Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Updated 9/7/13: U.S. Premeditated Hate Crimes & Torture Over Edward Howard

(NOTICE from 9/7/13:  The United States government just had my entire report deleted from blogger, to obstruct me from continuing with my report of names, dates, and persons involved in torture of me as a child.  They did this sometime around 4:45 p.m.  The U.S. has not done anything this desperate with regard to disruption of my communications, since I last tried to contact the U.N. with a report of torture by the United States and Canada.

The only reason to do this is to obstruct my flow of processing what memories I am going over which prove the U.S. is guilty of repeated torture and electrocution of children, premeditated rape, government-sponsored pedophilia, and attempted murder.

I'm continuing from where I left off and I will go back to fill in what I wrote and would never "forget", even if it means over 7 days of my work has been lost.  If someone is able to retrieve what I posted earlier today in the cached files, please do. I was publishing and it was online but when I tried to get what I wrote from the cached/archived option, Google had selectively only published the screen as it appeared on August 31, 2013, 7 days ago. 

So I will go back through E.H.'s book about the things that I commented on there, and the entire section about U.S. programming I disclosed, which is highly classified information about Jewish and U.S. and MK Ultra hate crime, is what they cut out of my report.

 

The parts I have to go back and fill in are

1. Comments about E.H.

2. programming to kill myself by Granny, my parents, Springers, to open a plane door while in flight and be sucked out of the plane.

3. programming by Fallons to kill myself and interrogation in their car in their garage, with my parents electrocuting me and getting injections from Dr. Fallon (Moses Lake).

4. meeting real royals on a private plane and then a second set of people who were covering over for the real royals.

5. being shown photos of men's penises as a kid by my Aunt Locklyn, my Mom, and seeing them discussed by the person I think was Princess Diana, with my Mom and another woman (unknown).

6. the assassination attempt of me in a plane and their cover for it and comments and then questioning me about a "French lick"

7. names of some of the men whose penis photos I was shown (which I recognized), from Wenatchee/Cashmere and from the private planes.

8. training for parachuting with the military, who called my Dad "General", after they tried to kill me on a private plane.

9. finding correspondence between my mother and Katie from England (I believe Middleton) and Mike. also finding a letter from Edward Howard from the U.S.

10. description of the cherries by different groups from planes with a comment about Jews with one

11. getting trained to fly a plane with pilots and others who beat me up and locked me in a bathroom, tied my hands and feet, and starved me when I stuck my tongue out at them. this would include a cover for who "mike" was, and 3 pilots involved in beating me.

12. the "run" that the U.S. military had me do on their property, as all of the planes I boarded on the U.S. side were from the U.S. military property--also the bottles of wine and what kind of courier messages they were used for.

13. programming over a specific day, about "the bar please", "less the amount", "in the bag please" and triggers for it.

14. "emergency" fire escape training by springers and my parents.

15. iron horse and significance

16. some of the media coverage )



I checked out this book again, this time with the knowledge I'm biologically related to him.  The first time, I skimmed it quickly in the library in one sitting and didn't want to pay $3 for the shipping fee I was going to be charged.

Throughout this entire book, and I only skimmed a couple of parts again, it is obvious U.S. employees used his book as a template for how they were going to rape me, and get revenge against Edward Howard.  Several phrases directly from Howard in this book, were even mimicked and repeated by U.S. government officials, one of which I know specifically had a CIA contract.

I feel everything and everyone is suspect at this point, including wondering about one or more of the twins and triplets that have raised me here.  I don't know if even I was related to them, if they'd betray their own daughter over spy games.

"Spy Games" that movie, the entire title was taken from a comment by Edward Howard's father, Peter, who is quoted in a NY Times paper as saying he thought the CIA was playing "some kind of strange game".

I don't think, or can't imagine all of the Bob's and Dicksies who took part in raising me are involved, but I have to think it is not impossible at this point.  I also have further evidence those who raped me did premeditate it and coordinate it to occur more than once.

Another reason I wonder about some in my family (sometimes, vaguely...not wanting to believe anything bad and being hesitant to even consider anything) is that even though we had fights, arguments, and silent treatment times, it wasn't until after Howard was dead that people really dug in to ruin my life.  Both my Grandpa Garrett and Howard, which makes me wonder if even my Grandpa Garrett was on a different page than some of his own relatives.

I also think it's strange that aside from raped first by a Jew, I was then raped by men who suddenly had Jewish women showing up to support them.  Which is really odd, to me, but it's like some of them must have felt they were doing some political revenge act and supporting the men who were involved. 

There is no possible way for the U.S. to excuse themselves at this point.  I don't even know how to approach the UN or such a committee anymore, now that I know about Edward Howard. 

I haven't even read the whole thing.  Just one chapter and then skimming to another section, and in between I have Beowulf I'm reading with some books for the OE grammar (thanks to someone loaning them) and I decided to get The Satanic Verses by Salmon Rushdi for some reason, though I'll read that later.  I looked at it and it's not about witchcraft or occult from what I can tell but I want to read it because I remember hearing so much about it when it came out.  I specifically recall my parents discussing the news generated over it when it was first published.

So I haven't read the whole book Safe House yet, but I know without any doubt that raping me was a U.S. plot.  This explains why the FBI and even police and all of the people supposed to "do good" and prosecute, went to extreme lengths to cover it up and tip off their rapist to leave the country.  They were paying him.  This country paid for me to be raped.

They did horrendous things to me and the entire time knowing I had no idea what was going on.  They seized upon my innocence and vulnerability and committed the worst possible crimes one can commit in this country or anywhere in the world.
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Updated 7/30/2013

I am still reading "Safe House" but it's not especially fun, considering it's about a dead man who I've been made fun of over.  I can't really imagine what his son is like or feels like, and it sounds like he was all over the place for awhile.

Some of the things done to me, to make sport (or fun) of me regarding Edward Howard have been snidely telling me to let others know I'll "take a polygraph" for things; and, for example, in D.C., the CIA contractor who gave me a bag for a computer said something about "getting some of you together to have a real bitch stew."  At the end of one of the chapters in the Safe House book, Howard talks about "many ingredients in the stew".  I had not even heard of his book, but I remember this comment and now I can see what the joke was being made over.

In his comment about "government" and many ingredients in the stew, again, he touches on something that references Stephanie and how she was always looking at cooking books with me.  My family had dinty moore stew, incidentally, at our house (or "Vegetable/Garden Surprise", which was, I was told, a little bit of everything), but Stephanie was the one planning to be a chef.  Her full name is Stephanie Michelle Maiers (SMM).  Pretty Smmple. 
One thing that stood out a little, was when I sincerely (God knows) went to visit Pamp Maiers in the hospital, after hearing he'd had a major back surgery or almost died, he took my hand the same way this neighbor who lived next to me in St. Johns did, who had a koi fish pond.  He seemed fine but Joy was hostile and almost flipped out--acting very jealous and I wouldn't say protective, but on edge.  It is most likely, since he was at the window the time I was told to go naked down the slide, that he is a good actor, but it's remotely possible he questions the motives of his own children, or one of them.  He was acting like the koi fish man a year after Stephanie went out and had a smoked salmon on sundried tomato bagel, and made fun of me telling me I probably just wanted a plain one.  For all I know, his favorite daughter would smoke her own Dad.  That doesn't seem likely because she was doing things for him, with the convincing me to go naked down the slippery slide but who knows? maybe he thought about that and thought there is something really wrong with them.

It's pretty disgusting, this country.  Edward Howard also writes about bad things coming from "my own kind" and makes a few other allusions I'll get into later.  Then there's a chapter about trouble on the horizon and then "the fall" and after this "putsch" which is almost what Stacey Stubblefield was mocking me over--of course, in labor, you tell someone to push, but it was excessive and beyond the point of rationale and she knew I was "pushing" all along.  All it's been is harassment.

His treatment by Sweden explains why I didn't get the response from Swedish I thought I would when I contacted them.  I had contacted them for assistance and spoke to someone from their embassy and all of their correspondence to me was making fun of me and mocking me.  I had assumed Sweden was peaceful and neutral and I couldn't figure out why they acted contrarily until I read they work closely with the FBI.  To me it makes more sense if they mocked me or didn't want to assist if they were ready to hand over Howard to the FBI and didn't want him there.

Supposedly his book title was going to be The Enemy of my Enemies.  I'm not sure what this means aside from the prayer about "in the house of my enemies" or in the "presence of my enemies" from scripture. In the Presence of My Enemies is a book written by Gracia Burnham.  "Thanks for burning the pig" or "Thanks burn pig".  Or "burn pig".  I guess I'll have to read the rest of the book to see if I figure it out or not.  He says he started writing it in 1988 and I was 14 years old at that time. 
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UPDATED 8/12/13:  Okay, I stopped reading Edward Howard's book at chapter 7.  Basically, it was exhausting.  I'm still going to finish reading it, but while I was reading information, and realizing how many horrendous things the United States has done to me, and where some of the inside jokes with rapists and others were, I took a break here and there.

So I am going to start back from Chapter 1, even though I haven't gone past 7 yet.  I'm going to take apart each part that stands out to me as potentially a link or coincidental, or something others have tried to "tape over" or match for a cover of what they were doing.

Intro.  On the title page I see he has part of his name but the CIA or he, for whatever reason, left out the other part of his name, "Victor".  My middle name "Loree" means "Victory" and coincidentally, y brother's name is Levi which is both Lee and the first part of Victor but I haven't heard my brother is related to him, just me.

It is edited by Richard Cote.  The perfume I wore most often as a pre-teen was "Emeraude" by Coty.  It is published by National Press books, and I had a flower press.  The box for National Press is square, which is how my flower press was, which I kept inside of a hardback book.  My flower press was two square hard glass or hard plastic covers, and then on each of the 4 corners, were screws.  You put a flower or leaf or whatever, inside, and then you screwed down the screws and the more you screwed it, the more it was pressed down.  I bought it for myself--no one bought it for me.  I wanted one and bought it.  I had pressed flowers inside of books before or with books on top of them to weight it down and then I bought one.  I pressed leaves and flowers, but mostly flowers.  So the National Press books next to a name like Richard Cote is like flowers pressed for a perfume.  I also pressed and crushed flowers, trying to make my own perfume.  Rose petals mostly.  I used to crush them and let them steep in a bottle for awhile to see if I could make perfume.  Then when I read they use alcohol, I tried rubbing alcohol too, not realizing it was a different kind of alcohol.  Also, Richard is my mother's father's name, Richard ("Dick" Baird) and the Emeraude perfume I wore by Coty was my mother's and then she gave it to me, after she took the cap off.  It had the cap until she went into my room and gave it to me without the top (cap).  I said, "Where's the cap?" and it bothered me because it was pretty and my Mom acted like I could have it, but not with the cap.  Years later, Stephanie was giving me a "lipstick case" and when I asked what it was, she said it was to keep the cap on my lipsticks.  I didn't have any lipsticks with caps that came off.

Pg. 12.  The intro is by Joel D. Joseph which means nothing to me unless I think of Joel as pronounced "Jewel", like my name meaning for "Cameo".  Because the CIA edited so much and Howard would have known this, I can stretch to think of possibilities.  Also the mention of Kate Martin is close to Katie and Marty, the Fallons, who I played with and who gave me the book Clan of the Cave Bears, though that wasn't a coincidence chosen by Edward Howard.  If anything, it might suggest some in the ACLU have always known what was going on, which is possibly why I've had a hard time with them.

Pg.  13.  Edward Janovitch.  A housemate who decided to rent from me was named Jan, and I was photographed a few days after birth in a witch costume.  The photo of me and my cousin Rory, as a witch and clown could be, instead of clown witch, Jano Vitch.  Of course I know Edward had a son, has a son, Lee, so I'm not trying to take from any meaning, but what I'm thinking is that Lee was known, and if it's true I was in "hiding" or not being disclosed, I was unknown and he could have attempted to refer to it in other ways.  He then uses the word "apparatchik" right after Janovitch, which is close to the English word "apparition" which is also "ghost" and he refers to ghosts later, and I was later photographed for Halloween as a ghost instead of a witch.  "apparat-chik" or apparition chick, i.e., "girl ghost".  The only two times I had full costumes for Halloween were as a witch when I was a baby and a gypsy ghost (a girlish ghost wearing jewelry) in elementary school.

He says he was fired by the CIA and thrown on the street in 1983 over several polygraph tests and it was in 1983 Mrs. Rosenow kept saying I should be "tested".  He says he fled the U.S. in 1985 and defected to Russia in 1986.  I was pulled out of public school and hometaught after 1985 (5th grade) in 1986.  I was also having my homework stolen in 1982-83 at this time and was suddenly being discouraged in my academics and punished.  (I didn't really learn anything in 1986 except I liked science.  The only things I remembered were clouds and how precipitation was formed and genetics and I asked my Mom to teach me more about genetics because I loved it, but she didn't have anything to add.)

* I am going to stop here for tonight because my computer is being disconnected every minute or so and then taking forever to reconnect and it's no one at my house or my parents or anyone.

UPDATED 8/14/13

I suppose I might also think, at pg. 13, "Janovitch" of my mother's reading series by Janette Oak.  Jan-O.  Anyway.  Of course, I'm stretching whatever I might know or think of in case it fits something, and most likely, since I'm uniformed in the 'spy world', I miss a lot.

Pg. 14.  He says the U.S. blamed him for being responsible for the "murders" of many Russian spies, and he probably means in the U.S. or from here and over there as well.  E. H. says this is false, and he has a right to suggest they are wrong.  Defecting to another country is not the same as working as a spy and divulging all info to another country. It's like asking for political asylum, which is what I did with my son and I never gave secret information to anyone.  I think the entire idea of saying "defection" implies wrongdoing or that secrets were given away that could kill people, but it's a technical word like political asylum. It must be about as misleading as my use of the word "psychic" when some think of "psychic" as a term for fortune tellers but not "prophets" when I mean it to generalize all of the same ability.  However, if the U.S. accused him of this, or someone in Russia did, this would be motive to hunt me and try to kill me and to torture and rape me, even if I had nothing to do with any of it, true or false. It's also not a legitimate motive for the U.S. to use, and when they have been sitting on a 1977 government document about ME, when I was only 3 years old, how DARE they tell anyone, anywhere, I am "mentally ill" to cover for their own crimes?  No child in the U.S. has a file made by the U.S. government about them, when they are 3 years old, without a major reason, and this is what the U.S. has concealed from even me while they encouraged some of their employees to go after me, when I was innocent, and how could I be anything but innocent in 1977?

I have put up a photograph of that document from the FBI, which states a "government agency" had a file about me, an entire file, which was "destroyed" (supposedly, and I don't believe it) in 1977.  I was not kidnapped and rescued in the U.S., nor did I have some kind of government-worthy-of-notice sex change or anything of the sort.  The file was made about me and the U.S. sat on it while torturing and drugging me.

So my question to my Dad tonight was this:  "How can you support a country that hand picks babies to torture their entire lives, who have U.S. citizen papers and rights and yet have every law disregarded with respect to their rights?"  How can anyone tolerate this?  The U.S. did this with my Mom and Dad, literally, and then they did this with me, I know for sure because I never consented to anything prior to, during, or after the age of 3, and then my son was tortured next, and he was NOT tortured with my consent.  He and I were both tortured in Wenatchee, prior to my contacting anyone from military anywhere, or going to Canada, where we still tortured, even in Canada.

If I am not really my Dad's biological kid, let's say, and he's a Jew secretly, and wants to disturb a spy (Edward Howard) he thinks is responsible for supporting Palestinians or killing Russian-Jewish spies, then yes, I see a motive for potentially using me and torturing me to "get to" him and others, and encouraging others to rape me.  If it's not that, that neither my Mom or Dad work for Mossad or are secretly one thing or another, I don't see a motive strong enough for torturing me and keeping it a secret unless someone decided they really hated me later or were so worried about mistakes made before I was 3, they were worried I'd want to kill them (or something) over it.  I've considered one of them having some "tie" to Katie Middleton and wanting to defend that at the risk and stake of my own life, and then the only other thing that might make sense, is government forced control and blackmail which would have to be more severe than anything anyone ever saw in the Godfather movies.  It would have to be 10x worse than that.  So I do believe this one man who told me, "It's bad.  You don't want to know."  I believe him, because it has to be "that bad" to be possible.  I mentioned this to my Mom once, and she went into her 'protective' mode of suddenly hardening and looking suspicious which isn't typical or often for her.  I thought, "I think she'd find a way to kill someone if she thought they'd expose something she didn't want exposed."  But then again, I love my Mom and Dad, and I feel sympathetic for them regardless of what is true, which they know, and have to think maybe it's just one of the triplets and maybe I read into it wrong. 

So all this to preface pg. 14 and then he signs it May 23, 1994.  I just got a police report from one of the offices I wrote to, and they said they have one incident report involving me from September 23, 1992, and I notice E.H. made his comment with the 23rd as a date.  It is possible he wanted to allude to knowledge of someone trying to assassinate me (if that is what this date was about, that hit and run to run me off the road in 1992, though if so, it's showing up in a different place).

Pg. 15.  The first thing he talks about, after listing the 23rd as a date, is how he was concerned rumors he was a 'spy' and 'traitor' affected his family in the U.S.  Of course he meant Lee, his son, and his wife Mary, but if I am biologically related and was unknown to some, including myself, he could have also meant me.  I have explained I don't mean to detract from Lee, his son, at all, but my thoughts are that if he knew Lee knew he was his son, it was in the open, whereas I was not, so writing a book with coded language for me to find eventually, might have been a motive for writing.  Also, I will add this--not one single person, anywhere, through all of the trauma, rapes, and crimes agasint me, ever ONCE pointed this book out to me, or mentioned his name, ever.  This is while I can look back and see how many people already "knew" and thought they knew, and they used this against me, but not once, did someone try to save me or enlighten me with any information.  The FBI endangered my life, all of my life, and even after I asked for FOIA to protect myself, they continued to withhold information I needed, as they THEN used false information to KIDNAP me and my son out of Canada.  This is a serious crime, when the FBI already knew I had a right and a reason to political asylum, and where I had already been asking THEM for documents to help me prove it, and instead they LIED and defamed me as "nuts" to make a false arrest against me and kidnap my son.

The FBI is 100% guilty.  They not only had employees harassing and abusing me in THIS country, they deliberately caused intentional infliction of emotional distress and irreparable harm to me and my son.  Because of this, this major crime they committed with absolute forknowledge (shown by their own agents) they owe me and my son, a duty of correcting their harm against us.  The FBI is responsible for the damage and they had 100% control in how it was handled.  They knew if I had that document and FOIA I had asked for, I had proof on paper of a U.S. government problem which increased the likelihood of chances for political asylum and belief we were being persecuted.  The FBI also knew we were being tortured.  The FBI knew there was no legal cause to have my son removed from me.  The FBI not only allowed my son to be removed from me, they lied to authorities and to the public about me, to the point of defaming me so badly police were saying I was "known" by law enforcement across the United States, and those who had no firsthand accounts with me, assumed the worst or took advantage of that position and had me assaulted, falsely arrested, and forcibly drugged to a point from which I have NEVER recovered.  The FBI had full authority to investigate, if they had wanted, any organization for violation of human rights, any institution, and any employee, and yet they did not do this and Annette Sandberg was instrumental in screwing me over because she and her family have been mafia since I was a kid.  She lied about me and her mother lied about me, and went along with suggestions I was nuts when they had been involved with my family since I was 2 years old, which means they knew all about the government "file" being made about me and they took part in that development.

Later on this page E.H. says he thought about ranching, and had enjoyed the idea of being a cowboy on a ranch.  I have no cross-reference for that.  The closest thing to ranching I saw was Chandra, next door to my house, riding her horse around barrels and roping.  Josh Rose had a cowboy motif in his bedroom but that was when I was asked to work for Lorraine Rose that I noticed and it gave me no impression because I had no knowledge of why I was persecuted and abused.

Another thing I'll add here, which I've mentioned before but maybe not very clearly--out of all the spies I've been around, and houses I've worked inside, I was never a snoop.  I was one of the most trustworthy and unintrusive individuals you could ever hope for and my entire philosophy was based on the fact that I hadn't liked it when I found out my mother was reading my diary when I was 13, so I never did it to anyone else.  I had access to all kinds of information and snooping if I'd wanted to.  A few times, after a long while, if I came across something, I might have been curious enough to "wonder" what was in that or this drawer or looked at a few photos, but nothing more than that.  Ever.  I didn't take "secret photos" or steal anything (one time I left a CD in my car but that was it) and I never snooped or made secret notes for bribes, an employee, or anyone.

After all of my extremely diligent work, I realized, no, I was working for the "snoops" and several of them were not good people and did nothing but try to harm me and my son.

Pg. 15, he says his father was "Kenneth" and mother was "Mary".  My thought is that I was asked to work for a "Kenneth" and "Mary" in New Jersey who were reform Jews, as a nanny.  Possibly, with that name "coincidence", as a cover, but it also means people knew who I was connected to.

Pg. 16.  It says his mother's last name was "Jaramillo" which makes me think of "Milo" one of the dog names my mother gave a dog I gave her, and Milo & Otis, and then it also makes me think of sinister people who knew Chris Dabney who came into the Post Pub and pretended to be interested in giving me a job in "Amarillo, TX".  Amarillo, instead of Jaramillo.  I had no clue what they could have been trying to touch on, but all they did was feel me out like spies do and then harass me and insult me later and never gave me work.  This kind of thing shows me, once again, how many predators sought me out, with information THEY had about me, which the FBI had refused to give the person (me) whose life was most endangered.

I seriously think Lee Howard should get ahold of me, because I want to talk to him, but I can also completely understand why he wouldn't want to, and by now, I have even made myself sound nuts in places, where I've been tortured and I'm writing about it.  However, he has a lot of information he could probably share and that I could share with him, about his Dad.  Actually, I don't have anything to share with him about E.L.V.H. because I didn't know him but what I can do is fill in gaps or answer questions about what things were done to me or who approached me that seemed to know about him and that kind of thing.  I would like to talk to his son for this reason, to fill me in on why I've been tortured along with my son.  I am not expecting to have him accept me as a "sister" at all, and I think of my Dad as the one who raised me, and I'm not looking for inheritance money or anything like that.  I feel my son should be raised by me, and the U.S. kidnapped him and has tortured us and I want this to end and that is my reason.  So Lee, if you read this, this is why I want to talk with you.  Also, to my knowledge, it is true I am biologically related.   I am not a spy and have no reason to make that up, but even if I'm wrong, the U.S. has not thought so because they've targeted me over this and made that much clear, now that I look back on it. 

Pg. 16 still.  He says his father was stationed at Hollowman, New Mexico.  This is possibly why Chris Dabney called me a "hole", possibly why FBI agents joked about the "hole" in my knee, possibly why FBI Mike Tancer bought a copy of the Legend of Sleepy Hollow after raping/drugging me, for me to see he was reading, possibly why a dozen references about Sleepy Hollow were made to me all at once; is possibly a reason for my Dad to say, when I was a kid, if I ate a lot, "You must have a hollow leg!" and is possibly why Natalie Holloway chose to disappear right after my hair (DNA) was left in FBI/DOJ Christa Schneider's bathroom after I showered at her apartment. 

