery rhymes (The Three Little Kittens) and books such as The Poky Little Puppy – help children learn to talk and read. I found even third graders enjoyed having The Poky Little Puppy read to them because they could join in. I recommend putting Milne’s poetry in your child’s library! 0 0

This the first book I have read by Kerry Donovan and I was definitely not disappointed. There are three other books in this series, and I plan to read them all. The murder of Detective Sergeant Richard Juno at the end of a long solo tail of a low-level suspect is the latest in a series of police operations in southeast England that have ended in disaster. Juno is a member of the Organized Crime Task Force. Detective Philip Cryer, recovering at home while his smashed femur knits following two surgical procedures, is asked to replace Juno in the OCTF by Chief Superintendent Knightly, a senior office from the National Crime Agency. Detective Chief Inspector David Jones, an old friend of Knightly and Cryer’s immediate superior, presses the issue, because both he and Knightly are convinced there is someone in that unit selling police intelligence – a dirty cop. Cryer is the best person to find the mole quickly because of his ability to scan and sort vast quantities of information, using his photographic memory. Despite the fact he is still in considerable pain from his injury, Cryer agrees to their request and is dispatched to the OCTF with a cover story. There he meets the members of the team, among them a gorgeous blonde secretary who immediately has designs on Cryer, the unit leader Detective Chief Inspector Bee Endicott, and Detective Inspector William Hook, who takes an immediate dislike to Cryer. Hook is a nasty character with a personal interest in finding the killer of Richard Juno, who was his best friend from childhood and was married to his sister.  Nevertheless, Cryer begins to think Hook is the mole, code named Alpine.  When the mole is revealed, I was surprised, along with all the characters in the book. These characters are wonderfully wrought and the reader is never confused as to who is who. Cryer is particularly three-dimensional; the author lets us into his mind and his way of thinking from the beginning. The policies, procedures and hierarchies within the National Crime Agency are laid out in detail, woven nicely into the story. This is the first time I have read a mystery where the police do not carry guns, and the awkwardness with which that obstacle is handled was surprising. The pacing is very fast, and the book is a page turner with lots of twists and turns in the plot.  Hard to put down, and I highly recommend it. About the author Kerry J Donovan was born in Dublin. Kerry earned a first class honours degree in Human Biology, and has a PhD in Sport and Exercise Sciences. A former scientific advisor to The Office of the Deputy Prime Minister, he helped UK emergency first-responders prepare for chemical attacks in the wake of 9/11. This background adds a scientific edge to his writing. He is also a former furniture designer/maker. He is the author of a sci-fi/thriller, The Transition of Johnny Swift, which reached #1 on the Amazon Bestsellers List in December 2014. A citizen of the world, he now lives in the heart of rural Brittany with his wonderful and patient wife, Jan. They have three children and four grandchildren (so far), all of whom live in England. An absentee granddad, Kerry is hugely grateful for the development of video calling. You can find Kerry Donovan on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/KerryJDonovan His blog at: http://kerryjdonovan.com/blog And on Twitter at: https://www.twitter.com/KerryJDonovan 0 0