The New Mexico location is familiar because my Dad's family was raised there and lived there a long time.  My Mexican step-grandmother Rosella had her whole Mexican family there in Alburqurque, and like the Jaramillos, had been established in the U.S. a long time.  My Dad and his brother and sister and Dad all lived there for years.

He writes he was born in Alamogordo, NM, October 27, 1951.  My Dad, Robert Garrett, was born a couple of days later, Nov. 1, 1951 (I believe, or 1950).   My Dad stood up for a woman who was being discriminated against because she was "fat".  It was a lawsuit against a company and he testified for her.  I am sure it was for her and not with reference to "Alamo-Gordo (fat), NM" but who knows about the signifiers.

He says his parents named him Edward Lee Howard, but elsewhere he is officially named as Edward Lee Victor Howard, so why leave out "Victor" unless the CIA thought it was too sensitive and would lead to kids who had a connection to that name?  It says he was in the Catholic church.  I was not raised that way, but my parents never once said a bad word about the Roman Catholic church, only saying, "They're Christians too, and we have a few things we believe differently". 

He says his father was on duty in the Air Force at Tachikawa in Japan and I was raised next to an air base/airport with Japan airlines.  He says he had a white dog named "Ricky".  I was being encouraged to date a man named Ricky when I was 16 years old.    He says he lived on a ranch, and my parents grew up in orchards and national wilderness--I grew up across the street from cattle.  He says he grew up feeding cattle and chickens and I fed our horses everyday and Granny had chickens, lots of them (10-20) that were pets and free-range and laid eggs when I was a girl.  Then he says he moved with his family to Victorville, California, to George Air Base. I  have no reference for this aside from living near a small town we went to and looked at antique houses at, called "George" (in Washington) and being told we were related to George Washington (the cherry tree 1st sort-of President man). My Dad was the one who said this.  I had thought my Mom once said she was too, but I know for sure she is related to Lincoln.  I say this because I know and saw paperwork once that showed one was related to George Washington and the other to Lincoln. 

Pg. 17.  He says his sister Debra was born.  I never knew any Debras.  I know the back of my bra was snapped all the time in jr. high and high school even.  I didn't know any Debbies or Deborah or Debras really until I worked next to Debbie Cooper at CTR in 1996.  That's about it.  As to his comment about standing up and saying what he thinks, I was told to raise my hand first before talking in class to give the answer because I spoke up without asking permission.  I was reprimanded to raise my hand before speaking.  Then, I always knew the answer right away and wanted to give it, so I always had my hand up and was told to allow other kids to answer the question and "I know you know the answer Cameo--let's let someone else have a chance to say it."  I remember I thought since I was the one who raised her hand first, the teacher should call on my first, because I beat everyone to it. 

I will stop here and resume at the part about his first interest or recollection of politics.

Fitting isn't it?  It really does go, very well, with ideas down to when a child should raise their hand or not, doesn't it?  One would think, in a "capitalist" political system, where competition is encouraged, I had a right to be acknowledged for being first every time, instead of pushed back out of resentment over it. Or maybe that is more of a commentary about America's anti-intellectualism.  Very nice, how this man who writes flippantly, should easily connect the two paragraphs and ideas, from politics of when to be called on in class and commentary, to politics.

Not everyone would realize how interconnected they are.  Determinants of the entire social fabric and temperament actually.  Predictors of whether a society will hate and punish a particular child or not.  Hmm.

Too bad there are so few "real analysts" in the U.S.  Tooooo bad.
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UPDATED 8/15/13

pg. 17.  Where E.H. mentions politics here, between Kennedy and Nixon, and that he was on the side of Kennedy and campaigned for him in class, I cannot think of any connector aside from wondering why President Nixon wanted to make a 2 finger "V" for Victory sign with both hands, around the same time I had marks of a V carved onto my thighs.  When I once looked up who was around during my torture as a baby and toddler, through MK Ultra and other politics, it was during the Watergate time of Nixon and I have seriously wondered why he wanted to make this "V" sign so strongly, when for me, it was not a victory.  I was tortured as an innocent baby and whether Kennedy or Nixon had something to do with it, I'm not sure--but E.H. was for Kennedy.  Right after Watergate broke, MK Ultra senate hearings were held.

He then describes his conception of Russia as a child and no reference for me there.  I suppose later someone was always making comments about "Sunny D" juice but I can't say it has anything to do with what he writes about the sun here at all.  I just wondered why it was brought up.  I drew suns all the time, in all of my pictures there was either a full sunset that colored the entire sky or a sun standing out.  I drew whole suns, half suns on the horizon, and with rays sticking out and without rays at first and swirls.  I learned to make rays when I saw other art that had suns with rays so I added this later to my art and I remember the exact moment of my childhood artistic decision to include rays for how I made my suns.  I remember I made mine differently from the other kids and then I decided to make them like everyone else.  I made my suns as round balls, glowing orbs, the way I saw them in the sky, sometimes with a glow emanating or light haze as I saw in the sky, but never with defined rays sticking out until later.  It was such a drastic decision, I remember not only my teacher noticed but my parents did as well.  It is one of my earliest memories of adults really watching me and what I did, more than typical perhaps.  I also notice that on page 17 Edward Howard mentions the sun and then on the next page, at the top, he writes about "when the Cold War was heating up" which is interesting because he just finished mentioning the sun and then he transitions to "heating up" which is sort of what it appeared I did with my suns, by adding rays and sometimes, well, only once or twice, I made the sun bright orange with even red to suggest hotter heat.  I also made a kind of lions mane around my suns, but the defined 'rays' were when my parents looked disappointed.  I had traded in my artistic uniqueness for peer pressure of making a sun the way everyone else did.  At the same time I was adding "rays" to my suns, my own life was becoming more miserable because of the "cold war heating up".

I didn't have any preconceived ideas about Russia except what I learned in maybe 4th or 5th grade, about their being "communist".  I cannot remember any other reference than that, and then I was, for some reason, all on my own, wanting to study Russian.  I became interested in foreign languages and I think it was in 2nd grade because Katie Fallon was in ballet and I got a book with a bunch of ballet terms in French.  I did pick up ballet in kindergarten or right before, and then it was renewed in 2nd grade and I checked out a book and taught myself some of the ballet positions.  I think this led to my getting a French book for kids, which I practiced to, as it had the way to sound it out in English even without a tape or CD.  Then, while looking at French, I got a Russian dictionary and taught myself the alphabet.  This was all in 2nd and 3rd grade and no one suggested I do it--I did it myself.  It is possible I saw the movie Dr. Zhivago played at my house too, but aside from this, there was no mention of other countries by my parents (except for Mexico bc I had Mexican cousins and we got Mexican food products and things from my Aunt).  There were no kid's books for Russian, so I had the dictionary and learned the first page and then I was stuck.  I didn't know how to pronounce anything and I didn't realize I could check out CDs or tapes for such a thing and no one told me.  So I was only able to teach myself how to say a few words in French from what was available to me.  The only ones I used all the time at my own house were si vous plait, bonjour, a la mode, pardone moi (never exuse-moi), and adieu.  I did also use "nyet" (no) and "dah" (yes) in Russian which I found somewhere.  I also knew how to count to 10 in French, Russian, and my mother taught me the Spanish, and to say colors in Spanish, but that was the only instruction she gave me in language.  I remember that at the time I was teaching myself Russian, I can look back and with hindsight say I think I was being targeted with U.S. technology while I was teaching myself this.  Kids don't notice, or have a harder time, figuring out the source of their pain or sudden odd loss of concentration in the middle of a task.  I didn't blank out or have extreme pain, but there were other things done to me which made it necessary for me to keep going over the Russian even though I picked up French instantly.  The Russian I even wrote out, and made a notation for translation, but I forgot all of it.  It was like a complete white-out of my memory.  I looked up how to pronounce all of the letters as well, but I didn't know how to conjugate anything or pronounce the words and felt extremely frustrated because I was highly motivated to learn.  No one would show me.  I even remember the paper I wrote the notation on was white and my pen ink was black.  I remember this because I went over the alphabet many times. It was all lined up on unlined paper, like a list and in a small book or notebook which disappeared.  I think I also had some alphabet in pencil.  I know for sure it was black ink and pencil.  I never did this with the French.  The French I learned directly from memorizing what I practiced in the book and I never wrote it down, or if I did, a few times, on regular paper and then it was gone.  Spanish I learned verbally without writing anything down.  Russian was the only language I wrote down aside from English.  I never had any feeling of my efforts being appreciated at all.  I was not encouraged to do it, rewarded with emotional comments, or anything else.  I just enjoyed using it on my own. If anything, I had the impression it was looked down on, and a reason to call me "weird".  "Don't be weird".  The French was looked down on as impractical and frivolous and the Russian was just eyeballs, an intake of breath and slow shake of the head.  That was the reaction.  The only language aside from English remotely tolerated or encouraged was Spanish.  So it was my own break from my family's practices to try to learn and I had no friends that spoke other languages.  I was never interested in any other language as a kid--never German, or Italian, or Latin, or Asian (aside from a few Japanese words), or anything.  After I realized I couldn't go any farther than "dah" and "nyet" I gave up.  I actually think it is possible I once obtained tapes in Russian but there was no book with it.  So I tried.  I threw my language around my brother knowing he didn't know what I was saying. 

Pg. 18.  He says his Dad worked at Hahn air base in Hunsrk and before this at Kirchberg.  I can only think of mostly my introduction to Kathy Kirchser, which is the connection to a name, and it was in 1994-1995.  He says he studied German and learned about Germany.  The main German comments around my family were my parent's trip to Munich, Germany, and Granny had a German Shepherd named Gretchen and our next-door neighbor Herm Danielson had a German Shepherd. 

He says he became a boy scout at age 8 and I was in Blue Birds and then in Brownies.  I loved Blue Birds and hated the Brownies order.  I remember even though I loved Blue Birds, I was discriminated against by the adult leader and my mother picked up on it and didn't like it so canceled me out of it because of the harassment.  I remember clearly how mean some of the adult women were to me, even when I was only in the 1st grade.  They were mean-spirited, bitter, and haughty women and said horrible things to me and made it clear they didn't like me but liked the other little girls.  The meetings were all at Pelican Point, in "snob part of town" when they really had no right to even think of themselves as snobs.  They had more money but less instinctive sense of culture.  None of them were smarter than I was, and I never said this or acted that way, but I know they were very jealous of me and I couldn't understand why big grown up ladies were jealous of ME.  At any rate, I liked the crafts we did and I was pretty quiet because of the treatment.  So I had one year with them and then my mother had had enough.  It was like the Pelican Point was the Point of No Return where they never wanted to go.  Sometimes I went there, all the time to see Katie later, and then past there to see Stephanie and I visited a red-haired girl named Carrie there.  But even though all the kids told me they gave out the big candy bars and full-size treats for Halloween at Pelican Point, we skipped them and went to the neighborhood of  Mont Lake for trick-or-treating instead.  On that subject, I never wanted to stop.  I could have trick-or-treated the entire neighborhood, until they were all out of candy and never tired, but my brother did, and we always went back home because Levi got cold or tired.  I was die-hard.  Nothing could stop me.  Seriously, my energy level was phenomenal. 

E.H. says they spent days camping in the woods.  We also did this when I was a kid.  First it was vacation to Canada and air planes all the time, and then it was camping and air shows at military bases.  When the U.S. wants a kid to forget something they did with them, they try to stagger it down from the memory and replace it with a similar but different idea.  So if they drugged you by telling you to eat a poisoned slushy, from a sno-cone, later they would phase out sno-cones and replace it with a scoop of normal ice cream as if all you ever had was ice cream and it was never poisoned.  Maybe after vanilla ice cream so long, they might reintroduce the color of sno-cone you had that was poisoned.  Let's say it was red.  So no red colored ice cream or sherbert until they felt you were distanced from the memory and then they might reintroduce red sorbet or something and then feel the "mask" over the trigger to your memory to how your very own country tortured you and tried to murder you, was no longer "fresh".  The U.S. did this with hundreds of things in my life.  It was like when you go to the eye doctor and are fitted with glasses and a fuzzy one is placed in and then a different one and they say, "Which one is better?"  click, click, click, click...they keep layering the truth over with their fuzzy navels and lies.  I know my parents were forced to do it, because they were not themselves reading professional 'programming' books.  They were following orders.

pg. 19.  He says he's glad his son Lee became a boy scout.  I guess after Brownies, which I hated, I did become a girl scout because I was selling their cookies for years.  I don't remember any activities though.  Which is sort of odd.  I remember everything about Blue Birds, from 1st grade, most of Brownies, which was short-lived, and I remember nothing about Girl Scouts or Campfire except for selling their cookies. It's like the rest of the time I was drugged or hypnotized because I remember nothing.  I sold their cookies for something like 2-3 years.  This is also around the time I was throwing up all the time.  My brother Levi was in Boy Scouts and I remember him in his uniform and going to events.  He seemed to like it a lot at the time.  First he was in Boy Scouts and then he was in Royal Rangers, which was a church version of Boy Scouts.  I was in the Royal "?" whatever program for girls which was sort of like a church version of the Masons Temple Order.  I sensed depression at that time in my life, emanating from someone. I didn't feel depressed, but I sensed a bad vibe, some empty and depressed feeling around that time.  The meetings were at the Assembly of God church and the feeling was from my parents probably, somewhere.  I became disenchanted with the whole program because of it.

I was crying, almost every night, around the same time.  Right about 7 p.m. or so, I would burst into tears and cry.  I think a few times I remember pain in my knees and legs which were described as 'growing pangs" but I also remember it was just always the same time, every night.  When I was younger, I cried and was told I was tired and it was time for bed.  When I was older, I would burst into tears and then say with bewilderment, "I don't know why I'm crying!"  Obviously, there was some trigger for it to occur so routinely and then later in life, I was told it would probably always be that way when I said I sensed a depression feeling around 7 p.m. or so.  So I used to wonder who felt bad when I did, that I would cry over it? or maybe what happened to me around that time, all the time, to make me cry?  I know Young Life groups were gathered at my parent's house about that time from the time I was 2 years old to 7 years old.  I only remember going to sleep at that time.  Later, I was awake, and instead of sleeping, I was crying. 

He says his interest in church waned when he was about 15 years old.  I always went to church but I remember around that time, when we first moved to Sherwood, Oregon, and I was 15, I asked to not have to go to church anymore.  I said "I don't want to go" and I was told, "We go to church as a family" and was told I didn't have the option of not going.  I argued I was old enough to make up my own mind about it but it went nowhere.  I still believed what I did and read my Bible, but I no longer wanted to go to church, and I asked many times, and the first times were at age 15. I think I thought if I mentioned it enough, they'd let me stay home, as they finally did by not forcing me to go to Vacation Bible School Camps, but it wasn't an option.  They made such a big deal out of my not wanting to go that later, when they quit going, I was extremely worried about them and kept asking them why they didn't go to church anymore.

He mentions growing "distaste" for military and their "ultra-conservative" views and I would say maybe he is alluding to MK Ultra.  He mentions Brandon, England and the only thought is that one of my cousins was named Brandon while E.H. was still alive.  The high school of Lakenheath has no connection other than maybe that I was given Healthcliff and Garfield comic books and a stuffed animal when I broke my arm at age 8 in 1982.  I don't know if the name was supposed to be Garfield or Barfield, because all I did, was throw up.
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UPDATED 8/16/13

I am tired tonight and probably not going to write much.  For one thing the U.S. is doing something to my heart with the metal stent and it's the burning sensation that started up after I met Chris Rozollo, who is an undercover cop and a Jew.  All day today I've been tortured to the top of my head on one side, though I took enough OTCs to go out for a walk earlier and then tonight, but as soon as I was back to my place it started again.  So I'm tired.  There is also the odd odor coming from the vent in my ceiling tonight, which bothers me.  Other than that, I'm fine.

I should add, I do remember with languages that my Dad was interested in my learning Russian at the time.  I had forgotten.  He either helped me get the cassette tapes or brought them to me when they were in at the library and then when I had no book or couldn't use them, I do remember he seemed disappointed.  I think he was proud of me for wanting to learn something like that all on my own. 

pg. 20.  He says he graduated 8th in his class in high school and went to University of Texas in Austin. This is really not far from Washington state. Mostly, I thought about FBI agents Bujanda and Garza from Texas when I read he went to school here, and how the SLC Hospital president moved there too.  Seems a little strange.  Robin too, moved to Texas.  Just recently I noticed the tires on my Dad's (Robert Garrett) truck say "SteelTex" which made me wonder briefly, but anyway.

He says he was almost "5,000 miles away from home" and this I think of along with his comment I read from FBI files online where he was said to have approached U.S. state department workers and told them "5,000 lives are endangered in Iran".  To me, this seems to suggest 5,000 is used to indicate home or relatives, possibly.  He was telling the U.S. people to notify the U.S. Marines, and my grandfather was a U.S. Marine.

Pg. 21, He says the Kent State U shooting impacted him.  He was maced by state police and then the comment that stands out is how he writes next "It was the best of times and it was the worst of times".  I think about this because Janet Bechtold always brought up this saying and Charles Dickens and asked me if I'd ever read "Great Expectations" because she thought I should.  Along with this, her son Nathan became a state policeman.  I personally believe Bechtolds had some kind of proximity to E.H. and that they did him in.  They did a few things even with me, that appeared to be on one side, but they were an extremely duplicitous and 2-faced family.

He writes he was fond of the writings of John Locke and Thomas Jefferson, and I found this surprising because when I took a political writers class at PSU, I found I adored The Leviathan and some of the writers of that time as well.

E.H. writes about the "domino theory" conservatives pushed about how leaving Vietnam would lead to the fall of Asia.  Nothing comes to mind here except that we did have dominoes and never really played the actual game but a few times, instead, being taught to set them up on edge and then push them over.  He mentions something about National Security prior to this.

pg. 22.  He says he stayed in a German house to learn German and then graduated in 1972 (Texas).  I was conceived in 1973.  He says he developed a distrust of military.  The next thing I notice is that he went to Dublin, Ireland in 1972 and worked for Exxon.  What comes to mind with this is that Nathan Bechtold, who knew me, traveled back and forth from there a lot and his family had a high interest in me of a government nature.

He then leaves a blank for the year he was in the U.S. and I was conceived.  He says he was offered a job in Ireland but declined and went back to college.  He doesn't say where or which college, but that it was graduate school.  This was for 1 year (to fill in the gap) and then according to records I found online, he left for Latin America.  In his next chapter he says he joined the Peace Corp in 1972 and it makes it sound like he left right away, but according to records online that are public, he didn't leave until later.  So he was back in the U.S. at the same time I was conceived.  He also mentions how he was, in fact, a "military dependent" which means the U.S. always had "his number" and would try to use him or family for their own purposes.  They were linked to him, regardless of whether he was signed up with them or not.

In chapter 2 it sounds like he left for Latin America in 1972 and wasn't in the U.S. again until 1976 but this is not the case.  It is maybe how the CIA or someone wanted him to make it sound for purposes of their own covers.

Pg. 25.  He says he was in Puerto Rico and then Costa Rica.  Costa Rica and Brazil were where Robin Bechtold's dad George went all the time.  E.H. says he had to learn to say in Spanish, pass the rice or "pass the beans" and what comes to mind is the saying my Dad made all the time around our dinner table, aside from "pass the ___please".  He would chant, "Beans, beans, the musical fruit, the more you eat the more you toot.  The more you toot the better you feel, so eat your beans for every meal."

He says he lived in Bogota, Colombia, and this is where my "fiancé", produced to me by the U.S. government, was from.  The U.S. thought they could just hold me hostage or introduce whoever they wanted, knowing my background, but continue to withhold all of my own information from me. 
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UPDATED 8/17/13

I listened to Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" song today and watched the video.  She must be my favorite pop dancer.  She isn't a bad singer or songwriter either, but her dancing is incredible.  When I watched the video this time, I saw the Halloween costumes as my Grandpa Garrett's wedding in a way, and noticed the child in the mummy outfit for the first time.  It made me think about myself being dressed as a ghost at that age, with only my eyes showing.  I like how this is in the background and where the child can barely move, then she is dancing freely and when he says "let me see you move like you come from Colombia" she goes into "walk like an Egyptian" routine, and this with the white "bandages" as a free-flowing gauze of dress instead.  I also like how they switch it from the expectation of 'Colombian" or "Spanish" dancing, when he says this, and instead, she breaks into Middle Eastern belly dancing, and then adds a flair of the Spanish to it.  The end, I think, symbolizes the idea she is more than one person, in one.  For the first time, I thought about the idea or play on words of "en la embassy by the sea side I see se---h!"  I think he's saying something in Spanish but in English it sounds like he's saying he saw someone have sex (?) in the embassy by the sea...then of course, we see the child.  I think that's partly my imagination but who knows--they mention lies, hips, and CIA...what else?  It's Shakira with the Wyclef gene.  It slightly made me think of that saying, "Sally sells seashells by the seashore"  That is a saying my mother used to teach me to say as fast as I could.  She made me repeat it the same way I was told to repeat numbers and colors in Spanish.  I later brought up "peter piper picked" but she was the one to bring up "sally sells seashells"... Anyway, we used to go to the beach and every time, I would find and take home sand dollars and other shells.  Then we quit going to even the beach, about the same time Edward Howard says, in his book, he visited Seattle, WA and went to the coast and saw "ghosts".

pg.  20.  E.H. says he studied international business and economics.  This is not significant to me except that in college I was being encouraged to study economics and I sensed there was something "unusual" about the interest in me at the time.  I didn't feel that way in the other subjects or courses I took, but it seemed to be a shock to some that I was taking economics.  I also sensed this when I took the political writers class, and another writing class about culture and high vs low context styles of communication.

pg.  25.  I have already explained where I think I might have fit into this, if I'm his biological child as my mother told me I was and I believe my Nana (Ruth Howard) also confirmed to me.  Even my great-Aunt Mary, for whatever reason, misunderstood by me at the time possibly, kept hinting to me I was related to Katherine Howard, a mistress to Henry XIII (England king).  I assumed she had been hinting this bc of the maternal "Howards" in the Garrett family, but it's possibly a whole different thing entirely.  I guess it was Kathryn Howard, to be exact.  She didn't use a "C" for Catherine.  Anyway, when I read into this next chapter, it is almost impossible to find where he went back to the U.S. to visit or to an embassy or whatever, but I did see references here and there.  I haven't had the impression at all that I am Mary Cedarleaf's daughter or biological child--just Edward Howard.

Recently, like in the last few weeks, something was done with technology, like some of the spots on my face and discoloration from torture the U.S. has done against me, and it was done to the tip of my nose.  It made it appear more like my Dad's (Robert Garretts) but that's not how my nose is or ever was.  Why the U.S. would try to do this is odd.  They made a line like a y shape at the end of my nose, on the tip, and indented it so it appears there is a natural crease there and my nose is not like that and has never been and I can see exactly where the mark was made.  The tip of my nose has always been, and is, naturally rounded and smooth without any indentation or cleft in the nose.  I have a very slight cleft in my chin, but never have on my nose, but Robert Garrett does.  So someone evidentally thought it was "very important" to do this to me.  It was done right after I was online and the painting of Kate Middleton (which I never looked up or searched for or read an article about) came up in a byline on a page for news.  I remember this because I thought her nose looked weird and then all of a sudden, the U.S. used technology to distort my own nose to make it look like Robert Garretts.  Edward Howard does not have the same thing on the end of his nose as Robert Garrett.

So, he says he went to Puerto Rico.  No connection for me.  I was told I sounded "Portugeuse" by Olga Strong from Wenatchee, WA, who is from Argentina.  She sort of smirked and said my Spanish was like Portugese.  I think Portugal and Puerto Rico are different however.  So then he was in Costa Rica.  He says he remembers small shoe factories where everything was done by hand and "accounting procedures were archaic".  I'm not sure here, but my Dad used a shoe horn for everything, so this is like it was done by hand, and he worked as an accountant.  E. H. makes this comment right after saying the hospitals were no better than American bus terminals.  He says he can still remember 8 and 9 year old children starving, and that was about the age I was when I was being deprived of food.  He is speaking about a time before I was born, but the relevance in the age matches the age when these things were occurring to me because of the U.S. government's retaliation against him.  I had to use a shoe horn to put my shoes on because my shoes were all too tight for my feet as well.  I remember being shocked when the shoe horns all disappeared.  It wasn't until we moved from Moses Lake, WA to Sherwood, Oregon.  He also brings up Colombia right after mentioning the name of Marta, a tutor he had in Costa Rica.  Marta was the real name of the youngest of the Von Trapp children from Sound of Music.  I not only loved the movie and it was one of my favorites, I had the true story which is how I remember Marta (Martina) is the real name for "Gretl".  Robert Wise directed the movie and was the one who changed the name (Gretl was played by actress Kym Karathers).  So E.H. transitions from mentioning "Marta" to comparing Bogota to an American bus terminal (I rode the bus and was picked up and dropped off at my house).  This closely relates Nazi conditions of Germany to my life, and what the U.S. was doing to me in America.

Obviously, if E.H. is my biological father and knew my Dad Robert Garrett, and if my Dad Robert Garrett read this book in 1995 or knew about it coming out, it sounds like a reason for my Dad to not like E.H. very much, or that the feeling was mutual.  It would be too veiled for most to "get" but of course my Dad would get it, just as I can read this and think of a few things.

E.H. says he worked in Colombia and went dancing every night.  First he was in Bucaramanga and then the second year in Cali.  His comment about Bogota was not about living there, but how horrible it was to see 8 yr old and 9 yr old kids sleeping in the streets there.  This is where Alvaro Pardo was from, and I was forced to sleep in his room the first time I was at his house and that man worked for the U.S.  He told me there was an extra room that was empty that I could sleep in and he lied, and when I got there, I was forced to sleep in his room.  So it's like right from the very start, the U.S. was still in a pissing-match with Edward Howard.  The U.S. was continuing their attempts to degrade and humiliate me through their employees. 

He says he lived on a hill near Calle Sexta and my only thought is about how Wells Fargo decided to have Matthew Sexton transferred to Nashville, TN when I was there to be my personal banker and how Chris Dabney made a big show about texting all the time, even at work, often for sex calls.  Calle Sexta also means "Sixth Street" translated from Spanish, and I had a crown made for me on my 6th birthday, by my Mom and Dad, with 666 around it and Katie decided to honeymoon in Buckingham on 6th.  It's not like her parents didn't know who Edward Howard was.  He says he had 2 housemates there, Freaky Freddie and Alfonso.  The only connection is I had the movie Freaky Friday, which I liked, and later, a lot of people made comments to me about "Freddie Krouger" and horror movies I had (and have not) ever seen.  No connection to the name Alfonso aside from "The Fonz" from "Happy Days" shows and then Alvaro having a name close to this, phonetically.  He then says "Burt" was another friend of his, who was a marine biologist and no one had heard of him in Buenaventura.  The only idea to my mind with that is that Buenaventura is a movie company that produced the film "The Rescuers".  Also, when I was a kid, I was being likened to "Ernie" and my Dad was pretending to be "Bert" from the Bert & Ernie characters on Sesame Street.  My Dad's Dad, Robert Garrett Sr. was a U.S. Marine, but not a "marine biologist" though since my Dad Robert Garrett Jr. exposed me to government biochemicals (LSD at least), he might be considered to be a "marine biologist".  He's admitted he went to U.S. military offices and signed up with them when he was 17, with his Dad's signature.  He said 'Army' but his Dad was a Marine and I don't see why it would make any difference to Robert Garrett Jr. which unit he signed up for.  So then E.H. goes on to say no one had heard of "Burt" at Buenaventura ("Department of Marine Biology") so he took a job as a volunteer "fireman" during the day and "bartender" at night.

Then E.H. goes from this to say, professionally, he was getting "exposure to doing business in Colombia" at firms with less than 100 employees approximately.

He says he met Mary Cedarleaf in 1973.  I have no association with this name other than that I was given a cedar hope chest for my 16th birthday by my parents, who later told me, after E.H. died in 2004, they never gave it to me...ever.  It had been my only present for my birthday and I had it with me at the house I owned in 1996, and afterwards for a long time, and then asked them to store it for me while I was moving around and when I asked for it back, I was told I couldn't have it, and it was "never yours" and it was also supposedly never given to me.  A LOT of things changed for me after 2004.  Just imagine.  A few dead people worked out!  Yayyy!  Now we can say we never even gave it to her and who knows???!!!! I mean, what is wrong with this country?  The other association maybe with the name Mary Cedarleaf might just be that we had an oak diningroom table in Moses Lake that was rectangular and for parties and we had people over and then one leaf was sold and then I believe the other one was too.  I think there were 2 leaves, but definitely one.  And then no one came over to our house anymore either, except for women who were there to buy dogs or puppies from my mother, and my brother and I were never allowed around them.  By that time, we were told to go outside and stay outside and don't come back except for lunch. Some of the money that was stolen from me when I was forced to work as a newspaper girl, I think was being sent to Katie Middleton.  I am not even kidding.  I was 11 years old and all these things were being paid for and then given to someone else.  In fact, I think I was the one who paid for her cabbage patch kid doll if she got one.  I know Kate Middleton was given one of my dolls, because of how my mother acted when I accused her of giving one of my dolls to Kate Middleton.  I am not positive which one it is, but I am positive it was done.  The main ones I can think of were the cabbage patch kid doll that was bought and put out of my reach and then disappeared over a month later, and my ceramic-porcelain doll from Granny which I have not seen in awhile, and then I had many barbies and other dolls, and a 2 foot tall doll with blond hair and blue eyes I had named Crystal.  Crystal was the "dummy plastic doll" I used in a few of my escapes from my house.

Mary Cedarleaf would also potentially bring to mind the name of Erik Cedarberg, who said he'd work on the guitar part of my music as I wanted (I directed it and I was the one who composed the guitar part, and he just played it) and then stole an entire professionally made CD demo from me (this man is a volunteer "church pastor" at a Christian church in Portland, Oregon).  It was not like half of the rights or music was his.  I wrote the lyrics and I wrote the guitar and then I showed him how I wanted it played.  He owned nothing and created nothing.  He was a performer, not an artist and not a director or composer or writer.  All he did, was play how I asked him to play and then he agreed to record a demo at his Dad's house and stole the entire thing.  His Dad continued to go to the same church and lead "worship" in a church setting, and his son went on to be a "pastor" at another church.  Both of them are criminals and when I tried to report theft to the Portland police, they refused to do anything or even give me a case number. 

There is nothing else that was ever mentioned, that I can think of, about or referencing Mary Cedarleaf or her name.  I suppose, since the CIA gets weird when they pick people, Cedarleaf is like "See'd her leave" or "See'd her leaf" where "Sally sells seashells by the seashore" could be like "Saw Lee sells seashells", and I remember having to shuck a lot of corn, but aside from really trying to think of connotations someone might make, I don't know.  I was invited to "Sedars" (pronounced the same as Cedar) by Jewish people later and I really resent the Jews for what they did to me.  I got stuck in several positions working for Jews who, looking back, did nothing but spy on me to plot how to harm me.  Also, my Dad made some quiet comment today as I was leaving the house that brought back a very bad memory and it's the way he said it, and he's said it in the past before and then Josh Gatov later mimicked the exact same thing.  Josh Gatov, Jew, would have no way of knowing how to say it without hearing my Dad say it.  The word was "push".  They way it was said gives me a feeling of disgust.  Also, Robin Bechtold was acting disturbed one day when he called me and said he "had a dream" that I was in a wedding dress on a balcony and he was watching from below and then I fell over and he woke up.  When he told me this, it didn't sound like the truth but like something he wanted me to think was true or to have someone else hear.  I think it was possibly because I actually did have a dream about him with Amy Nelson once when he was actually out with her and I didn't know it, and it spooked him.  However, I think it could be mentioned here what he said because he is connected to Josh Gatov, and both of them are rapists for the U.S. government.

pg. 28.  He says he was asked to leave 2 Puerto Rico posts because someone thought he was recruiting for the CIA (in 1974).  In January 1975 he says he enrolled in American University in Washington D.C., which was 2 months after I was born.  To register possibly, he may have been in the U.S. before January 1975, but he does not specify.  The FBI chose to assign Don, from Palo Alto, CA to my case when I reported FBI agents, and his college was American University, as was true for Br. Ansgar Santogrossi as well, and it is not impossible they did not know who I was related to.

He writes he had culture shock when he was back in the U.S. and longed to return to Latin America where life was "simpler, more romantic, and less materialistic" (or national defense security controlled I would say) than the U.S.   The only thing that stands out to me here is that in my diary from when I was 13 years old, if someone photographed it or let him see it at some time, I had cut out a dress from a magazine I liked and wrote, "simple, romantic" --something like that next to it.  It was a dress that basically looked like a ballet top with spaghetti straps and fitted satin V-neck solid-color bodice, and then a tulle kind of sheer material in a few colors over the satin bouffant skirt.  It was sort of a peach-dusty rose color.  I think I liked it because I wanted to be in ballet.  I was also writing about how materialistic some people were, in my diary. 

He says his best friends were Latin American and Asian students (at grad school).  For me in elementary school, I had several, but mostly Hispanic and a Japanese student was one of my closest friends in 1st grade.  Then in high school it was a 1/2 Mexican woman. 

In 1976, I was 2 years old and he married Cedarleaf in St. Paul, Minnesota and then went to Lima, Peru.  I believe my mother's family, Granny's side (Breigenzer) is in Minnesota and I think it's St. Paul where they settled (most of them).  So this is possibly how Granny knew of them in other ways aside from me and why she wondered how I had thought of the name "Edward" when I was going to name my son Oliver.  I also remember a very big deal being made about lima beans and I didn't like them as a kid (later) but I was told they were good for me and to eat them.  I was also made a dress by my mother with green dots all over it, the color of bright limes.  I was 5 years old, in kindergarten, and that same year Edward Howard and Mary were returning from Lima, Peru, in mid-1979.

He says he bought huacos, which were ceremonial burial jars, and several diplomats did and they didn't realize they were illegal.  If I take a quick look, this is one of many links about what they are.  This link says those who have them are called "huaqueros" which means "grave robbers". 
http://www.ccimports.com/public/Peruvian_Huacos.html  It says they're usually buried with the dead but the ones uncovered are bought and sold, as E.H. and others did.  Obviously, there is a symbolic meaning to it.  He says he bought 6 of them.  Myself, I did not know that tortoise-shell was illegal to buy in the Dominican Republic and bought a wide headband about 1-1 1/2 inches width at the top, with a filigree design carved out of tortoise-shell and I wore it on the plane back to the U.S.  It was later broken (not by me) and stolen.  I never gave it away but someone stole it.  Actually, I take that back...the tortoise-shell one, the real one, was a solid band, and about that thick.  Then after it was stolen, I bought others that were as heavy and broad, and they were filigree and had cut outs in it (sort of lacy but solid) and I bought those headbands from a shop in Lake Oswego, Oregon and wore them all the time.  I had purchased the filigree one before I was raped by Josh Gatov and I remember a woman in the store watching me buy it.  It was a boutique that sold headbands I liked, that were wider, and sturdy and looked attractive, and I bought a couple of piggy banks there as gifts for others (3 total), and they had purses and bags like the one my mother has, a Genna bag, with the heart and lock key kind of clasp design.  So I did have filigree headbands but the one that was "illegal" and stolen, was solid.

 The other thing I bought, around 1996, or earlier, probably 1994 or 1995, were old pottery james beam bottles that were as tall as wine bottles, and as wide, but thicker all the way around and without corks in the top.  They had j beam on the bottom to mark them and were pale green, a chartreuse yellow color, a pale blue-gray one, and sort of adobe-stone ceramic colors.  They had the same texture as the huacos I see in the link I put up.  I bought 5-6 of them, if I remember correctly.  I used to set them up with 3 on one side and 2 on another and then I can't remember if there was one more and I had it separate.  I had them until I was about to sell my house and these people came in like thieves and were just frisking everything they wanted out of my house (1997).  I held a yardsale and then people went nuts and tried to buy every single thing in my house from me.  When I told a group of them no, they told me I couldn't tell them no and they were paying for them and leaving.  I was too shocked and timid to do anything about it.  From that kind of response to "no" people like Josh Gatov assumed they could rape me and get away with it.  They weren't "grave robbers" (though Diana and Mother Theresa had died by then), they were virginity robbers.  I couldn't believe how horrid they were--like wolves.  I told them they could not have an antique seat I had (an extremely heavy hide-a-bed that was from the early 1900s) and they rode over me.  They salivated and got creepy over the james beam bottles and asked how many more I had.  2 of them were gay and had affected gay accents, and 2 were a man and woman who were bitter, greedy, and cold.  It was very strange to see how they acted over my property.  I had the impression all of those people that came out to my place who acted that way were from the Pearl District in NW Portland.  One said she had an antique store and was going to resell them.

I'm positive I had them already by the time E.H. wrote this book and had it published.

It is 10:27 p.m. right now and for about the last 30 minutes or so I've been tortured by U.S. military to the metal stent in my ribcage/heart/chest. Possibly a little longer than that.

I don't think there is ANY question, at all, that the U.S. military is behind Princess Diana's death. 

It's still 8/17/13 but I just remembered Erik Cedarberg's Dad's name:  Russell.  So it was Russell Cedarberg and Erik Cedarberg.  Which is sort of strange when you think about "rustle cedar" and "cedar leaf".  I mean, Russell Cedarberg must be a government employee too. 

Also, separately, I remember when I got sand dollars and sea shells at the beach, I remember this weird depression and shift in things, when we quit going to the beach and I said I wanted to get some seashells and sand dollars and one day, my Dad handed over a big netted bag.  It was a net bag full of seashells, that had been purchased somewhere and I remember instead of feeling happy, I felt disappointed.  I wanted to "find" them "for real".  I said, "But you just bought these ones"...and he said, "Well?  So what! They're seashells!" and I said, "It's not the same thing."  But then I thought about it and was happy I got seashells and there were all different kinds but then I said, "There aren't any sand dollars."  No one said anything.  So THEN, I had all these seashells which I was happy about, and I had them on display in my room and divided them with my brother and then they began to disappear and I wasn't giving them away either.  Every single one of them was taken away.  And then this enormous concha shell showed up and disappeared.  I did like the shells but I remember there was a sadness when they were given to me.  I didn't know if my Dad was sad or the person selling them had been sad, or someone who knew I was going to get them, but sadness was on them.  Then, actually, I remember my Dad took them away, all at once.  They didn't disappear one by one like other things.  He got mad one day or acted mad and said he was taking them back and took all of them and I don't know who he gave them to instead.  I guess the other person had to find their bitch first and then he was able to give them to them there--who knows.  I mean beach.  Not bitch.  He put them all into the netted bag again, right in front of me and then took them out of my bedroom.  I never got any seashells, ever, after that and the next time I saw one was at the Del Balzo's house and their concha shell looked like the one I'd seen at our house for awhile.  And that was it.  I remember I said, "What are you doing?!!" as he was taking all of my shells.  By that time, everything I had was stolen, so it wasn't anything that new, just something that stood out to me as mean because he did it in front of me.  I asked where they were going and what he was doing with them and he said it was none of my business or something like that.  I can't remember exactly when it was, but I know I was between the ages of 9 and 13.  He just scooped them all up and then had his fist around the neck of the bag like a bag of dough.  The next thing I saw with "netting" were little demure hats, the kind that Kate Middleton wore after my mother modeled them around my house a few years earlier.  Now where did she want to honeymoon again?  Seyshelles?  Oh yes.  That is correct.  Say "Sally sells seashells by the seashore".  Maybe she's selling pin ups of her husband and his family.  Not drugs with Gary of course.  So then, the next time I saw a "bag" that looked like the one with shells that my Dad took away from me, was with the Pentagon's computer man who worked for the U.S. Army, "Mark", (the Irish man from Boston) who drove a truck and found me through the FBI in New Mexico.  He made this big deal of showing up carrying a bag by the neck that looked the same as the one my Dad had when he left my bedroom.  So he showed up, and the U.S. continued playing their game.  Next, and lastly, it was Chris Rozollo, stealing my coat in Wenatchee, WA and then telling me, "You should get a knap-sack or something and carry it over your shoulders" and this was something Jew Josh Gatov told me to do in 1998 as well.  All of these men are U.S. government men and all of them had a personal interest in who?  Yeah.  Why, might I ask?  Why was Katie Middleton important to THEM, and especially when I didn't even know she existed?

I have some major questions, and then E.H. goes into the ghosts and "spooks" who are typically "spooks" if they're English.  My parents act too weird about a few things now and then, like they worry occasionally I'm "onto them" or know "something" and I can tell when they're this way but I don't know what it's about.  For example, I got my Mom a magnet for the fridge, just something I picked up, not with a big symbolic meaning or anything and she acted so weird about it and said why was I giving it to her and what made me think of giving that to her, and a long time ago, I used to get magnets for myself or my Mom and it wasn't a big deal.  So then today I noticed, she had the magnet from me that said "Be Happy" and then she also had one that had this big "Lily of the Valley" bouquet like Katie carried for her wedding and it says "Flowers with Meaning" and then "The Return of Happiness".

Now, in hindsight, if my mother was concerned I might figure something out...Well, I am still confused.  You'll have to help me understand better because my homework keeps getting stolen and I'm tortured too.  This is in addition to really bizarre attempts to make me look bad or criminal, going back to when I was at least 11 years old or so, and which continued through to a trip to Coos Bay and then later, when I posted a particularly nasty blog post about Middleton and progeny, maybe several months ago, I noticed all these people coming out and looking at my mother in horror as if they couldn't believe it and my mother nodding as if to say, "Mmm hmm, that's how she is."  I caught onto it, and realized this is exactly the kind of thing that has been going on for DECADES and yet no one knew about it but me (to my knowledge).  It's this weird idea of how I am a slob and make messes and don't "take care of things" and how this idea is desperately reinforced however possible by my Mom (or someone) and then when reinforced, they get some kind of relief out of it as if to say, "See, it's not me.  I wasn't doing anything wrong.  I was just commenting on a fact or truth, and you have now seen for yourselves!"  It's a displacement of blame over things done to me almost my entire life that are of grotesque proportion. 

I do not even get to speak or hear from  my own son because of these kinds of lies, by my mother, my father Robert, and the people around them.  They've done nothing but lie about me!  So exactly how is my son kidnapped this easily?  literally kidnapped?  It's like my parents are not my parents and are Mossad agents working for Middleton, who they have some genetic tie to.  It's just bizarre and doesn't make any sense unless it's something like that.  How else would I have been set up to be raped by a Jew? Then initially, my Dad didn't even want me to try to report it again.  Like he's friends with Josh Gatov or something.  I wouldn't even be surprised at this point.  I would not be surprised by the most shocking allegations or facts because torture against me, is not supposed to be possible in this country and neither is official government gang-banging or kidnapping of a child.  My Mom just spent an entire week next to my son and I had only a handful of questions to ask about him, and the least that could have been done, would have been to let me know, and instead, all she told me was his favorite color and his favorite game, with 2 words total and that was it.  She said she had "other things to do" there.

This country has no excuse for existence.  I care about my parents and love them and wouldn't want them hurt, but I don't believe they feel the same way about me and my son.  There is no possible way, and it's impossible they have gone this long lying to the entire world about me.  Why should my Mom care if I gave her a magnet that says "be happy" on it unless she's paranoid I've found out she approved magnets being implanted into my body and head while she happily waited for Katie Middleton's next big step?  I don't have a crush on William of Wales; I never had a pin up or interest in William of Wales or 'celebrity crush'; I never followed the English royals, ever; I didn't watch even the news until 9/11; I had no thoughts about England aside from maybe studying there for my degree until I met a Lloyds of London person; I have no arbitrary reason to dislike or hate Kate Middleton--

All of the interest that has been generated by me in the last couple of years, is from finally figuring out what one source of the problem has been and where some of the interest with those surrounding me has been going.  Her!  So yeah, I have a major problem with that.  My son has been kidnapped from me, and my other sons murdered and she is certaintly not suffering.  For a woman as connected to my parents as Kate Middleton is, it's suspicious when I find I'm being tortured and drugged and suffer, but she is absolutely fine.  Why not target her on account of my parents?  Instead, my own country targets me, and they have supported HER professionally and financially.  My parents may choose to be "living martyrs" for their stake in it, but I didn't.  I am not Catherine Middleton's martyr and neither is my son Oliver.
********************
UPDATED 8/18/13.  Before going through more of this book, I have to add, I looked at Egypt news and then about the man who committed suicide after his wife gave birth, Michael Nobles.  I have no idea why but thinking about all this Russian stuff and looking up Hamilton and some former U.S. Russian defectors from NSA and CIA, I thought about Belle.  It was Hamilton I believe, who married a woman with the name Belle and from the photo she looked really pretty.  What was odd is how much she looked like my Grandma Dolores when she was younger.  Then I found a news article that said this Belle woman found out her husband was in a Russian sanitorium and got him back to the U.S. and then she died in 2011 I think it was. What is weird, aside from looking like relatives, is that she had a friend by the last name of Schneider, same last name as the one of the woman who is connected to the DOJ and set me up several times in Oregon, who also happened to know the woman who bought my Mom's horse Lexie.  Maybe it was Mitchell who married her.  It was Hamilton or Mitchell and both were from Seattle, WA or lived and worked there and they had different stories.  However...relating to E.H., I read somewhere that he supported the PLO (Palestinian Liberation) and never heard he knew or met these other guys, but I think it was Belle (?)--one of them was either from Palestine or Libya or someplace where they were supporting the PLO.  So here's the other thing--if I'm related to E.H. and he was connected to PLO on his own and through others he knew, how did I end up working for Jews who HATED even the mention of the word "Palestine"?  I wasn't known by anyone, anywhere, for "snooping", so no one was getting info from me--it looks more like I was being used and proximity was used as a means to gain access to plotting against me to punish people they thought they could harm by harming me.  The most "snooping" I ever did, was one time at my fiancé's place, when I wondered what he was up to and if what he said was true and I searched the room.  Aside from that, I never looked through anything, at any other house or place or car or anything. 

I am beginning to feel like the U.S. actually created a baby, ME, and had me inserted into a position or family or political group that was my enemy.  Then, it's like the U.S. used this access to me, as a means for torturing me and abusing me to get to those that they thought might care.  It wasn't like I was just tortured starting in 2005.  The U.S. had been selectively abusing me as a kid.  I mean, is the U.S. so sick and disturbed in the head they get ideas of how to trick biological parents into giving up their kids or having them born to enemies, and not know about it, and then twist the kid's arm their entire life?  When I read news about Egypt having a saying about "You are dealing with a highly trained terrorist group" I feel that is it.  You hit the nail on the head.  Yes.  I have been hunted, in my own country, by a highly trained group based in terrorism.  I'm not saying Egyptians are talking about me or referring to me at all with that comment, but it is the first time in my life I've realized, terrorism is a fact in the U.S., by U.S. employees and the crimes against me and my son are terrorist acts.  I remember when a lawyer mentioned terrorism once in court, and it didn't seem appropriate then and I didn't know what he was getting at.  I thought he was trying to suggest ideas he hoped I'd run with and make myself sound like a paranoid and unrealistic extremist or nutcase, but no, it is true.  The people who have been doing this to me and my son are U.S.-trained and sponsored terrorists.  They are here, in the U.S. 

Guess what?  of all the assassination attempts against me even, there has been no police record?  Who does that?  No one allows that many major collisions to go "off-record".  No one.  Why are these people cops?  and since when has it been possible to get that many cops to collude together, from Washington to Oregon to D.C. and elsewhere?  After the hit-and-run against me in 2003, the 2 cops that came out to investigate the scene, gave different ideas of who it was.  So then, what's bizarre, is a little over 1 1/2 years later, when I was making a report about FBI agents, the FBI Headquarters in D.C. (This is White House shit) sent out 2 S.A.s to take my report and of all things, those agents they sent matched the physical descriptions of the cops who took my prior assassination attempt report.  This means the FBI had their eyes on the entire thing.  It was no accident that they sent out agents who resembled the cops, because it was like some kind of law enforcement joke when I was given 2 different physical descriptions or IDs of the man who ran into me (one said Hispanic and the other said white). So they bring out the short brown haired cop with the tall blond or lt. brown hair cop, and then later, the FBI thought it was funny to repeat the idea.

This is over my LIFE, and my being not only targeted for assassination, but rape, multiple times, by their employees.  I don't think cops would hurry to be there at the exact scene, ahead of time, and knowing it was going to happen, to be able to cover or conceal a report unless they knew the assassins.  Alternately, who was so fast they got on the phone and called in just the right ones to make sure it wasn't documented?  That is U.S. government-sponsored terrorism, home-based, against innocent citizens in their own country.

Moving on to E.H., the huacos.  I remembered last night, that just like he wrote in his book he bought 6, I had bought 6 of the James Beam bottles that were of the same kind of textured material.  I didn't know who or what James Beam (Jim Beam) was at the time, I just noticed the bottles and thought they were interesting.  I liked the look, and I then designed the color palette and got a couch for my living room to incorporate use of those bottles.  One of the bottles was stolen--not bought.  One was bright blue, and I painted a wall in my kitchen that color over my laundry area.  One was pale blue-gray, sort of a slate gray with a blue hue to it.  Two were pale green.  One was chartreuse yellow.  The one that was stolen was a sand-peach-beige color.  Sort of like sand colored and it was stolen from me.  It wasn't medium or dark in tone, but light.  It was stolen almost right after I bought all of them, all 6 of them.  Then I sold the other 5 under pressure at the yard sale in St. Johns.  The bottles were all tall straight wine bottles.  They weren't half-size bottles but tall, and had openings that looked like probably they had corks originally.  On the bottoms of all of them, it was marked J. Beam.  I believe I noticed, and started looking around for the one that was stolen when the "nurse" Jan moved in with me.  I remember thinking it had to have been her but I was in too much disbelief to imagine anyone would steal it.  My only housemates at that time were Monica Allen, Shirina Edwin, Jan (the nurse), and Melissa Curtin.  It was sort of a white-cream color over sand one.  All of them had a sand sort of kind of texture or color underneath the colors, which were kind of like stucco paint over them, but the cream colored one it stood out more in light as slightly sand.  I remember I noticed when it was gone because it was one of my favorite ones and I had said so to someone and then I always had them symmetrical, 3 to each side and when one was stolen I didn't know how to group them.  I had put the white-cream one next to the bright blue one a lot.  I remember when I bought them, there were a couple of other colors there but I didn't buy them because they were brown and darker colored and I didn't like them as much so I only bought 6.  I had them on the railing that went around the dining room, on either side of a doorway and then I also had them on the fireplace mantle.  A few times I put flowers in them or branches, but usually there were bare.

Also, why was someone named "Jan" wanting to move into my house when Edward Howard, who is supposed to be my biological father, had taken the name "Janovitch" in Russia?  It is very obvious he was trying to indicate something by mentioning the huacos, which were very much like my bottles.  I didn't have a lot of "things" so it stands out and is noticed.  She was then picking on me, later, telling me "I think you might be manic Cameo" and when I said, "What?!" she said it was because I was scrubbing my stove top with a toothbrush.  It was a vintage oven and stove top and I meticulously cleaned the entire thing, and used a toothbrush for cleaning detail.  I did this every so often, to keep it up.  What Jan was doing, was trying to create an "overlay" of lies to conceal who I really was, what I was like in actuality, and a means for defaming me so others escaped with crimes.  I remember when she started saying this too, and it was after princess Diana died.  No one ever alleged anything wrong with me mentally prior to that time.  Then, just because I was cleaning my black and white stove thoroughly, she picked on me.  I always kept my house up and in order.  E.H. also mentions he liked the Lake Baikal region right before mentioning the huacos.  Before Jan got her new Subaru station wagon, she was riding a bike everywhere.  She rode her bike to work and to church and she had some kind of car but she rode her bike with her helmet on, more than anything.  Of course, E.H. mentions he got the huacos when his "tour" of Lima, Peru had ended. 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWG7TXJcXuY .  It sounds like "Lake BIKE-El" or Lake Mike-L with a cold.

So who do you think stole my J. Beam bottle that was white-cream? 

A nurse, a white nurse named "Jan" who tried to intimidate me and call me "manic" on her way out the door.  So in E.H.'s book he mentions one of the AID people handing him a hashish pipe.  He says a car was coming to take him to the airport and the AID person gave him a pipe.  In D.C. the pipe person was from Morocco, offering me hashish and then saying I was "insane".  He was the one to comment on caffeine in my drink and nurse Jan was the one who criticized me over not having a coffee pot.  I think what E.H. loosely implies is that someone picked up my J. Beam bottle from the woman who stole it from me and left on a plane with it.

If he knew someone who could predict 6 huacos and bottles, I'm sure they could also suggest the means for a departure of one of them.  It also shows Jan had read his book, before stealing one of the 6 bottles and then calling me a "whacko" or "manic".

"Huaco" is pronounced "wah-koh" like mor-wah-koh (morocco). 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KkKUF-tPwRU  It is not like the U.S. doesn't owe me and my son everything. 

It is so sick, and so disgusting, I can describe for you what Chris Dabney must have had in mind the night he had sex with me in front of a window where, I have since realized, he must have known people were watching.  He used me, not just to rape me the first time, but later to implant me with a baby he knew would be murdered in my womb so that I could be the "huaco" joke.  I remember exactly what he did which would have been to suggest this to onlookers.  Let's remember his "girlfriend" is a Jew.

His first comment to me, when he raped me was "here's another one in the hole" and his next action in front of the window later, when I was incapacitated, was to make me into a "burial ground", a huaco, for onlookers.  So later, when Chris Dabney was playing Sade's "Lovers Rock" (you are the lover's rock, i.e., huaco), it was with deliberate disgusting plotting.   I remember he made a point to grab the back of my head by my hair and yank it back, the same way this happened to my head when my mother was yanking one of my hoop earrings from one of my ears in Moses Lake.  If the huacos mostly have those rings in the back, to me it looks like his symbolism was to make a joke out of positioning me to look like a huaco and then murder my baby to make me into a "ceremonial burial ground" for it.  I later realized he knew about the window because on a different day I was getting ready for work and some men approached me and said they saw me and indicated other things were seen, such as the time I am mentioning, even though it was dark with only moonlight.  He put my hair into a ponytail first and yanked my head backwards.  My hair had been in a ponytail the day my mother targeted my earring and yanked it and tore my ear.  Chris told me he was "Catholic" and I believe he was lying.  I think he was a Jew.  He was taking directions from Jews from Israel, who had just flown in from Israel, his girlfriend he acquired later was a Jew, and his best friends were Jews.  He was a Jew.  Maybe someone gave him a Catholic baptism as a 'cover' for something, but he was one more methodical, plotting Jew whose only motive was to harm me and my son.  His housemates were also a majority Jewish, and I saw a photo of him with something around his neck like a Jewish man wears at Jewish prayers.  Basically, one of those scarves or whatever, that the men wear, like a prayer shawl, with fringe at the ends.  He colluded with Mark, who was not Jewish, but Irish like Robin Bechtold, and Mark worked for the U.S. Army.

Also, Chris Dabney, with his "information", wouldn't have mocked me in this way, publicly, if he did not know about what was done to me as a pre-teen or teen in Moses Lake, and about E.H., and yet he was the one asking ME if I thought my parents would try to harm me.  He was fishing.  He wasn't fishing for me--he was fishing for people who were behind the assassination attempts against me and humiliation and degradation.  He just wanted to know what I thought or how much I knew about what was really going on, and his sidekicks were Jews and U.S. government.  This is no surprise how he is connected to Kate Middleton. 

Right after E.H. brings up the huacos and liking "Baikal" (bike-l) and then going to talk about how the huacos then went on a plane, to somewhere, he then writes upon his return to the U.S. he contacted the CIA, and then worked at James H. Lowry.  Which is close enough to mentioning James Beam again but it's also close to my name "Lowry" sounding like my middle name "Loree".  The acronym for this business was JHL (jill) and I was later tortured by a woman who told me her name was "Jill" and who was formally working for the Americorp.

I mean, the CIA is so hard-up, they use Americorp people to assault me.  Hahhaa.  I sensed she was Jewish and it turns out she knew Amy Goodman from Seattle, WA who is friends with Amy Roe the reporter that defamed me.  Jill and Chris Rozollo also knew eachother.  How much do you want to bet Amy Roe is also a Jew?  I never thought of it before, but I would bet it's not a stretch.

The other thing I notice, is E.H.'s mention of AID, and how I had "AIDS" being brought up, in 2005 after E.H. died in 2004, as a reason for denying me state-paid healthcare.  I had no diagnosis and never had an STD and they just decided to defame me for no reason, to prevent both me and my son from having medical care and to give the U.S. an excuse to say if the child's mother was such a problem she couldn't get medical care for herself and son, the U.S. should take my child.  There was an entire group of people who did nothing but try to make it appear I was incapable of caring for my child when literally, this country was funding terrorism against us.  When E.H. was repeatedly telling the FBI he was "part of the Royal Flyers club", at a time Princess Diana was reportedly running through an airplane with slit wrists and smearing blood all over the place, maybe he was hinting that he knew what the U.S. had done to me.  How many times did the FBI choose to repeat this information and then claim they didn't find any authenticity to it?  I think it was about 6 times.

Pg. 30.  He says he contracted with Ecology and Environment in 1980.  This was through the EPA.  The connotation for me would be simply that I guess we liked some of the same things.  I took environmental science as part of a graduation track option.  The other idea would be that maybe this is partly why there was an art contest at my school for an "environmental" poster.  I won.  I think the contest was in 1982 but possibly it was one year earlier.  Every student had to create a poster with ideas that supported taking care of the environment.  So I made a huge horizontal poster with a layout that had layers of roads and mountains and water and streams and I made detailed scenes of people and options for recycling, conserving energy and gas, and keeping water clean.  So I got the prize but I didn't want to wait to be awarded publicly in front of everyone and took the money before the announcement.  I didn't care about accolades.  I wanted the money because I was probably thinking about what food I would buy with it.  "I wonder how many Saltine crackers I could buy to nibble on while I'm in my United States torture chamber."  "Maybe if I give a package to the Principal, he won't beat me in private with English yard sticks".

He talks about his job (E.H. does) and how he was tasked with identifying and surveying toxic waste sites.  I suppose it's something I'd be interested in as well, or have been, in the past.  He says he was informed about hazardous waste dumps and what to do to clean them up.  At that same time in my life, we were being driven to dumps.  I don't mean, a wastebasket for the department or grocery store.  I don't mean a large "dumpster".  I mean, we were being driven to massive landfills with heaps and literal mountains of garbage.  Then, what did we do there?  You ask me.  I walked all over garbage and "climbed every mountain" of toxic waste and trash.  I don't mean we looked over the margin of the dump, but my Mom and Dad told us we were going to walk through it.  So we walked through massive amounts of garbage and I remember I was wearing flip-flops, which is what Jew Josh Gatov told me I should be wearing, after he raped me, instead of high heels.  Later in my life, we went to auto graveyards, where cars were parted out, but that was no big deal.  Going "to the dump" was a big deal.  We were too young to think about what was getting on our skin or in our hair and clothes.  I don't even know why we did it.  It wasn't like we took a bunch of garbage there and if we did, we didn't have to walk through all of it, to drop that stuff off.  We were just forced to walk through garbage dumps and then, of course, as kids might, I'd see a doll or toy or something and say, "Look what someone threw away!  That was a perfectly good toy!"  That was mostly what I did, walk around and point things out and say, "Look what someone threw away!"  and "What a waste!" and "Can I take this home?  there's nothing wrong with it."  This was a landfill that was miles wide and as high as 8 feet or more in places, deep.  I do remember it was legal to take things out of the dump or landfill.  My parents took a few things like furniture to refinish or something, but that was about it. 

Then E.H. writes he found the scientists to be childish over non-technical matters. 

He says he had hoped the company would go international in 5 years and then he could go abroad.  I was given $5 for my environmental art prize for my "conservation of energy" poster.

Pg. 31.  He says he and Mary settled in Chicago.  Nothing stands out to me about it, except for now, in the town I live in a bunch of military pastors have backgrounds from Chicago.  I was living in Moses Lake, in the country, whereas for the first year I lived in Moses Lake we lived on Canterbury Lane.  Later we used to look at properties in Ritzville, in Warden,  and the Cansler (Cans-ler) house.  There was one house that was brick and had a large yard and was always vacant and I always had an extremely depressed and sad vibe from it and it was off of the freeway and where the air smelled like alfalfa.  He then says he was contacted by the CIA from Washington D.C. and was told to call a man named "Woodward".  I am not sure what names he had to change because at the beginning he writes the CIA told him to change some of the names to conceal identities.  So where this was done, I'm not sure, but probably "Woodward" is a name change.  E.H. says he met the 2 CIA men at a hotel room in Chicago in June of 1980.  He says one was named Bernie which makes me think of my Dad comparing himself to Bert and me as Ernie when I was a younger kid. He describes "Bernie" as playing with a pocket knife the entire interview. 

To me, where I have been cut up and have scars from it, this seems odd.  The CIA.  Really.  And that's how they recruit?  By flashing around or toying with pocket knives?  It sounds more like a stick-up to me.  Which is probably why E.H. used an alternative name for one of the CIA as "Woodward".

At this time in my life, in 1980, I was in 1st grade.  I had offended a girl named Jennifer Woods and not only her mother was offended but my own Mom (Dicksie) as well.  Actually though, I think I just knew her then because nothing came up until maybe 2nd grade for a jump-rope-for-heart.  It was a "jump-ropathon" but specifically called "Jump Rope For Heart".  So I said something mean and no one ever got over it, not even the adults.  So with "Woodward" I might think of the mean words I said to Jennifer Woods one time that no one dealt with like adults would be expected to.  The other connotation is that Woodward makes me think of Bob Packwood.  Woodward might also bring to mind Warden, a town we visited, or where Pamp and Barbara Maiers were from before Moses Lake, or ward, like a prison or jail warden.  E.H. says "the two men peppered me questions about..." and the loss of the word "with" (as in, the two men peppered me WITH questions) was either a mistake or deliberate to sound like an Irish slang from some kind of Darby O'Gill and The Little People movie.

Of course, when you think about it...Darby O'Gill and The Little People is about a man who ends up with a bunch of leprochauns (or elves, i.e., E.L.V.H., Edward Lee Victor Howard), a  daughter named Katie, and their search for the "pot of gold" at "the end of the rainbow".

So right after the "men peppered me questions" he says it was about overseas relationships (and he had worked in Dublin, Ireland for one place) and then his next title is "the CIA: not just a bad career move" where he explains how he was hired and fired through a "strategic cut" at the same time I was targeted from a window to fall from a tree and break my arm.  It was not "just a bad move" on my part, in swinging from a branch on the tree--I was targeted with technology to fall and on that same day the President of the United States made an emphasis about "strategic arm reductions" between the U.S. and Russia.  That is what comes to my mind.  The way E.H. organized this last section, with "peppered me questions" to overseas to 'tragedy and misery' by the CIA indicates he's saying it wasn't a personal responsibility problem or his fault or a "bad move" but a deliberate hit.
********************************************************************************
UPDATED 8/19/13.

I had a few thoughts.  One is that I possibly did have a pale peach-sand J. Beam bottle as well.  I still remember it, and remember the exact color, so it is possible 2 of the bottles were stolen, not just one.  I know there were darker brown and darker coral colored ones left where I got them and I didn't want those colors so I left them there.  I don't "feel" like I had 7 total though--I believe I only bought 6 but I'll think about it more. 

Other thoughts:  One about the name "Jaramilla".  It's E.H.'s mother's maiden name.  It sort of sounds like "You're a milla" (or, a million in English) without the Spanish pronunciation of "milla" as "mee-yuh".  I was wondering if it's possibly another reason Ruthie Ames started telling me, when I was 11 years old, "You're worth your weight in gold."

Another thing, about Anitra Strickland and my parents.  I have realized Anitra Strickland was never my friend but I had no idea back then.  I thought of her as a friend, as kids, but I didn't understand how they were political and potentially connected to Middletons.  Seriously.  Later, when I tried to contact her and be in touch, after 2009, at first she seemed fine and then got really weird and hearing her kids on the phone, they sounded like they were mocking me.  All of a sudden, it was like, "What the heck?  She is a Middleton supporter??!  How long has THAT been the case?"  It was really shocking for me, because to get older and then realize one-by-one how most of the people I was put next to, or who had contact with me, were enemies to me, when I thought "I have no enemies" is a wake-up after that many decades of secrecy.  I remember someone saying something to me about "your enemies" and I said, "My enemies?  I don't have any enemies!"  I couldn't think of one person I personally considered to be my enemy, even after being a target for assassination and rape bets.

Some of the potential "evidence" that would suggest Anitra Strickland was never a friend, and is also connected to Katie Middleton is this:  When I was being photographed in the window wearing a puppy dog shirt (that sort of had a cat face), my parents were later singing the song "How Much Is That Doggie In The Window?"  Then when I broke my arm, falling from the tree on "strategic arms reduction day" for the U.S. in 1982, wearing my rainbow shirt (my starring role as one of the "elves" I guess, or maybe after I fell I was being joked about as the "pot of gold"), I was given "Garfield".  Garfield, the orange and black striped cat, which was like "Heathcliff" the cat.  I was dressed and photographed as a witch after I was born, for Halloween, in black and orange.  And the "puppy" shirt had orange and black in it.  Then I was given a kitten, named "Mittens" (my Mom's name for it) and when it died, my Dad bought me a huge poster for my bedroom wall, the first I ever had, that said, "When God Closes One Door, He Opens Another."  It was an orange cat, like Garfield.  So then at the time I met Katie Fallon, and the name Katie was used all the time, after Katie Middleton was born, it was Anitra Strickland who gave me a poster.  The cat poster was taken down, and the new "door" was Strickland's poster, of a man holding a newborn baby in his hands.  Basically, it was like saying, I was being dumped by the U.S. and now Katie Middleton was born, they had a replacement for what they wanted to do.  Not only that, Anitra Strickland lived "on the base" which was a U.S. military base. 

Gee.  I wonder if Katie Middleton is connected to the U.S. military.

My entire life I'd thought of these posters as one I really liked, of the cat, and then getting one I didn't like as much, but it was okay and I put it up because the other one was stolen.  I never took it down myself--someone stole it from me.  So I had this odd "baby" poster there, and that was supposed to be "the new door".   I didn't realize what kind of political suggestion was being made between adults at the time.  But it explains how Anitra Strickland acted to me later, when I thought she was a friend, and how her associations and family go back to my childhood and U.S. military and Middleton.  What else could I have expected? but I didn't know.  Her Dad worked as a "cook" or chef somewhere on the base and her mother was a hair stylist if I remember correctly but first she was a waitress and that's how she met Dan.  Dan Strickland was Anitra's Dad.  Maybe it was "Dave" but I am pretty sure his first name was "Dan".  They were connected to military however, lived next to the military airport and in the jurisdiction of the military base.  Anitra wanted to be an astronaut or police woman so it's not like she didn't lean that direction.  I also know I was told to "shut up" for the first time in around 1982 or after I got this poster about when God closes one door he opens another.  All the time, my mother was telling me to "shut up".  And then I found out her brother Loren said this all the time too.  It hurt my feelings to be told to shut up all the time and then I picked it up and my brother and I told eachother to shut up.

Another thought I had was that when this young woman "Shelly" died and was buried, whose funeral I attended, I remember I was taking down all of the photos of people around the frame of my mirror after she died.  I used to look at all of the photos and think about her and death and understanding dying, and then one day, I took down the entire frame I had made, of pictures and snapshots that I had made around the border of my mirror.  It is possible this was a subconscious choice, and connected to my seeing someone else taking down photographs after a person died.  I know "Shelly" or "Shell-Lee" died about the same time my cat poster was taken down and my cat died, and then some anonymous man holding a baby poster was to be the other door.

Which is really more like adult politics than anything.  I had it up because it was a gift, but I never picked it out and then when I took it down, I never put up another poster or picture of any man.  It wasn't my style. 

Another thing I wonder about, is someone with brown eyes I might have remembered as nice when I was a baby or toddler or young.  Not a predator, but someone nice.  I think of this because one day at an eye shop, I tried different colored contacts.  It was after 1994, when I had an eye exam that said I needed a light prescription and had an astigmatism in one eye.  I got glasses to use occasionally.  However, I went to another eye place and they let me try on different eye contacts.  I tried blue, green, "hazel", and brown.  Of all things, I liked the brown ones on me best.  I liked blue, but it was the brown ones I kept staring at.  It was very odd.  I couldn't stop looking, like I was looking into someone else's eyes I knew.  The store person kept saying, "You should get the blue ones!" or "I like the blue ones best" and I said, "I know, but what's weird is I sort of like the brown ones because they look warm."  I thought they looked warm and soft, but I think what I might have also done is accidentally remember someone from a long time ago but I don't know who.  Most of my family (Mom and Dad; Dicksie and Bob) have green or blue eyes.  I ended up not getting any.  I thought it would be fun, but I decided not to buy any.  They didn't have any odd colors at that time or weird patterns.  I think there was one that was "violet" as well, but pretty standard colors.  I didn't just do it "for fun" because I was really thinking about buying some, and then after I thought about it more I decided not to.  I probably decided to be practical, but I considered it for a long time.  I thought I might get the brown ones and the green ones to make my eyes seem slightly greener, but I didn't care for the blue as much on me because it didn't look as natural.  The reason I wonder is because maybe I knew someone from a long time ago that made me pause.  It wasn't vanity...I thought I was noticing something or drawn to something because my eyes looked someone's I knew when I had the brown ones in but I didn't know who.  No one from high school or anything, so I think it must have been when I was very young.  I had actually thought my Dad's eyes were brown before, but then I looked again and saw they were green-blue.

Pg. 32

When he says his choice to accept the CIA brought the greatest "tragedy and misery" it makes me think of how Bechtold made a big deal about the movie "Misery" and thought I should see it.  I remember the knife scene and the bed scene being horrifying to me.  Mostly the knives, and obviously, this is what someone did to me when I was a toddler and I remember some cutting later, so this was part of my own misery.  I also think now, that seeing the red dot on this mans' face recently as he said the name "Meserlee" and how I wanted to throw up, probably indicates I remember some torture.  Mnsr. Lee, Miss her Lee? Mr. Lee, Mister Lee, Ms. Loree, ...not sure.  But some comment was made during torture to that effect--my opinion.

I have some idea I might have been caged like a dog as well, or near a dog and confined.  Instead of "Kathy Bates" it's more like "bath y crates".  How about some crate and barrel or grates and electrocution?  It's closer to the idea I was an infant tortured by someone like Kathy Bates, which is slightly like the MK Ultra place of torture for children in Quebec, Canada, where the CIA paid them money to torture orphans and infants and children were found in mass graves.

I also know that twice when I've seen a red box shaped car, I've had an instinct to follow it with my left arm and shoot, and I think this indicates I was around a shooting range of some kind when I was very young.  I've never had anything to do with knives, aside from kitchen use and a letter opener for opening my mother's mail and there's no way anyone "trained" me with one because I couldn't even cut open an envelope with a clean slice.  I was terrorized with knives--I didn't handle them myself for any kind of weapon purpose and I never cut myself except when learning to shave my legs.

pg. 33.  He says CIA even visited Horse Springs, NM, where he'd lived briefly as a 2 yr. old.  No connotation for me.  We got a horse at our house in Moses Lake around this time.  Prior to this we had lawn and garden space and then I helped build and paint a fence to enclose a pasture area and we got a horse.  The Danielsons, on the other side of the fence one direction, had 2 dogs, a white one named "cookie" I think and a German shepherd.  On the other side were the Coombs with a reddish maroon fence and behind us was chain link and electric wire and the Mormon psychologists.  I think we boarded 2 horses first.  First we boarded 2 horses for someone else.  Then my Mom got her own horse or had one she boarded and also rode, Aspen, and then it was Lexie.  I jumped on a horse that wasn't Aspen or Lexie but was a darker and broader horse but I don't know the name.  I also jumped on Aspen.  I coaxed them to the fence, and jumped on and a few times, got them to stand still as I held their mane while hoisting myself up and leg over.  I did it when no one was looking (so I thought).  Around the time my parents boarded horses for others, they brought up having "foster kids".  That was when I asked what a foster kid was, and they were saying it might be something they'd do and then talked about the money, saying it would be additional income.  They talked about it openly, around me, for months.  Then when I asked if they were going to do it because they quit talking about it,  they said they decided not to.

E.H. writes the CIA wanted to know about his company bidding on a big government contract.  He says the same thing 2 times.  Sounds like 2 bids (?) to me.  Bids...or kids

The bidding he speaks of, was in 1980 and there wasn't talk about foster kids from my parents until later, around 1984 or so.

With the horses, I was the only one who rode them.  I never once saw my mother, Dad, or brother, get on any of the first horses, and I was the only one who did.  I brushed them or petted and talked to them, and they allowed me to jump on from the fence, and until I was heavier, to hoist myself up from the ground with the horse standing next to me.  I was able to jump up, and then using the mane only a little, swing a leg around and they were 15 hands or more, all of them.  I was getting very interested in horses, and then all of a sudden, my Mom began subscribing to horse magazines.  I was made to feel I could no longer be interested in horses because it was my mother's "interest" and I was not allowed to detract from that.  I expressed the interest and had been the only one riding them, but then it was suddenly taken over with dressage magazines and then later, my Mom began riding.  She had a pony when she was younger, and another horse I think, but I felt pushed out from horses.  I still visited them, but I had wanted riding lessons and to develop my interest and instead I was made to feel I couldn't because someone else was taking over.  I was around 9 years old or 10, when that happened. 

I also had asked to keep one of the puppies the dogs had and wasn't allowed to.  I was told I could have a cat and that was it.  My mother began buying at least 2 kinds of horse magazine, and I wanted to share the interest and she kept it to herself.  So sometimes my brother and I would look at them and talk about which ones we liked or would want most.  I was told I couldn't ride the horses anymore though.  One of them, I do remember, let me jump on from the ground, and then I got heavier but I practiced jumping just for the purpose of getting on a horse from foot.  I had no other reason to jump that way.  I jumped rope, yes, for school, but at home, I practiced jumping as high up in the air as I could from foot, to train for getting onto the horse better, springing up from my toes.  I mean, I sometimes spent an hour on jumping practice alone, for height, not exercise.  Then a decade later, in Sherwood, my mother was taking dressage and jumping lessons and I am really not sure what kind of odd thing the CIA was trying to obscure with that, if they were at all.  I am not sure with the one horse that let me jump up by foot either because it worked all the time and then it was moving sideways when I tried later and I suppose it's even possible someone was coaching it to move away while I was at school or something.  I guess I look back and think that is what happened, by the way the horse reacted.  It still followed me and I gave it treats and brushed it and scratched it but it acted like someone had trained it to "sidepass".  I almost want to say the first horse I used to hop on was "Sally".  I worked for a "Sally" that had horses and later rode Western with someone from work with that name, but I sort of think one of the horses we boarded that I rode was named "Sally".  I think there were 2 we boarded, then one (maybe Sally or Sally was split up from the 2), and then Aspen (owned), then Lexie (owned).

My brother and I looked at horse magazines the same way we looked at women's magazines.  I would  bring them out and put them on the floor and we'd lay on our stomachs or sit and look and I'd turn to a page and say, "Which one do you like?"  He would tell me and then I'd say, "I like that one" and I'd sometimes say, "Yeah, she's pretty" or "You like HER?!!!  Why do you like HER?  She's not even pretty!"  and I had fun thinking about why he liked the ones he did and which ones I liked, and then I'd do the same with horses, asking him which one he liked best and showing him which ones were my picks.  We'd go through whole catalogs (Sears and Pennys) and horse magazines.  It was always horses and women, never the dog magazines.  We never looked at Sheltie magazines and said which one do you like best, though I sometimes looked at those too.  It was always horses and women.  I did the same thing with cousins over a Ford Model (modeling agency) poster an Uncle had in a room, with headshots of models and would ask cousins which ones they liked best and why and we'd talk about it.  To me, it was fun.  I remembered wondering why my brother thought women were prettier who were so different from the ones I thought prettiest.  I figured out on one occasion, he liked shorter hair and big boobs.  As for horses, once I asked my Mom about some of them and said I thought one was really pretty (a stallion of some kind or other horse) and she didn't like it and I said why and she said she didn't like the head on it.  So I figured out my mother preferred one kind of head on a horse to another.  I wasn't interested in men's fashions so I didn't discuss male catalog models with my brother--just the women and horses.  As to the jumping again, in 1979 I practiced jumping up and spinning in mid-air for some reason but then with horses, it was jump straight up for height.  I do know one time I remember my Mom acting disappointed when I didn't want to look at the horse magazines with her but I also remember there was a deliberate psychological ploy involved in forcing me out of having anything to do with horses and then to reflex defensively to protect myself and my feelings and hurt by saying, eventually,  "I like cats.  Mom is the one who likes HORSES.  I am into CATS" so I had a feeling of ownership or control over something I could call my own.  It was really horrific abuse that the military and CIA did.  However, the truth was, I was the only one riding the horse.

I just remembered something too.  I did catch my Mom training the horse to shy away from me.  She was outside and with the horse and I wondered what she was doing and I saw her teaching it to move away when someone tried to get on the way I did.  I don't know if she wanted to be caught and have me remember this or not but I accused her of it.  I said, "You're teaching that horse to move away from me!"  It is possible someone instructed her to have me discover this, who knows, but I remember verbally saying something about it and wondering why she was ruining my riding.  She also used to yell at me to "quit jumping!" because I practiced jumping in the house about 30 minutes to an hour everyday.  When I would ask why she'd say, "You're shaking the whole house!"

(see my update on Gia Allemande post here with photos)

So then, because she didn't like the shaking in the house, I was trying to spring up from my toes and land as gently as I could without shaking the house.  I guess you could say if I got an idea, and I really thought it would work, I was determined to practice and follow through on it.  Then, when I was in school I suspected more mutiny-training of the horse.  So I did ballet twists in the air when I was really young, and then jumping straight up to gain height for hoisting onto a horse from foot with no stirrups, and then I was leaping across the kitchen floor trying to do ballet moves I read from a book (what a horrible way to try to teach myself ballet).

Today I realized something else, probably from being trained to shoot a gun when I was before the age of 3.  I had an instinct to follow red blocks to my left, with my left arm as if holding a gun, and then today I had the instinct to cross my left arm over my face as if shooting to the right when white blocks (of cars) passed me on the right.  It is all with my left hand and arm so I am guessing my left hand and arm were identified as the stronger one, until it was broken in 1982.  I was writing with my right hand already, but I did other things with my left.  I think, based on what I realized today, I was definitely at some kind of shooting range but what kind of a range is that???  It was obviously some kind of indoor range because I responded to the subconscious sight of the red blocks and the white blocks.  So let me explain better.  Let's say I am walking in a straight line down the road (not in the middle as they say in Karate Kid, or you get SQUASHED).  So here is the diagram:

     I    I
     I    I
     I    I
+   I    I o
+   I    I o
     I    I
     I    I
       ^

So you are the arrow and traveling north (up the screen) and the plus signs are red blocks and the o signs are white blocks.  As you are walking, the red blocks are passing you, as if driving or moving toward you from the left and then from the right, white blocks. Maybe they switched it up, I don't know.  All I know, is I felt the connection to raise my left arm, move it from in front of me straight out to the side, following and anticipating the speed of vehicle and velocity of the bullet.  When I saw 2 white blocks, traveling to my right, I felt the connection to raise my left arm in a crook over my nose with my hand facing those blocks, as if shooting to the right at the white blocks.

But for some "crazy" reason, the DOD is lying to everyone and claims I have to know which file they should look in to comply with my FOIA request. 

I have no sense of wanting to use my right arm or hand naturally for targets.  The other thing that came to my mind, was reaching over with my left hand to my right shoulder is possibly the motion of reaching for ammo strapped across my back.  So maybe it's possible I was trained with both hands and arms for and with different kinds of guns.  I think they wanted to use me for some kind of...I don't know...what YOU guys think?? 

I'll take a photo I guess to demonstrate what I mean.

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Well, I do not have buck teeth but who would know, from this last one.  I am leaving it anyway because I sort of think it's funny because I look so Luxembourgish or Russian or something.  Who knows.  Anyway, I'm not using stiff militant posture because as the 'triggers' occurred, something like watching Laverne & Shirleys assembly line of products moving around, it was a natural idea.  Instead of being gored by a bull myself, I was being trained to kill the bull shitters.  Cheers to Queen.  Might shoot me some rabbit (just kidding).

Onto the book.

Pg. 33.  He says by September he was ready to hear status.  He was told things were looking good.  Pg.  34.  Nothing stands out much aside from the fact taking a bath or shower was particular in my family, and comments made about closing the bathroom door all the time.  I said why was I told to close the door all the time when everyone else left it open?

He says he'd like to "address that shot now" I take him to mean what he says, about addressing an insult, however...1()&*^*&%%*)(  he is still coding and I "get it".  It looks like all he's talking about is addressing CIA or other agency "shots" but right after this, look at what he uses to list things.  Blocks.  He's talking about the same blocks, or illustrating this, the same way I tried to describe how I was trained to shoot.  I was also tortured.  So his addressing "that shot now", I don't know how to understand it aside from thinking of instruction I was given on shooting guns and possibly arrows.  It is possible I was shooting guns with my left hand (as demonstrated by the 'blocks' E.H. sets up to the left, as I saw them when I sensed an instinct to shoot that way) and that I was trained to shoot arrows with my right or draw out the bows with my left hand and load, and shoot.  Something like that.  But never, as I've said--never knives.  I was afraid of them, not comfortable with them.  What is possible, is with all the "knife" lies and accusations made against me, I think they might have been wanting to detract from the fact knives and razors were used against me, to harm me, and also, possibly, to hide or conceal what actual weapons I did know.  Maybe they didn't want anyone to know I was taught archery. I was also taught to knit, I might add, but backwards, lefthand style, not right hand.  Maybe archery would put me into a different "category" for figuring out what I was being trained for and by whom.

So E.H. is definitely using a secondary meaning by saying he'd like to "address that shot now" and then putting blocks to the left.  He says did the CIA settle for a 2nd or 3rd rate man? and says the answer is no and that if you'd read the profile from the CIA in 1980 anyone would have known this.

Then he lists 7 blocks. 

Next, he says his educational and professional references were all "top flight".  So here he is alluding to military training or training in an airplane or at an airport.

This is very similar to what Princess Diana alluded to when cutting herself and running down a hall of an airplane, smearing blood on the sides of the walls.  It sounds like what I was trained to do or saw.  Also, what I notice is that possibly this is why E.H. kept bringing up, to the FBI, that he was "part of the Royal Flyers club". 

The other connotation to shots I might have is that my mother was trained to give our dogs shots and I watched her inject and vaccinate dogs all the time.  She was very very good at what she did.  She never let me, or taught me, but she did it like a doctor would--total expert.  I never went to the doctor at that time but I very vaguely remember getting a shot unexpectedly to the back of my neck or upper shoulder in the back once.  I feel like I can't be totally sure though so that is a "maybe" memory.  It also has nothing to do with my being trained to fire a gun or make targets but just something I thought of.  It came to mind because of the comment on pg. 35 by E.H.

He says he was hired by the CIA right after President James Carter's administration ended in 1981.  I thought of my Mom because her Dad liked Jimmy Carter.  As a little girl, I remember him always talking fondly of "Jimmy Cah-tah".  He didn't have natural slang or an accent so it was deliberate when he was using a southern accent to it to pronounce "Carter", "Cah-tah".  Of course I've mentioned how Kate Middleton looks like Lynda Carter before but it's also something to think about when I was introduced later to James Cartright.  So from James Carter to James Cartright, you know the CIA is attempting to conceal and mix something.  My Grandpa Baird always got this big grin and laugh when he said "Jimmy Cah-tah" or "Do you remember Jimmy Cah-tah?" He was always very happy about something when mentioning the name.

E.H. then says he decided to accept the CIAs offer and be a "spook".  Spook is colloquial for "spy" but it's more commonly used in England than the U.S.  He recognizes this by mentioning "Europe" prior to using the word "spook".

He says he was sworn in by John MacMahon and had a trial period of one year, called a "CT".  My thoughts would be of the acronym JMM (Jim) or like Gem.  My other thought is that if "career trainees" for the CIA were called "CT"s (like cuts or cats), what were the DODs?  "Dogs" pronounced with a stuffed-up nose?  Also, I remember my school teachers having loud conversations with my mother, with me present, about how well I did on my CAT tests.  In my school, the CAT stood for California Acheivement Test and was held once a year, where the CT for the CIA was a one-year test period.

Seriously, if someone reading this still thinks I'm the one who is "mentally ill" or paranoid and the U.S. is guilt-free, they are really confused.  And guess what.  I'm only on page 35 out of a book that's 299 pages long so there is still analysis and "reading between the lines" from here to there.

When I was talked about with regard to the CAT, I remember it being said "How is it possible you score so high on the CAT but can't even turn your homework in?"  Umm, right.  Well my homework was being stolen, and that sort of depresses the motive to keep trying after awhile, so you tell me.

Pg. 36.  He says they went to lectures and then rotated to desk assignments and then sent to Camp Peary for 18 weeks of intelligence training, in Williamsburg, Virginia.  Well, the man who supposedly ran into me with a hit-and-run in Tigard, Oregon in 2003, was Mr. Willenburg.  I am checking on this at the moment to confirm ID.  Aside from this, I can't think of parallels for me except for a few desk configurations by teachers and noticing their interest in it, and then Peary only coinciding with my mother's description of "periwinkle blue" in my crayon box and my memory of her selecting this color and pointing it out.  I also remember her talking about "periwinkle blue" over the phone to someone, enough to where I remember it.  Of all the colors I learned, the only ones which were described with more emphasis aside from colors in Spanish, were "periwinkle blue", "dusty rose", and that was about it.  Periwinkle blue was talked about with excitement and happiness, and was earlier in my childhood and "dusty rose" was mentioned as an aside, with a later disappointment sound.  Peri was pronounced like "pair-ee" and I think Camp Peary looks that way but is pronounced "peer-ee".  My mother was bringing up "periwinkle blue" around 1981-82.

He says he was told though it was a long time since he'd used cocaine (1974) or marijuana (1979) he'd be fired if he did again.  For me, to think about my own life, I know I was drugged with LSD about 1979 and I think other things were given to me later, that made me throw up, or it was from military technology.  I hadn't heard of cocaine but I know I was told one time I knocked over a large plate of powdered sugar donuts and was found, covered in powdered sugar and saying "Yum, Yum!" or "Num, Num!"  Maybe they were really donuts, but it's possible it was cocaine from somewhere and I was told this happened in 1974 within the first year of my life.

He then spends time explaining the CIA's mentality over "paramilitary" exercises.  Paramilitary is sometimes a more secretive group but usually includes airplanes.  So where I was concerned, with use of me at an military airport or inside of a plane even, there is a connection.  He says he criticized this and the CIA told him the operations were approved by the "highest authority" (i.e, President of the United States) at the White House.  So what he might be saying, is that Gerald Ford with Nelson Rockefeller, and Ronald Reagan approved my abuse and torture.  Jimmy Carter was in between them but I think I was not as exposed at that time and then later, it was everything from stragetically blowing out my arm to having me throw up.  But who knows, Carter may have been involved in the meantime and probably was. 

E.H. says the CIA did whatever they wanted basically, to get covered if they wanted to "stir up foreign mischief."  Then he says given the attitude of the ex-military members in his class, he didn't comment again.   My thoughts would be on "foreign mischief" because he was talking about what was done outside of the U.S., not specifically inside the U.S.  However, I was a U.S. citizen tortured in the U.S., and outside of the U.S. in Canada and potentially other international sites.  I also think of my second cat that I had, because I had one named "Mittens" that my mother named, and the one I named was "Mischief".  Mittens was solid gray with white socks and mittens and Mischief was a striped gray tabby.  It was Mischief who scratched up my arms, and when I asked my Dad how I had some of the scars when most of the scratches went away he said he didn't know.  Mittens was given to me and Mischief I tamed from being a wild kitten, and she had a lot of energy and would get stirred up playing and would attack and scratch my arms up and get wild again at times.  It was when I was looking at scratches from her that I started to wonder where major knife and razor cut scars were from.

If I follow E.H.'s suggestion, it was "foreign mischief" paid for by the CIA and approved by the White House.  That would mean I was taken outside of the U.S. to be tortured and/or I was tortured by people who were not my own people inside the U.S.
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UPDATED 8/20/13

Pg. 36.  Strangely, picking up from Camp Peary, one of the Spanish words that comes to mind is "lampera".  Lampera is one of the very first words I learned in Spanish, aside from colors and numbers.  It's pronounced "lamb-pair-uh".  Like a lamb and then a pear or pair of two and then "uh"  you know....uh,...whas up?  I guess, oddly, it came to my mind as I was sitting down to write from Camp Peary and thinking about the lamp and how it fits this nice space in the photo where I do a backbend, and then I thought "lampera".  Which came to mind, considering the fact I was tortured and continue to be tortured with a variety of technological means.

I feel my entire life in this country has been a waste.  Before Edward Howard defected, my Dad was always telling me how he didn't know anyone that had more natural talent than I did, and I could do anything I wanted.  I didn't take it seriously and now I realize, it's true, and that with the amount of talent I had, what has this country done to support this?  This country deliberately tore me down and tried to use me a surveillance "spook" for transmitting their messages between spies and then tortured me and in between trying to kill me, raped me and tried to transform me into some kind of government hooker after premeditating rape multiple times and forcing me into a position of telling me THAT is what this fucking country has to offer a talented and intellectual woman:  forced slavery to be a prostitute for the CIA, State Department or FBI if they couldn't kill me...and then maybe, maybe, they would give me my son back. 

Pg. 37  E.H. says he worked as a clerk in the European department for the CIA.  He says he did his own filing.  The only thing that comes to mind is Mrs. Raugust showing me the "secret files" about me that the school was keeping.  She did this later though, after this time.  She showed me a drawer that came up to about my chest level, at the height I was at then, and it was a narrow file box and very long and then there was a normal one.  I remember this one box was smaller than usual, more like the width of a post office box.  It had report cards in it, and psychological notes and observation write-ups of me by teachers.  Teachers were not just marking a report card for me, they were writing records and documents about me, such as "Today Cameo was working with C and showed her how to write an ending to a story."  So it was just note after note about my every action, word, and move.  It was incredible.  Even as a kid I knew it wasn't normal.  They were also confiscating and keeping some of my work and drawings.  I don't know why the one box was narrower than usual, but it was, and it was up high.  It was sort of as wide as a post card, horizontal width.  Which is interesting, because later the Maiers family decided to send me post cards from various European countries.  So it went from my seeing this secret file of me in a file cabinet with report cards and boxes about that wide, and high up, in 1981, to later, getting these "European post cards" from Stephanie Maiers from 1987-1990.  I believe it mostly began in 1988.

So how would Stephanie Maiers and her family know about Mrs. Raugust showing me these things, and then replacing it with the idea of post cards from Europe, unless they were trying to humiliate me or observing me to set me up later....you know, to go down their "slippery slide" naked and everything.  The entire time, I just thought "Oh look!  Stephanie sent me a post card!" and I was happy to get them and I had no idea they were Middleton colluders.  Maybe England was getting my personal belongings while I was getting...alas, a post card of a photo of their town.  The file cabinet with the open drawer, in the interview Princess Diana had with Martin Bashir, is the same height of the box that was opened for me to look into.  Think about it.  Top to bottom, if it was alphabetical, that's where I was.  Up at the top. 

hmmm.  Now you're thinking.  So, E.H. also says it was joked that "James Bond" was really a GS-5.  As she was looking at the boxes, she said the letters out loud before pulling out the one with my card and reports in it.  To the "G's".  It was either A-C, D-F, G-I or two letters at a time.  If it was G-I, H for Howard was in the middle.  This was shown to me before "Middleton" was ever born.

E.H. writes about 2 cafeterias at Langley, which seems strange to me.  No commentary on him, but what is the point?    He says one was for overt (known employees) and the other for covert (undercover) employees.  I mean, first of all, all of those coverts see each other, and then it's not like the overt ones don't know who the covert ones.  They have separate tunnels underground or something?  Or is it just that anyone who is normal isn't even allowed to have prenatal care in Falls Church, VA or anywhere near Langley, VA.  I guess it makes sense for more coverage for coverts, but it isn't totally secure.  As soon as you go to the "covert cafeteria" you have no cover.  I don't see how the CIA trains anyone anymore.  Anyone with sense who wants to know who the spies are, would keep an eye on who goes and comes from there.  So is everyone traveling there after ducking into convenience stores and donning fake mustaches and beards first?  Or maybe, you give them all the slip in another country and then take a cargo seat in a plane, and then don a burka or hat and glasses and scarf and then go to a darkened window car and end up in Langley.  Anyway, at my high school, I got sucked into a government kid's lunch group.  I had no idea why anyone would think they could "score" points for themselves by gaining proximity to me, as I had no idea why I would be important in any way.  But as it turned out, I was enveloped into a group of high school students whose parents already worked for the U.S. government and some of them, as teenagers, were likewise already employed.  Also, at this high school I went to, they started having 2 separate lunch breaks.  At my elementary school, at this same time, there were 2 separate lunch breaks.  I was in the second one.  Then, later in high school there was one lunch period and later it was split.  In elementary school I was always one of the very last students there.  Some of the students ate fast and were outside on the playground right away and I was taught to chew my food so I did.  I also was too cold to play outside in the winter and wanted to stay inside as long as possible so I didn't have to be outside in the freezing weather and snow.  I was cold all the time.  I remember being so cold I didn't want to play outside, starting in the 2nd grade (1981).  I was kept warm enough in kindergarten and 1st grade.  I remember running and playing, and making all kind of games and forts.  In 2nd grade, this is when I was suddenly being beaten, deprived of food, and made to freeze in inadequate clothing for the weather.  The cold was so severe, and I was so under-clothed for it, the memory of how cold I was all the time, has never left me.  My fingers were freezing cold and I no longer had gloves but thin cotton gloves or thinly lined gloves that got snow inside and were not insulated, just thinly lined.  My coat looked puffy and had no insulation though, as well.  My boots were the same way, substandard, too small for my feet, and not insulated.  I was no only freezing outside, I was cold inside the classroom but I avoided every single recess, especially beginning in the 3rd grade.  In 2nd grade I still went outside and by 3rd grade, I was so underclothed and freezing it was like torture to be outside.  I spent my entire recesses in the girl's bathroom.

Every single recess, and that was 2 recesses and 1 lunch recess, was spent in the girls bathroom by me.  I usually got one other friend to stick with me, by trying to make it "fun" however I could.  However, I loved being outside and playing games outside, but because of how cold I was, I was the ONLY kid in the entire school that was spending recess in the bathroom just because it was warmer.  No other girl, in an entire school, was in the bathroom every recess every winter, and I know, because I was there, and I was the only one, except for one other girl I usually convinced to go there with me.  I was even cold during lunch, in the drafty lunchroom and sometimes, when shooed out too soon, I would take it to the bathroom and eat my lunch in the bathroom.  Why?  Because I liked eating next to toilets?  No, because that is how cold I was.

That is how great the U.S.A. is.  There was no reason or excuse for what they did to me, and the U.S. military and CIA were directly involved.  They retaliated against me to punish others they thought were 'defectors' and to harm me and out of hate.  Despite being forced to eat in the bathroom and spend my recess in the bathroom, I did my best to make it "fun" and would talk with another girl, or bring make up in to try on for fun when we weren't supposed to, or sing.  This is where Mrs. Bailey walked in when I was throwing a spitwad at the ceiling because we had nothing to do but try to find out how much water would make a spitwad from paper towels or toilet paper, stick to the ceiling and not fall back down.  Most of what we did, in the bathroom, at lunch and recess, me and one other girl, was make spit wads.  In third grade, which was 1982 or 1983 for me, every day I made spit wads or talked, or sometimes, if no one went with me to the bathroom I would take a book and read in the bathroom by myself.

Spit wads for lunch and recess, because I was too freezing cold to play outside.  And when Mrs. Bailey came into the bathroom, knowing exactly why I was there, she mocked me from her adult stature of 5'3" and said, "Cameo, I thought you were a NICE little girl."

Well, I thought the U.S. was a NICE little country too.  I win Mrs. Bailey.  I win the debate.  You can know now, that you proved my point.  I still remember her blond curly puffed up short hair and the way she sneered at me when she said this, in a fake-sweet tone even kids would understand, as she looked me up and down while washing her hands.

She washed her hands, at the sink, as she sneered and said, "I thought you were a NICE little girl".  She's certaintly had a few male U.S. government rapists who followed her model. 

I have enough to expose about my own childhood to prove my point that my son is endangered in this country.  The United States has abused him and paid their employees to do it, since he was born and it's the same thing they did to me.  I always knew he needed political asylum.

The only girls that would go with me and keep me company in the bathroom were Mexican girls or half Mexican girls so they were my best friends at that time.  In the warmer weather of early Fall or late Spring, I played outside.

I remember worms all over the sidewalks in Moses Lake.  It rained in Moses Lake, in thundershowers and hundreds of hundreds of worms came up from the ground and covered the sidewalks at the school.  When we had to walk from classroom to classroom, I tried not to step on any worms.  They were crawling all over, like a morbid haunted house.  It was really gross, how many there were and they all wanted to be on the sidewalks and not in the earth anymore. 

So when E.H. says he talked with people in the cafeteria and gossiped, I did a lot of talking with whatever friend was with me at the time, but my memories of these things are from after he was fired by the CIA.  Things got bad for me in 1981-1982, after having a short break where not as many bad things happened.

E.H. says "Camp Peary", aka "The Farm" was officially designated a Department of Defense (DOD) facility, but the CIA used it.  So actually, that puts my polka dotted dress into potential perspective for "DODs" in 1980 as well as being made for me after they came back from Lima, Peru.  My mother told me it was "The last time I ever make a dress for you again."  When I saw the dress I hated it.  No one asked me what I wanted and they came up with this green polka-dotted dress, which was cute, but there must have been a subconscious reason I hated it.  I didn't want to wear it for picture day and did and was made to stand in front of Mrs. Beckly in it.  I was told that since I hadn't liked it, it was the last time in my entire life my mother was ever going to make a dress for me.  She never made anything for me again.  Ever.  Of course.  Bibity bobity boo.  Which gown?  No, for me it was "Which clown?" So from Rory's red round clown nose, as he sat next to me, the "baby witch" for the "witch clown" I got a dress with a bunch of green clown noses on it.  It probably has some reference to torture of me and the dots put on my body, if not just the DOD's official ownership of "the farm".

When E.H. says he was learning tricks of the spy trade including photography, lock picking, use of disguises, intelligent agent recruitment, and managements exercises, I suppose I was sort of learning similar things at home.  I was given a disposable camera (always with Kodak film, 24 exposures, sometimes more, and later in my pre-teen life Fuji film) and taught the importance of "negatives".  I watched cars being broken into as well, our own cars when the keys were accidentally locked inside (by using straightened out wire clothing hangers), and I saw a car ignition hot-wired once around that time.  I also watched my Mom and Dad both pick locks at our house and they wanted me to see, apparently.  They picked house (door locks) with bent pins, bobby pins, and coat hangers.  It was always done inside our own house but for awhile, it was all the time.  My mother was particularly good at it.  I saw most of the lock picking with various items inside the house by my Mom and my Dad demonstrated how to break into a car, many, many times--always our own vehicles.  One time he hot wired it to start.

GET YOUR DECLASSIFIED INFO HERE!!!!  Afterall, James Cartright with the Pentagon even violated me and wanted to degrade me for the entire Department.

I was also shown how to keep a door from shutting completely, with a paper or something inserted.  If it was a cupboard or something that made a noise of clicking shut, you put in a tiny piece of paper so it couldn't be seen and yet kept it open so when opening further, it didn't make a noticeable loud clicking noise and alert anyone.  This is basically what the U.S. retaliated against me with later, when they wanted to rape me.  They first had my hymen broken at a doctor's offices so there wouldn't be as much blood and then raped me.  This is partly why my parents used to cringe over my mention of the movie "The Indian in the Cupboard".  This is what Jews who work for the U.S. government did to me.

I was taught use of disguises then with masks, particularly full-face ski masks with only eye holes.  When Mt. St. Helen's blew, we then wore medical masks over the lower parts of our faces.  I remember one of my favorite things to chant, that I chanted all the time, was "Ring around the Rosy (pocket full of posies/ashes, ashes/We ALL FALL DOWN!)".  It was my #1 chant that I played games with, and I was always grabbing as many kids as I could, to hold hands in a circle and walk around and chant this and then we'd all yank each other down to the ground at "we all fall down!"  I don't think I made any connection with this chant and that "wow", we really do have a lot of ash now.  Ashes, ashes.  May 18, 1980.   My Daddy blew up the whole mountain for me.  So the CIA got really mad at him and fired him and got revenge by targeting me to fall from a tree and break my arm and be implanted by them.  The tree I was targeted on was an American Mountain Ash tree (with orange berries).  After I broke my arm my Dad cut it down and I didn't want them to cut it down.  The photo taken of me in the dog shirt by the window, with that Mountain Ash tree in the background, was probably shared around.  "How Much Is That Doggie In The Window?"  (sing this Cameo!)

BOOM.

Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.  My Daddy blew up the whole mountain for me.

So of course, later, the DOJ premeditated another rape of me in Portland, Oregon with Jonathan the Jew and his sister Jew "Helen".  But guess what BITCH.  My Daddy blew up a mountain for me.  What did yours do for you?  some God really "listens" to your prayers, is that what your rape was supposed to mean? 

Believe me, Jews hate me, because they are a little "confused" about "God" and why God chooses to avenge me and God is not done.

So anyway, disguises I was learning in 1980, included full-face ski masks that were dark green and covered my entire face except for eye holes.  Then Mt. St. Helens blew up and we wore partial face masks.  At Halloween of course, masks.  As for other disguises, my entire life was a lie and I was the victim at the mercy of the criminal hands of this country.  My best friends, or better friends, have apparently always been internationals.  I'm not exactly friends with any country nor do I know anyone specifically, but anything done to try to help me, hasn't been from this country and this country is holding my son Oliver Garrett hostage and I expect to have him returned.  Then E.H. says there were intelligence recruitment exercises.  Probably the closest thing to this for me, at that time, was that my main friends in 1st grade were Japanese, Egyptian, and Mexican.  Later, I went door to door collecting signatures and pledges for my "jump rope-athon" which proceeds went to charity.  I collected more than most of the kids at the school and got either the grand prize or 1st prize.  I did it by myself, riding my bike and going door to door as a little girl.  No one was with me--no parents and not even my brother.  That was a little later, maybe 1981 or 1982.  In 1980 I was selling cookies and for management exercises, I was given money to create a "bank" to play bank with my brother.  So I had a bank set up and created a store with a price list and then my brother would go "shopping" at my store and I'd do the money exchange.  Then I set up my own lemonaide stand, up by the highway (50 miles an hour country road), and charged 25 cents a cup and sat there every day to sell lemonaide.  No one told me to or suggested it--I just wanted to make money and from there I decided I could make more money writing and selling original stories about the kids on the bus, designed the way they wanted me to write it.  I made bank with that.  Richest independent entrepreneur my age in the entire town.  It was my idea, no one suggested it.  No other kid was making that much money from a self-created project, self-written and designed, at age 7. 

But of course, look at what the U.S. does with talent.  They seek revenge.  They stole my homework.  Their principal beat me at the school.  This country is self-destructive and this is why it's ruined.  There is no way this country deserves to have my son here.  They do not deserve my DNA which is why I refuse to give it to them, or my eggs. 

So these are the "Farm" exercises I was taught as a kid around 1980, even though I was probably tortured to not be psychically gifted.  After I was taught most of these things, then I was just abused and lashed out upon.  I was maybe psychically gifted and then it was poisoned and beaten and tortured or electrocuted out of me.  I feel very confident that this might be the case.  I think the people involved in getting retaliation by using me, torturing me, and then wanting to ruin my life later, wanted to program me, but didn't want to worry about my being able to have power over them to read their minds.  They wanted to read my mind and predict my actions--they didn't want me being psychic to find out this way who was behind my torture.

I remember one time getting a shot to my neck or shoulder and then passing out after a moment of shock and not remembering anything later and that was in Moses Lake, WA.  That was one time I was not an extremely little kid.  Interestingly, a decade later, when I had a U.S. government-triggered "migraine" and went to Tualatin hospital to be treated, the woman doctor there, "Barbara", suggested they try a shot to the back of my head.  Well, I'm not confusing that to one I got in the base of my neck or shoulder, from the back, at my own house.

So, can Katie guess what is in her presents before opening them up?  come on.  I was quizzed over this and if I got it right I was asked why I thought what I did.  If this country had wanted me to be psychic, they wouldn't have tortured and poisoned me when I was a kid.  No one electrocutes a baby or toddler with the outcome desired to be "psychic ability".

E.H. says he had a "dim view" of ex-military students who preferred to solve problems with their muscles rather than their minds.  He brings up "ex-military students" a lot.  I know my Dad is ex-military because he did join them, signed up, and admitted it, and then said he backed out or they let him quit.  He said he joined the U.S. Army and then quit a week or so later.  Maybe he quit because the CIA recruited him instead or did undercover intel for military.  I don't know.

He says they were all grade on a 1-7 scale and 7 was highest and he was in the top 24th percentile, and Graduation was in Dec. 1981.  The only connotation is that my Dad used to say 7 and 3 were his favorite numbers, but that was at a particular time so who knows.

He says he requested the European assignment and got it and that some wanted Soviet, but he didn't care.  He says his dream assignment was in Berne, Switzerland in banking and economic intelligence.   Berne is pronounced "burn".  The flag is red and white.  My connotation to "Berne" or "burn" would be Bernard and Francesca in the movie The Rescuers where they go to an international committee over the case of refugee children.  Another idea would be about being burned, because I was burned as a kid.  I also know that for some reason, I was told to put my hand on a hot or glowing surface.  I know I kept touching the stove top, the coils on a burner, all the time, as a kid and then would say, "Hot!" or "Hot-ah!"  Instead of Mata Hari the U.S. tortured me as a Hot-ah Mary.   I was programmed and taught to have my hand on a surface that glowed or lit up.  My other potential burn experiences were with electrocution and electrodes on my body, as well as acid burns, partly to erase tracks or evidence of scaring from cutting and other burns.

My mother had a large jar of skin whitening cream under the sink in Moses Lake, Wa.  It wasn't oil of olay--it was pharmaceutical-grade and I used to ask her why she had it.  I had freckles and it wasn't used on my freckles.  I don't remember her ever using it on me, or seeing her use it at all but I wondered about it.  Too bad Michael Jackson is dead because he probably had some ideas.  Personally, I would think a skin lightener could be used to even out scars and pigmentation discoloration from torture.  She showed me how to fill in crevases or small nicks in a wall with white "spackle" and smooth it out and then paint over it.  I'm sure the DOD and CIA and Canadians do the same thing with little kids they torture.  Berne (burn) also makes me think of my Dad and Mom buying a property in Burns, Oregon while we lived in Moses Lake, Wa, in about 1990.  My Dad went to Burns a lot and it seems there is a lot of loose-throwing around of the word "burn" "Burns" and "Berne".  The other thing is Switzerland has a red and white flag which reminds me of red and white blocks I saw while I was trained in firearms before the age of 3.  It is also the colors of Canada, a country that tortured me and took money from the CIA to torture me and later torture my son too.  I had a Swiss Army pocketknife in maybe 1994.  Cindy Sandberg, who became a chief of police for WA and then with FBI and D.C., had her entire bedroom decorated in red and white with red hearts as the theme.  I remember how her bedroom was before the big "redesign".  I also remember I had exchanged red candy hearts (they were tiny red non-cinnamon flavored hearts) and things with B.J. Mose when I was in kindergarten, in the "Love Tunnel" in 1979-80 before she changed her room.  I remember one of the things Mrs. Raugust showed me was documentation about my being in what kids called "The Love Tunnel" and thinking, with shock, I hadn't thought any teacher cared if I exchanged Valentines or chocolate eggs with someone.  I remember my mother, or one of the Dicksies, was shocked by the design and I saw her expression and wondered what bothered her so much.  She looked shocked and I could tell she didn't like it and something scared her.  For my part I nodded and said enthusiastically that I liked it but my mother, I could tell, did not.  It was hearts everywhere and every single thing was red and white.  Shirley wanted to be there to see my reaction and then my mother just looked alarmed.  I would say Cindy- Sweeties entire "redesign" was done when I was about 9-11 years old.  I know it was after I broke my arm.  Before it was red and white hearts everywhere, it was a country romantic-girls theme with a ruffled bedspread, country flowers and pillows with lace edging and different colors, like blues and pinks and other colors, not stark red and white.

Maybe Shirley's idea was that now that I was standing in her daughter Cindy's bedroom with hearts all over, that was the "Love Tunnel" I was going to be killed or tortured alive in.  She had hearts on the ceiling, up in mobiles, all over the bedspread, all over the walls, and heart pillows all over the bed.  It was red and white heart overkill.  I remember the conversation about where the money came from.  It was a big deal because they didn't have money to do something like that so the topic came up.  I also remember that while I loved it, I got dizzy and started to black out and maybe that was partly why my Mom got worried.

Shirley looked jubilant.  I liked it and then didn't know why I was feeling dizzy and sick.  My Mom wouldn't let me stay in the room and told me to get out.  I mean, Shirley even had a ceiling mobile hanging there, with hearts.  I guess I possibly got sick or dizzy if the colors triggered any memory of some kind of firearm training and torture related to it, or blood.  I also remember I was surprised it was all in hearts when one of the main things I drew at that time was hearts and I think, but not sure, in kindergarten, when our first day was about finding the "Runaway Gingerbread Man", I think he was eventually found at home by a door with a heart on it.  Then we all got a gingerbread man to eat and I remember I didn't want to eat his head.  I felt weird about eating his head with the smiling face on it first, like it was sacrilege or something so I bit off some hands and feet and things first until it didn't look as much like a person.  I remember I had an aversion to eating things that looked like people.  I didn't want to really eat cookies shaped like people or anything.  Animal cookies, yes.  People cookies, not so much.
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UPDATED 8/21/13

I just got a ride back from the store from my Dad, and the thing is, because there are two of them, I don't know which one did what when I was a kid.  I did think though, that it was possibly my Dad (one of the Roberts) that gave me the shot to the back of my neck/shoulder.  I was thinking it was my Mom but she yanked the earring from my ear, which I remember distinctly, and talking to her about it and showing her the line caused from it, and then the shot was a different thing and possibly from my Dad.  I thought of this when I was in the truck with him and he said don't sit on anything and there was some box there and he said something about it being hot today.  So it made me think about when I sat on a curling iron and burned myself, but that's not what some of the marks on my thigh and rear are of.  I can see the difference, and it's on both sides, not one side.  When I used to put my hand on the stove burner, at our house, I remember I did it all the time, out of some subconscious reflex to touch the burner, some kind of coil shaped round thing that lit up or was orange-red.

I also had an instinct to hit something like a button above my head, where a visor to the car mirror on passenger's side would be, while walking and noticing cars like boxes.  I'm not sure what the red stove was about, with my touching it with the flat of the palm of my hand, and then being burned all the time, but I also had a feeling or instinct that is subconscious, of hitting something above my head with the palm of my hand.  Possibly it was a round red button or something.  I did this with my right hand, not my left hand, and at home with the burner, it was always my right hand, not my left.

When I was forced to be "hand-printed" at a U.S. federal site in Knoxville, TN, they forced me to put my hand on top of a glowing box that had a blue tone to it and took my hand print and I remember it was all very sadistic.  Those individuals knew about my past history and then they were putting me in a clear cage box to observe me and how I responded to a U.S. government psychic that was demonstrating her abilities for them.  This is what I mean by repetitive government "overlay" where they do something criminal and then attempt, in various methods, to confuse what was actually done by replacing it with something similar but innocuous.

It is also possible that on pg. 34 where E.H. brings up "addressing that shot", which I see with the blocks as more about gunfire, it is possible he was also mentioning reference to the one shot I remember getting to the back of my neck that was unexpected at my own house in Moses Lake, and if it was my Dad, possibly this is why he says something about a second or third rate man, which could imply a man possibly that was not the first with his name, but a "Jr" (i.e., Bob Garrett Sr would be Bob Garrett 1, Bob Garrett Jr. would be Bob Garrett 2 unless there is a twin and then it would be 2 or 3).

I know whatever it was that was round and red or orange-red, that I was instructed to push or hit with the palm of my hand so many times, was something done to me so much that even knowing a burner was "hot" did not instantly override the impulse to hit it because of how many times and how long I was forced to do this.

I also know I was supposed to hit some kind of a red button over or above my head, and then run, and then when I quit I was supposed to hit that button with my hand another time.

I also know the smell of coffee still bothers me sometimes, but mostly in the summer, and with connection to being near my parents.  I know the "vacations" to Canada were in the summer and this is when it was most possible to torture me when I was past age 3 and I remember the long drives there and when I felt most sick over coffee was in the car with my parents drinking it and the context of being in motion, and my parents there, and the smell of coffee, made me want to throw up.  I asked them not to get coffee or bring in the car all the time and when I was older I opened the window for fresh air because I felt sea-sick.

I also think Mossad was involved in some way, in torturing me.  Too many of the Jews know what was done to me and then targeted me again later in my life for them not to know or have been directly involved.  I also know there is something to do with Jews that involves either me or Kate Middleton, regarding both Jews and being adopted.  I was given the impression, or it was hinted, that either she or I was adopted and not the actual biological child of the parents, and that someone Jewish was involved, either as the adoptor or with regard to the origins of the adoptee.
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UPDATED 8/22/13

pg. 39.  E.H. says he began working in the German offices for the CIA, or with plans to spy in that capacity and then after he began work he was "head-hunted" by another officer who worked for the Soviet division.  I am not sure how this works at the CIA--if one officer has to get permission from another to try to change someone's assignment, but I suppose I could say for me, someone started stealing my homework at the school I went to.

Obviously, since I am connected to, and related to E.H., it was some sort of retaliatory move.  Why punish me, as a kid, by stealing my homework from me, unless it was over this or later suggestion that secrets were stolen?

I don't know how it works at the CIA, because in the corporate world, "head-hunting" as they call it, or I was told it's called, happens all the time with different businesses, but within an organization, maybe someone got permission or didn't and maybe it's not required.  So he says he was invited to McLean, VA to be recruited to Soviet spying when he was already working as an Eastern German spy.  If it wasn't acceptable, the CIA would have just fired him from the start.  If it was described as a career opportunity and he was told he could have any position he wanted after the Soviet division, and his heart was set on Switzerland, then if he thought he'd get Switzerland later, this could have been his reason.  However, he says he did not know, at the time, that the "Plan B" was to set him up in some way, or at least he says he didn't realize what was in store until later.  Another thing that I would say correlates for me or that perhaps some tried to use as a kind of "joke" against me, was that after this book was out, in 1995, I had no idea about it, but when I worked at CTR Business Systems, having survived another assassination attempt against me, I later had people trying to "head-hunt" me from there, which is where I learned the word.  It's possible it was just a political game and joke against me at the time, with others having knowledge of my background and thinking it was funny to toy with my life between insiders, knowing I didn't know myself, what was going on.  I would say that for me as a kid, however, I was punished by the United States with having my homework stolen from me and being downgraded when I was a better student than what they were promoting instead of me.  It wasn't like I was a normal kid, getting a fair shot at school after what abuse the U.S. had already aimed at me.  I was deliberately put at a disadvantage to my natural abilities, to the point of stealing from me so others could feel better about themselves or their other kids.

I think when E.H. says Soviet division was explained as a rung-up for a career move, he believed it at the time and then discovered it wasn't later, and it was too late to do anything about it.  Possibly it was because the CIA was still testing him and making interpretations off of his susceptibilities, possibly it was a move by an insider to set him up to have the CIA or FBI later use this to question his susceptibilities, and potentially, he is referring to something else entirely.

E.H. writes that he was transferred to the Soviet desk in February 1982.  This is about the same time I had math teachers transferring me from high math to second-high math, after first interfering with my schooling by discouraging me from my abilities.  I was the top math student and at home my parents began telling me math was useless and pointless and no girl needed to learn it past basic math.  I never cheated in my studies, except for one time in 1st grade, I cheated on one spelling test and cried because I felt bad about it and told the teacher I had done it and it was over the word "February".  I wrote it on my hand or foot and looked at it during the test, but later I told the teacher and she made an example of me saying how honest I was.  I believe I wrote it on my foot, not my hand.  So my connotation with E.H. being transferred to the Soviet desk in February 1982 might be that in 1st grade I cheated one time and confessed, over that word.  I was the #1 student in all of my studies, and in high reading and high math.  By late second grade and especially 3rd grade, I was being coached to disregard math.  It wasn't a little peer pressure--it was use of the people who raised me my whole life, who had the most influence over me and whose approval I sought most, that began drilling this into my mind.  Why was I studying math, what was the point, math is stupid and pointless past basic arithmetic, "I never had to learn GEOMETRY and ALGEBRA", "I never needed geometry or algebra for anything"...on and on, every day.  My math homework too, "Sorry, I don't know how to do it" from my Dad so more parental support with the 2 month homework help I was given right before they squashed me out of math completely to be downgraded.  I think now the only reason my Dad suddenly made a brief appearance to seem to go over my math homework with me, was to suggest without him, I failed.  If he didn't know "how to do it" anymore and quit helping me, they wanted to suggest the reason I wasn't doing as well was because of this, not because of psychological pressure to have me think math was pointless and I wasn't important for being the best student they had in it.  He was only helping me, or coaching me with my math for about 2 months anyway, so it wasn't as if I hadn't made the grades on my own.  To me, I thought his sudden presence was an encouragement to me, and it was emotional support.  For him and the rest of the U.S. "people", it was a way to briefly encourage me in the middle of their pressure to quit, and then to withdraw all support and emotional contact that I craved, in order to have me psychologically drop to the point of feeling math was worthless, being discouraged, and then getting moved down to the "second-high" math while the U.S. chose to spend their time and money on kids who were not as talented intellectually, who they favored for political reasons alone.  This wasn't done to me until E.H. moved from the East German desk to the Soviet one.

In May 18, 1980 He joined the CIA and Mt. St. Helens erupted with volcanic ash all over my hometown.  "It's snowing!" I said.

In February 1982 E.H. moved from the East German desk to the Soviet one.

May 31, 1982, I was targeted by my own parents to fall from the Mountain Ash tree in our yard, on Memorial Day, for a "stragetic arms reduction", and broke my arm, and E.H. was fired from the CIA.  On May 2, 1983, the CIA forced E.H. to resign after a polygraph they gave him on April 29, 1983, which is the day Katie Middleton chose for her British "royal" wedding day decades later in 2011.

The effort to reduce my abilities, which were probably already reduced by earlier childhood and infancy torture, was increased dramatically by the time I was in 3rd grade (1982-1983).

At the same time that my own parents (Bob and Dicksie) were involved in psychological efforts to have me slip academically, I was having my expectations about the law enhanced and then crushed with their reinforcing the idea to me that it was "illegal for someone else" to spank me right before they knew the Principal of my school was going to take me into his private offices and beat me.  The U.S.'s coaching and psychological abuse efforts against me as a child to reduce my academic abilities and scores on report cards, was intense and extreme.  It wasn't a few comments here and there, or coincidental.  It was systematic ritual abuse used on a child who was already vulnerable to U.S. programming and abuse by the U.S.  I remember both my Mom and Dad participating in it.

It was sort of like later, when one of them, one of the Dicksies, yanked an earring to tear my ear lobe down as I was walking down the hall, to then when I complained about it, having my Dad (I guess one of the Bobs) approached me when I was walking down the same hall, and giving me a shot to the base of my neck so I passed out.  I don't remember anything after the shot, just the look on his face, and my shock and then nothing.  They both went for the same approximate spot, and in the same location (the hall) so it was some kind of a weird CIA trick, in my opinion, to attempt to either muddle something or to reinforce a punishment against me for talking about the earring so then getting a retaliatory injection in the same spot later.  It was also counterintuitive with the shot because it was my mother I saw with shots (for dogs and vaccinations) all the time, not my Dad.  Bob-ara shot me.

Also, the entire idea of the psychological emotional "climax" and then attempt to have a kid discouraged and fail, was used at the same time my school teacher was introducing the idea of "plot" "climax" and story elements.  First my mother tried to break me down with repeated suggestions, and voiced disapproval of me, to "prime" me.  This is over something I was good at and got awards at in school.  So first it was normal praise from a teacher, and then being primed to be discouraged by my mother in the same thing to break me down.  It went on almost every day, for months and it was so insistent, of course I remember the expression on my mother's face and how she did it, staring at me while standing across from the refrigerator in the kitchen.  Often, next to where the food was.  Months and then all of a sudden, I did it all on my own, usually getting it done at school and my Dad says bring it home and we'll work on it together.  So suddenly, this special treat of getting one-on-one time with my DAD!  I sure felt special, bringing my homework to the kitchen table, just my math homework, and having an excuse, any excuse, to be paid attention to by my Dad.  Even if I didn't need the help, I got to sit by my Daddy!!!!  So for maybe 1-2 months or less, I brought it to his "desk" and we sat down together until he said, "I can't help you anymore" and refused to work with me on it.  So the prime was to discourage me and say how pointless and stupid it was for girls to learn math, the climax was the excitement of having my Dad suddenly spend time with me over it, even if I didn't need it, and then the drop was to withdraw all affection, time, and help, and then reinforce the idea again of  "Girls don't need math anyway."  "No one uses math in REAL life except for addition and subtraction".  "What are you going to do with geometry?!!!"  I still remember one glimpse I had though, once, from my mother, of disappointment or regret that what the U.S. was doing to me was "working" and I could tell, at least one time, she wanted me to fight back.  On the other hand, when she was discouraging me from math, my Dad was never home.

How was I supposed to fight back against THAT?  After the U.S. tortured me???? as an infant and kid all those years?  This country is nothing but shits.  It wasn't like they were testing a teenager--they were deliberately ruining the life of an 8-9 year old.  Throw in beatings, food or affection deprivation, and other triggers, and what else was this country expecting?  I did, however, once think at that time my mother regreted it while my Dad didn't, with the math "lesson" and manipulation.

At that time was about the time they quit giving me instruction or letting me watch them pick locks and do other things too.  I could never pick a lock like my Mom, though I wasn't taught formally and only watched.  I couldn't believe the things she could use to get it open.  The other thing I might remember as correlating to the time E.H. got "training" at the CIA "Farm" was when he mentioned they had a bar there.  I don't ever remember my parents using wine or alcohol but there was a bottle of vermouth that showed up in the fridge that was left half full and inside of a brown paper sack and about that same time, maraschino cherries turned up in the fridge and I used to pull them out and eat them.  It was maraschino cherries without stems, and I think it was probably another cover to conceal my memory of maybe hitting a red button all the time while trained to run and shoot at targets.  I was taught to say "please" all the time at my house, around the time I was learning to say "please pass the peas" (I loved green peas).  One day, at my school, some kid, a girl with blond hair coached me to say, "Tell them, 'pretty please, with a cherry on top?'" so the next time I asked for something from my Dad I said, "Please????  pllleeeeease??!" and finally said, "Pretty please with a cherry on top?"  It was possibly Summer, this kid my Mom babysat that said this, and I saw her get what she wanted saying it once, so I said it.  My Dad looked surprised and gave me what I asked for.  So then I was using that phrase, "Pretty please--with a cherry on top?" no matter what it was.  It didn't even have to be about ice cream.  I just thought "with a cherry on top" was the magic phrase.  When I said this about ice cream, my Dad rewarded me and I got banana splits as well.  We started making banana splits at our house, with the maraschino cherries on top of the whipped cream.  Later, when I used it for other things (not ice cream) it was this look of "I'm tired of that game" and discouraged and I never said it anymore.  This was all done when Summer was babysat or earlier, so it was before 1982. I would say maybe 1981. 

Someone was also giving us a lot of helium balloons around this time and later.  We got helium balloons every week and I never knew why but expected it, and when we didn't get them anymore I was surprised and asked why.  They were regular balloons, not foil or alumninum ones, but filled with helium.  When I asked why we didn't get them anymore I think I was told they got rid of the machine or it broke down or something.  We had helium balloons in rubber balloon egg shaped (oval) balloons or round, with curled ribbon strings every week.  When one went flat, we got another.

Also, back to E.H., from approximately his time in McLean, I was being falsely accused of being a slob, and told to "clean up this mess!" and "Clean it up!  We mean CLEAN."  I was a more orderly and cleanly little girl than some, and probably about average or better.  I even enjoyed organizing things and changed my room around often and sorted out my drawers and cabinets.  I was also taught to make my bed every morning which I did most of the time, and not always.  I lined up my slippers by my bedside.  They were never tossed casually into some corner.  They were lined up.  Whenever I cleaned my room, and made my bed, the room was never cleaned to my satisfaction without my slippers lined up there, which I don't know that my mother really liked much.  I also had to have my pillow case facing a specific direction, for myself.  I never had tons of things shoved under my bed like my brother did.  If my parents told us both "Clean your rooms!" and they were both a mess, from playing, my brother would say he was done in 15 minutes and I wouldn't be done for an hour or more.  His solution was to shove everything on his floor in plain view, under his bed and behind things in his closet.  My solution was to unearth even the liners in my dresser drawers and clean them with soap and water or windex, re-organize all the items, put all random objects into a pile in my room, and sort them out thoroughly.  I was a consummate cleaner, and he hid things.  So when my Mom would approve his room as being clean and complain about mine, I used to say he just threw things under his bed, which he did.  I was technically the neater one in the family.  The only thing I did that was untidy was put my gum on a bedpost to save, after my Dad told me to start doing this.  I thought it was gross at first, but I tried it and did it and that way I didn't wake up with gum in my hair as occurred at times.  I was going to bed with a piece of gum most nights.  All of my reading that I did in the summers and after school, was done while I laid on my bed and I couldn't focus on an unmade bed so it was always straightened out first.

The idea that I was inherently not a clean person was something the U.S. attempted to re-arrange.  It began the exact same time I was being coached not to excel in math, and deprived of food, which was all around 1982-1983 or so.  Later, after coaching me to not be clean, my mother was going into my room saying it wasn't clean and that she was going to clean it for me.  So she was then going back into my room and cleaning it, after I was being told not to be as clean as I naturally was.  I was a perfectionist and to try to change that, I was told to be messier and then later accused of being an outright slob.  All of the "cleaning" stuff came up about the time E.H. was talking to someone from McClean.

E.H. says the Soviet division was not as social as the European one he'd been assigned to and says it was a "cold, sober" place.  I can say at that time in my life I was made to freeze, and there was no drinking.  Even water was scarce.

We went from having people over for dinner parties to having no one over, ever.  If I met anyone, it was at their house and they did not come to my house.  I was encouraged to "play over there" and not bring them over.  I began to develop a fear over how clean my room was and unless my room was perfect, I didn't want anyone over.  So then my mother was saying something like this, that the house wasn't clean enough and she didn't want company over, but this was why I didn't have kids over, and previously, she'd never made any comments about having to have things clean. 

He says the managers of the Soviet division were bitter and some seemed straight out of the White Army Corp.  I don't know what the White Army Corp is so I have no idea.  He says they suspected everyone and everything.  My only connotation was that I was suspected of breaking everything or ruining it.  If anything happened to anything, I was asked, "Did you do this?" and if something was missing, "Did you take that?"  and "Don't let Cameo touch it" or "I don't want you anywhere near this" or "Can't you do anything right?"  "So how come the lawnmower only breaks down when YOU'RE supposed to mow the lawn?"  "What happened to the lawnmower?"  "Dog-gone-it, get out of the way."  My response was usually, "I didn't DO it!"  "I don't know!  I didn't do it!"  I became the first one to say very quickly when accusations were made between me and my brother, "I didn't do it."  Then I was told, "If you didn't, who DID" or "Right.  You never do ANYTHING wrong." So when I was asked, "What happened to the lawnmower?" I usually said, "I don't know.  It backfired."  I was asked if it was filled with gasoline and all of that, and oil, and I did these things, but then it started to backfire all the time and sometimes, wouldn't start at all, or would start and then break down in the middle.  At first, I was really upset over it and then, I got a little inside smile thinking, "This keeps breaking down and I'm not even doing anything!"

pg. 40. E.H. says when something went wrong in Moscow, it was always blamed on the KGB.  Where I lived, everything was blamed on me.  He says he was given DAOC, Denied Areas Operations Course, which was training on how to escape surveillance.  If I think about my life here it would be that I was sneaking around our house all the time.  I had been asking for a doctor kit for awhile too, and I finally got one.  I don't know if the acronym DAOC was pronounced "dock" but I did get a doctor's kit, in a case, at this time.  I wasn't allowed to keep it though.  I had for several months and then it was taken away from me.  With the doctor's kit, it had a bunch of doctor's things like a plastic stethoscope and ear checker, tongue depressor, eye checker, and then some tools and bandages and things.  I possibly had some thought of kid's "play" in a "thermometer" in the "other" place but I never did that.  What I remember was that I practiced bandaging up and checking my brother, in my room and our living room.  I do remember telling him I was cutting him open and pretending I had a knife to cut into him for "operations".  I think that was about the time my Mom took my doctor's kit away.  I pretended with my hand and with a butter knife.  I know I said some things out loud like, "Okay,  now I'm going to cut you open."   I remember I always checked him by telling him to lie down on the "doctor table" (the floor).  I never used a knife as a weapon or pretended or had an instinct however--it was only for "operations".  I know we had steak knives that cut really well and we all ate steak until suddenly just my parents did and then no one did and our steak knives were gone.  I said, "What happened to all of our steak knives?!"

The other things at that time were since we were told to go to bed at 7 p.m., and I wanted to stay up, I would sneak out of bed and crouch around a corner, and then either stand there, or sit, or lie down to listen to them whispering.  I quickly realized I needed to be able to get on my feet in case they heard me so I didn't lie down there often and was in a position to run at any moment.  Sometimes I listened to them talk, other times I took a book out to read by their light from around the way, and then I also practiced sneaking in and out of my brother's bedroom.  My mother would say dramatically, "Shh!  I think I hear Cameo!" "Cameo, are you out of bed?"  I would say just about every single night I snuck out of bed.  This continued for years, and wasn't just one season or one year.  I was also seeing the doctor all the time then, for my broken arm.  So I was back and forth at the hospital and the clinic in Moses Lake, WA, about my broken arm from the time it was broken May 31, 1982 and a few months after as they kept looking and deciding whether or not to give me a 'mechanical' arm or if it was healing in the sling.  When they did my operation, they put 2 metal pins in and then they waited to see how it was healing because they were talking to me about giving me a robotic arm from the elbow-down or a partly "assisted" mechanical arm somehow. 

Another thing I think I was possibly trained in, with the firearms training, is checking the bridges.  I remembered today when I went for a quick walk and turned around after crossing a bridge, and then went the other direction, on the other side of the freeway across the bridge and I saw 2 people coming up from side I'd been on as I crossed over the bridge on the second side.  I went across the road, in front of them, over the bridge on that side again and then to the other side and over the bridge, and flipped a peace sign to a van that was oncoming with people who looked like hippies in it (after I crossed over in front of the 2 behind me).  I realized that I had circled a bridge, in a hunt-surveillance mode.  I had looked over the side of the one the second time and then sensed to go to the other side and then back and I could sense I'd done it before, and that it was "checking the bridges".  Checkmate!

Basically, you walk down one side of the bridge and cross to the other side, walk down the other side, and then cross back over to the first side and then to the other side continuing on.  The shape of that circle on the bottom of a safety pin is the full circle you make, and it's a safety check. 

Then, after I did the safety check, when I next saw a sand dollar on the ground, I didn't pick it up.  You don't pick up those things if they're not yours.  It might be an explosive.  So as I was walking along the road, like I said, there was this sand dollar on the ground and I saw it, in that context, as something on a "field".

Later, of course, at the beach, I was encouraged to find and pick up sand dollars but there are many ways the U.S. and Canada create layers to cover over what they trained you for or how they tortured or abused you, and also, sometimes they want to reduce the "trigger" factor so they go over it with other things. 

Potentially, I checked the bridge and avoided the explosive in the field, after reading about how the CIA was always thinking every wrong thing was from the KGB.  KG is close to KT too ("kay-jee" and "kay-tee") so it is possible later when I was hanging out with Katie Fallon, it was with something in mind, with regard to training for E.H.

Anyway, after I "checked the bridge" and avoided the "landmine" I saw the pin or clip on the road next.  Right before I got to the landmine (or sand dollar) I also remembered a feeling of gripping a gun with my left hand.  Whatever kind of training field I was on, or site I was at, it wasn't a homespun militia place--it was classified government.  What I find disturbing is that the U.S. has had all this information about me and used it against, encouraging their employees to abuse and rape me as well.  For example, Mike Tancer, drugging my drink and then dropping coins behind himself for me to pick up and mocking me over it as he continued to do so--he had access to information about me that he used for purposes of publicly degrading me.

E.H. says their training was so demanding they had to give up their pet dog ("Whiskey", a German shepherd they brought back from Colombia).   I am not sure when my guinea pig "Squiggy" disappeared, but around this time or earlier.  I didn't get a kitten until after I had broken my arm, later.

E.H. also says after they completed this training for operations, he was considered to be "in the pipeline" and got the desk for the Soviet.  As for me, the U.S. had possibly wired me further with my arm surgery but I believe there were plants from when I was an infant-kid as well.  However, my arm operation gave them inside access to my arm again, for pins and any other wires and "surveillance technology" at a time he and Mary were taking surveillance ops at DOAC (doc).  Then my Dad ran a wire through our house to "pipe music in" through speakers that were installed in my bedroom, and then went out to the living room where it was controlled.

When I was upset about something, he'd pipe in Maranatha Christian music or other Christian music.  I liked Maranatha on a normal day, but it was deliberately forced into my room, to be played, when I didn't want to listen to the singing.  They used to try to drown me out with it.  I might be crying for example, in my room, and I'd hear, "Quit your crying!" and then someone would turn the Christian music up in my room and force me to stay in there.  This is the main connotation I might have for this time, with the idea of a pipeline, would be my arm (the strategic arm reduction of breaking my arm trained for use in firearms to be a "surveillance arm" instead).

(I would seriously love to talk to someone who went through the same training I did as a kid, who has realized some of the subconscious programming done before age 3 and who was involved, and what operation name they were using for the various things, in B.C. and the U.S.  I mean, I'm sure I'm not the only toddler who was taught how to "check a bridge" and there must be others who remember training, like with the button overhead, or range and firing, and putting a hand on something that glowed or was lit up--not just a few times, constantly.)

E.H. states he began language studies at Georgetown U in Washington and continued in fall of 1982 in Arlington, VA.  He says it was a difficult language and if he leaves Russia it slips away.  I cannot remember when I picked up Russian to study, but I was probably age 11 I think.  I could have been younger though, because by age 11 I got my own books and things and at the time I studied, I was going with my parents and picking out books I wanted while we were there.  So possibly I was 8-9 but no older than 11. 

He says by January 1983 he was finished with most of his language training.  For me, this is when I had learned most of the basic English language and writing, with cursive writing lessons completed and moving on to creative works.  I remember being criticized over my handwriting, which wasn't bad at all.  My mother would praise my brother in front of me, for his print, and then rail on me for having "sloppy handwriting" and this was around the time I was suddenly a "slob" and "kept a messy room" and that kind of thing.  I was horribly confused as to why my handwriting was deemed to be so horrid and my brother's was okay, when I could see with my own eyes that there was no great difference, and then I was hearing too, "For a boy, it's very good."  I specifically recall a lot of attention made to the letter "x" in cursive and I thought I made very good ones, and I was told to repeat, repeat, and work on the "exes".  I also remember when I broke my arm, I had to use my right hand and I had been using my left.  I had thought I was taught to write with my right hand, but I am pretty sure I first was using my left hand because then when I tried to still write with my left, after my arm was broken, I wasn't able to and had to use my right.  Alternately, I was taught to write with my right and used my left for everything else.  I don't exactly remember.  I know when I am looking at Russian on a keyboard for language and using my right and left hand both to type in letters, my left hand moves to the left more quickly than my right and takes off first as well, if I'm not thinking about it but realize it later.

I was also thinking, where he says if he leaves Russia for any extended time, the language slips away, I broke my arm from my hands becoming suddenly slippery with sweat on a tree branch outside the window. 

If E.H. really had a "fall" inside his own house that killed him, in 2004, if it wasn't accidental but deliberate, it was possibly to say the fall occurred in his own house, i.e., where he should have been safe, he was not safe.  Which I mean to say, could have been symbolic for something occurring in the U.S., not Russia specifically.

pg. 40.  He does mention he was chosen for a "ultra-high" priority assignment.  This makes me think of MK Ultra but it's just a word.

pg. 41.  He says the word "sensitive" again, for the second time, closely together.  On page 33 he talks about a "government bidding" and mentions it twice.  Then on pg. 40 he writes about a "sensitive, ultra-high priority assignment" and then pg. 41, about "For this sensitive job, the CIA wanted somebody that the KGB would never suspect".

What comes to my mind is that when I was crying all the time, I was told I was "sensitive" and that I had a "soft heart".  I even had music piped into my room and played loudly to drown out my crying.  Obviously, it was true I was "sensitive" myself because only that kind of a person would feel so guilty about cheating on one small word for a spelling test, they'd burst into tears and confess over it right after getting the winning grade.

E.H. says the CIA was looking for someone with a "squeaky-clean" resume and put themselves in the shoes of the KGB and asked "Who would you least suspect?"

Most people would least expect someone in their own family.  Right?  KGB or not.  He says the answer was Ed Howard, the idealistic former Peace Corps volunteer.  When he transitions from talking about a sensitive assignment to "For this sensitive job, the CIA wanted someone the KGB would never suspect" it sort of sounds like negotiation for an assignment to do a "hit" doesn't it?  Like a "job"--a bump-off, a whacking, a "job". 

This is after he repeats his comment about "a government bid" at the start of this chapter, a chapter entitled "The CIA:  Not Just a Bad Career Move". 

Someone "squeaky clean" would be highly honest or appear ethical and without a record against them, or it could possibly mean someone Jewish (i.e., "clean" vs "unclean").  My thought would be, if he is suggesting I was blamed for everything, if something went wrong, like the KGB, and is suggesting I am the sensitive person, and that there was a sensitive assignment and the CIA had a "sensitive" job they wanted done by someone no one would suspect, why does he say then, a few paragraphs later that his real problems were going to come from his own kind?  His own kind, is close to saying, his own "kin".  It's almost like he is suggesting someone in my own family negotiated a government contract or bid, to monitor me and then put a hit on me.  Or use me and then put a hit on me.

pg. 42.  He says they wanted someone mature, with international experience.  He says some said a of a former drug user "the CIA should never have given me the sensitive, Moscow assignment."  The CIA didn't think it was unusual and he says both the CIA and FBI allow alcohol abuse.  He says his background was perfect, his training results outstanding, and his former drug use not unusual, and this is why he was picked to be a "deep-cover" intelligence officer at the U.S. embassy in Moscow.'  His cover was as second-secretary.  He says he worked with the State Dept. and they didn't know he was CIA.

He says he began to dread going to the Soviet desk in Langley and wanted to transfer to the State Department after his 2 years in Moscow were over.  He says his wife noticed the difference in the two groups too.

I would say here, I would think of his mention of noticing the difference in two things.  In this chapter, I noticed twice he mentioned "government bidding" and then "sensitive assignment" and then "for this sensitive job, CIA wants someone no one will suspect".  Also, I'm not sure what he implies but the only difference on pg. 33 is he adds "big" to the second statement, and then when mentioning 2 cafeterias, the first is for "known" employees and second is for "unknown".  Then he mentions "sensitive, ultra-high assignment", and then "sensitive job" and "Moscow" interchangeable for sensitive assignment.  He states on pg. 42 his son Lee was born, a "big" event and that then many "big" things were happening all at once. He says he was leading an uneasy "double" life with the State Dept. and his normal friends in Washington and then they had a new member. I'm sure he trying to signify something but haven't studied it.  I don't know about an acroynm for his title, but anyway, TCIA: NJBCM, TCIA: NJABCM or? CIA: NJBCM.  Not sure. He says with certainty he had heard horror stories about the KGB and their harassment of U.S. diplomats but discovered the problems came from his own kind.

 I just looked up something about Edward Howard and found a shoddy shack-man by the name of Robert Eringer who claimed a Russian confirmed Howard gave secrets to them.  First of all, no Russian is going to talk just because they "don't know" the person is an FBI agent.  Secondly, all of the FBI I've met are criminals and liars.  I've never met one non-criminal or ethical one, ever.  He knew he was a reporter and wouldn't have given that information to him, knowing it would be public.  So this man had his own motives for lying.  Not only that, he put up lies claiming Edward Howard's information had "plugged up leaks" for Russia, and this FBI man disseminated this to everyone in 1998, which then led to my being attacked and raped and having the FBI premeditate further crimes against me.  So when Chris Dabney is making disgusting comments like "here's another one in the hole", we know what kind of FBI hate crime he is promoting.  More than half of the U.S. employees who raped me are Jewish.

pg. 43.  Those Wiggly Lines
E.H. describes the polygraph.  I have several associations with this.  The first would be that it was about this time he was taking the polygraph that we went out into the country, collected a bunch of pollywogs for a large opaque light green Tupperware bowl we had, and watched them grow into frogs.  It was probably before he ever had a polygraph we got the pollywogs but I remember it was a big deal.

I think he is also making a point about sperm, because he first wrote about having a new son and a double life and then the next thing he writes about is polygraph, and with the words "those wiggly lines" above it, when I said out loud while still in high school one day, "broccoli looks like sperm" and said the wiggly lines in the pot looked like it.  I then later wrote a poem about it, years later.  But my comment was while I was in high school, in Sherwood.  So the wiggly line after writing about a new son and then mentioning the polygraph, like pollywogs, which have heads and tails like sperm, is not "out there".  I think it's what he was deliberately transitioning from.  Most likely, if he got fired from the CIA it was probably over the "unknown" children and someone bringing it up to the CIA, although that wouldn't explain how some of the kids may have been government "bids" or negotiated first, unless it was highly secret.

Anyway, he then describes what a polygraph is and I had one myself when I was a kid.  In fact, I think I had more than one but two scenes come to mind, one at an office with some stranger and one at my house informally with my Dad.  If that's correct, what I might remember with my Dad, I didn't have the tube and all of those extra things and it was a regular looking box.  It had paper that came out of it and a lever that moved and was portable and it was on the carpet of our house in Moses Lake, WA when it was brought out and laid down.  He had a tape recorder, which I was familiar with, but he also had a polygraph machine.  There was a larger stereo system, built-in, and larger speakers, with a cassette player and record player and then I had a little record player or used the one that played 45s and then there was a portable small, flat cassette recorder, and then separately from this, a larger bulkier machine in a boxy rectangular shape and it was a polygraph machine.  It had regular paper that came out of it.  I was fascinated by it and liked it and then one day we didn't "play" with it anymore.  Once we had a telescope in our living room too but that was later.  The polygraph was when I was maybe 5 years old or younger, probably younger, and the telescope was when I was in school.  We got to keep the paper from our polygraphs and then usually it disappeared somewhere but we were allowed to hold onto it.  I do know it was done while we were seated at our kitchen table one time, in the kitchen.  There was something with reels on it too, like movie reels but smaller and I don't remember any camera, just the reels of tape and they were larger than cassette tapes, about the size of the little records you could buy, the 45s or whatever.  I just looked it up and it's called reel-to-reel or open-reel.  There was one of those.

However, with his description of the formal polygraph, with all of the apparatus including electrodes, it sounds like the electrical chair I was forced to sit in where I was literally electrocuted by the U.S. and Canadian government.  My mother never liked wearing a shoulder strap seat-belt and I think now it's either because she was also briefly tortured perhaps, or saw it done and it brings back bad memories.  I also have seen deep cuts in my Dad's hands and acid burn marks, so I know some things have been done to them.  The polygraph described from the CIA with the electrodes on the temples and places to conduct "electricity" and to measure "sweating" was something done to me but there was a lot more to the torture of me than that.  I think I maybe witnessed people dying from it or their brains permanently fried for good and contortions and twitching of their bodies.  One of the things this horrific kid "Patrick" did when I was in 2nd grade, was not just act like a "snake" on the ground, he enacted a severe out-of-control twitching and contortions and choking sounds like he was dying after he first did this humping the ground kind of thing.  It scared me and because I was the kid who had witnessed torture of humans and suffering, this was done at the school to traumatize me, after their principal had beat me privately in his offices.  First he undid his belt and when my eyes got wide from some kind of signal he made that made me think he was going to force me to do something to him sexually, he got up and went to the yard stick and thrashed me with it.  He actually did the same thing, from his chair first, that my fiancé later tried to do with me, or used to try to trigger me to do something to him, in Wenatchee, WA.  So it means Alvaro Pardo, who works for the FBI, was part of my abuse and had information about me the FBI continually used to terrorize me with.  What was even more sadistic and sick, is that the Wenatchee music station decided to play the Bette Midler song "From A Distance", a song about the "world" at that time, when he was doing this (Alvaro, Katie Middleton's pal) which was the same music we were singing in my class when the school principal was beating me, along with, I believe, Michael Jackson's "We are the world".  What Alvaro did was prove he is a U.S. government criminal that took taxpayer money to sexually assault me and hold me hostage and degrade me.  Not only that, he utilized triggers to traumatize me as well, and I believe he is a Jew and if not, I know most of his friends are.

I am positive Patrick's parents knew of my history or they would not have coached their son to do that in class, and ask to do it, knowing I'd see this.  It wasn't a "seizure" pretense...it was of torture I had witnessed and been exposed to myself.  Not only that the demonstrations and demands and positions of both the elementary school principal and Alvaro Pardo were identical and I recognized it as part of a ritualistic abuse I was forced into as a very young kid, which then FBI-UK Alvaro Pardo was exploiting.  I also know Robin Bechtold did the same thing but I didn't expect it because I had been trained to trust him after a couple of years.  These are men who work for the U.S. government and were paid to degrade me and rape me.  It has also involved entire communities of people who have made their living off of abuse and torture of kids.

pg. 43 still...

So anyway, the polygraph I remember, we used on the carpet, and while sitting on the carpet, not in a chair.  It was more casual.  Possibly later once or twice at a table but I remember being seated on the carpet.  When I was literally electrocuted, I believe I was in a specialized electrocution chair and I remember more of a hospital environment and there was some kind of box or kit that scared the living daylights out of me and made me want to run, because I remembered, subconsciously, how horrific the torture was.  I think there were knives and all kinds of things.  A whole torture kit.

pg. 44.  "lie detector".  I remember it was called this, and not polygraph around us, I think.  Maybe both words were used but the one to excite our imagination was "lie detector".

pg. 45.  the top of this page he says he asked "shouldn't I have a polygraph?" and he didn't need to remind them but did.  If he hadn't, he could have gotten by.  This comment is very familiar to me but I am not sure what I said something similar over.  I would have to think about it.
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UPDATED 8/23/13

Before taking up the rest of this, I am under the impression there is a "class" being taught, or caught, involving "students" that sit there and tell their instructor what they think I am going to do next.  It's an adult man who is not my Dad and there are younger girls or young women younger than he is (he's over 30).  These women sit around and say things like "I'm going to Chinatown" (yesterday, over what I was going to make for dinner, right before I made one serving of sweet & sour sauce) and "She's reading his energy" (over a psychic ad that was going to turn up in the newspapers I put down for the guinea pigs this morning:  "psychic palm & tarot card readings" in springfield) and it's not about their own lives but about things I turn over in my house and their predictions of whether or not it occurs.  It gives me the impression there are hidden cameras in my house and they are watching, because otherwise, they wouldn't be saying these things out loud to somehow get "credit" for it later by another person.  Anyway, she said "I'm going to Chinatown" to refer to herself but she meant it as though she was me, and that I was going to make something Chinese next, which I did unexpectedly because I wasn't planning on it and I had rye bread and didn't think of rye going with that but wanted to use up some tomatoes and made a tomato sweet and sour sauce instead of just butter or a sandwich or oil and vinegar.

So basically, there is a whole "team" that has been doing this.  In the meantime, anything I try to accomplish or do that I want to do myself, is being blocked still.  I have spent time on looking for a normal sperm donor for one thing, and I'm getting government flakes.

pg. 45.  E.H. says he then took the polygraph after he brought it up.  I think what I remember mentioning myself, which I realized if I hadn't said anything, I could have gotten by, was possibly what time it was or about brushing our teeth.  I feel there is something else I've forgotten that was more important and which I'll remember later, but one time it was made a big deal when I said, "It's 9 o'clock!" and something about how it was past our bedtime.  So then my Dad would say, "Thank you for reminding me.  Go to bed."  I would say, "But we're in the middle of a game" (or whatever) and he said if you hadn't said anything I might not have known. 

Backing up a little, to the part about the "East Berlin" vs "Soviet" 'desk, there was a really bizarre game being played regarding Katie Middleton over this too, like some kind of a joke.  I didn't get it because I hadn't read this book and didn't know anything about E.H., but now I realize it had to have been partly some kind of inside game, as if I had dropped the "German" 'desk' for, or with, an interest in a Soviet or Ukraine one, so Katie took the German.  I mean, it has nothing to do with me--the whole E.H. thing, but a weird, "remember when...hahah....let's do this..." kind of "reprise" was being done over it and then I was constantly not just part of some joke, but seriously being tortured and degraded.  And then someone was always organizing to try to repeat the cycle, to constantly rub it in.

And speaking of desks, I remember exactly when a school decided to get rid of full desks and switched to half-desks.  They were little L shaped desks with a flap down until you brought it up and secured it, and half the size of a normal desk and I remember it because it was the same kind of weird symbolism with the teacher's studying my reaction as the year I walked into class expecting to see all brand new books on each of our desks and instead, I opened my up and it had curse words all over it and graffiti, on all of the books the teacher put my name on.  I remember the teacher and how she was so happy to see my shock over it.  She had a sadistic look on her face and then shook her face at me with a grim smile the same way little kids might when they say, "neener neener neener" to taunt you.  For me, it wasn't just the hurt over knowing someone was giving me a vandalized and dirty book when I had been taught to expect new ones, it was that they were deliberately traumatizing me knowing I had graffiti carved into my forearms with razors.  I didn't understand why it impacted me the way it did, but that teacher knew what psychological impact it would have on me and she was watching and waiting for it, and smirking haughtily like that was just the best part of her entire year--that moment.  I remember "that moment" well enough to know the lighting, and which desk I was at in what part of the room and what side of the room she moved to while taunting me.  For some reason, I forgot which teacher though, Mrs. Raugust or Rosenow.  I remember the expression and movement but I think I was too traumatized to want to remember the face but anyone in the school would have known because it was the year we all got used books.  Other kids had ones without lots of graffiti but mine had tons, and swear words, and deliberate triggers in it.  My desk assigned was to the left of the room if you faced the blackboard, and near the front.  My name was written above "God damn you" or something like that.  Damn you or God damn you, with my name close enough to it, any kid would read it as a complete sentence that was including your own name.

My Dad used to say me, at least once a day or every other day, "Don't be so sensitive."  This was said to me all the time when my feelings were hurt or if I cried and I cried about every single day.  I used to go to my room and cry.  I was told, "Don't be so sensitive!" and "You're too sensitive!"  I actually rarely cried when I was hurt physically, and instead might say "ouch" or nothing at all and reserve my words for trying to process through the pain, so I didn't cry when I was hurt except for sometimes spankings (bc that was emotional), but it was emotional hurt that I cried over, or if I empathized with something or someone I would cry.  We played lots of board games and if I lost, I didn't like it, but handled it okay.  Then one year my Dad got this game "Sorry" and when I lost a point or the whole game and someone was saying "SAHR-REE" and rubbing it in I would sometimes get mad or cry.  Or if I was teased and I thought it wasn't funny, like everyone laughing over my Christmas ornament they called 'the retarded angel', which I had made and put time into, I would cry.  So I was called "sensitive".

Sensitivity PLUS!

Random accidents or falls, nails in my foot, bumblebee stings, broken knees, broken arms, broken necks, splinters, slivers, tumbles, scraped up knees with scabs, shots to the arm...I didn't cry over any of that. 

I...("here's a thought!")...'cried with my heart and not my head' and then I was beaten with a yard stick over it.  Many U.S. government employees knew all about it and used whatever they could against me and kept me from the information, which is why my son and I deserve to be considered as U.S. political prisoners and hostages and released and which is why my son's "adoption" is a sham for kidnapping.

What a strange juncture now, between my mention of how I was called "sensitive" as a kid and then how E.H.'s polygraph testing went awry.  It's a test that measures sensitivity, in another way, of a particular kind.  Or one based on that at least.

E.H. says he passed but got a call where they said there was deception about crime.  So he tested a second time and they said there was still a problem area, and something he was "hiding".  So they told him to go home and write down every crime he'd ever committed.  He says he did this and adds he'd done this when he first joined and listed the time he stole carrot seeds when he was 9 yrs old and drinking a couple beers while driving.  The one thing that might stand out to me is I was given a stuffed rabbit that held a carrot when I was about 9, or actually, it could have been after 9.  Sometime between age 9-12 I think.  Also, maybe if he had a carrot-top kid (redhead, a "russ") and someone stole his kid, he'd mention this or if someone else had such a kid and he did something, possibly, but he brought this up.  Also, "too sensitive" would apply to redheads, who are more sensitive to hot and cold variances than other people because of a genome factor.  However, I cried all the time because of emotional sensitivity, not other reasons. 

So then he says the CIA trained him for 30 months, basically, about 2 1/2 years.  He says they were training him to commit crimes against the Soviet Union, so when they now asked it was possible it brought some feelings to the surface, but he said, he'll never know.

I know Canada is as guilty as the U.S., with my blood on their hands.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nrGWwHalCU  They even have pop stars writing songs like "Insensitive" after E.H.'s book came out in 1995, and then they tried to murder me with another one of their own:  Mike Nichols.  The pattern on the dress this woman is wearing is the exact same material my mother (Dicksie) had at our house in Moses Lake, WA.  It eventually disappeared but was enough for a dress for a child.   I've mentioned this song before but not having read E.H.'s book first or seeing that context and confirmation that others were aware of my situation and potentially trying to mix it with Katie Middleton.  I think in order to 'desensitize' me and destroy any connection with sensitivity to my name and file, when they didn't kill me, was to hire multiple rape hits against me.  I also think there was an urgency and desperation to try another assassination attempt against me in 1995 for the reason that E.H's book was public and pointed a finger at my parents, and connected me to the CIA and U.S. Army.  There were some kids and people who already had inside information about me and I know who some of them were, and they were around me prior to 1995, but having an entire book out there, made a lot of criminals extremely nervous about how their plans were going to be ruined if the right people found out about it, or I did, and defended myself.

Also, about the response to the polygraph, I had a similar thing done to me by people who seem, now, in hindsight, to have wanted to make a game and joke out of me.  When I took the MMPI and passed, and there was nothing wrong with it and it was normal, I later had someone saying it couldn't be true, that it was "normal".  So the psychologist, who I had contacted by asking the Oregon State Bar who they felt was reputable, told me he wanted me to take a "harder" test to check it against the MMPI.  I did, and still passed, but then he didn't want to give me the results.  Later, when I was forced to take a MMPI for "Washington State" when it had nothing to do with CPS or my "parenting" it was, again, "normal", but this time, they played into this entire game more heavily, with the psychologist saying "there is some deception somewhere", exactly as the CIA accused E.H. of.  So they made it into this huge joke which the Judge and other "professionals" passed between themselves and out loud and laughed over.  My test was normal and she had even told me it was normal and then added, well there might be some deception.  If there is "deception", that turns up in the test, and in that case, the results are not considered "normal".  If there are a few questions to go over, that is a normal part of testing and she never went over anything, and instead, said she didn't know what the problem was, but I maybe I could go on "trial medications".

There is no problem.  The "problem" is the United States of America.

p. 46.  So E.H. says things continued to deteriorate and he was called in for a 3rd test and was nervous about the call-backs.  This was at the same time I was taken to Big Bend Community College to try out for a play called "Annie".  Or, it was possibly after "Annie", which was my parent's idea, and at this same time I was trying out for the next one, which was "Wizard of Oz".  I remember for "Annie" the costume person decided we would all wear pink except Annie would wear the red dress, and the color of pink was the same as on my stuffed rabbit with the carrot.  I was the orphan "Duffy" they said, "Scruffy Duffy".  I felt insulted but glad to be in the play so I did my best.  At the end of the play, there was footage and a commentary that was suggestive of child porn--it sounded like some kind of blackmail idea.  Why was I suddenly getting "outfitted" to be an "orphan" anyway?  First I was chipmunk in a church play singing "If you ask him to (God), he'll take care of you/doo-tee, doo-tee, doo-tee, doo-tee" and then in 1994 Ken Kargman (Jew) was enjoying himself as he exclaimed, "Danit made a DOODY!" and then having me or someone clean his daughter's diaper, never forgetting to think to himself how funny my life was. Then there wasn't a play until around the time E.H. talked about big things and call-backs and my mother took me to try out to be a public orphan.  Her entire family, almost, showed up for the play and I remember from the stage, at one point, wondering why they were all narrowing their eyes at me and looking at me like they didn't like me.  Then after it was over, and we took our bows, then they were all happy and cheerful and talking excitedly and everyone was very nice to me and I thought they liked me very much and were proud of me.  I still remember the difference between their expressions and how they whispered when they thought I didn't notice as much and then later, and it confused me.  I felt panicked--"my family doesn't LIKE me?!!"  Then I thought why would they pretend to like me when I was off-stage?

Then I found out this was this huge footage of me in the back, with me flipping up my skirt in the back, which was only something I did because someone showed me there and encouraged me to do it and all these adults were praising me and being nice and joking over it--giving me positive reinforcement for something that wasn't great.  One did try to pull me away but that was it and they all knew some of the triggers anyway.  For whatever reason, even though I liked working on a script and play, I sensed a very bad feeling when I went there.  Every single practice, there was something depressing, sad, and not "right" about it but I couldn't put my finger on it.  I was left there by myself and wondered what my mother was doing with my brother the whole time because it was in the Summer and took up all of my day.  I also had a feeling she was doing something with another kid and I can't remember how it came up but I asked.  It's possible I was more depressed in the Summer too, because that's when most of my torture occurred against me I think, outside of school.  So there I was, as an "orphan" and I went home one day and said to my parents, "If you die I want Wayne Freeman to adopt me."  I don't know why I'd say this, but it was around the time I looked for adoption papers and thought my parents were hiding them somewhere, and I was being isolated all of a sudden, so that is what I said and I said it was because he was nice.  I had the impression they could just give me to whoever they wanted, whenever they wanted to and I don't know how I had this idea unless it was overhearing talk.  Wayne Freeman was a Jew and I didn't know him well enough to make such a comment and I certainly wouldn't say that now.  I thought because he was nice I liked him but actually, he was most likely just another person trying to get close to figure out how to ruin my life later.  Then, after all the practice they told me, the Directors, that I was the one who should have been "Annie", not the professional they'd trained and brought in from another state.  As a kid, I had thought it was a very nice compliment and I hadn't asked for it, but I had secretly known I was a better actress and singer than the one they chose.

I decided I loved doing plays.  Even in this weird depressive darkness around the area, or timeframe, or "something", I began learning other people's parts along with my own.  I knew all of Annie's lines and cues even though I wasn't Annie.  I went from learning my part and then going around with the kids and playing until it was our turn on-stage again, to skipping the playtime and sitting there to study "Annie" and the other characters.  I didn't do it because someone told me what a "study" was, or because anyone suggested if she got sick someone would need to take her place.  I did it because I loved it.  It never crossed my mind that I might get to play her part, but I realized by the last shows, that if she did get sick, I was ready and knew everything by heart.

So then I was told about Wizard of Oz and tried out to be a "muchkin" because there weren't larger little kids' parts.  They passed over me as a munchkin so I tried harder, to be the ugliest and meanest looking "flying monkey" there and I was picked. It wasn't as much fun for me because there was no other part or larger part to learn.  It was either packs of munchkins or packs of monkeys and they didn't allow kids around the stage for other parts, even when I tried to sit-in anyway.  It was basically like the CIA cafeteria with one lunch for "known" employees and a second lunch for "unknown" employees.

I said I wanted to be an actress.  Then, some adult or group that probably already knew about my "programming" and church guilt trips and my "sensitive" nature and desire to make "God" happy, gave this big sermon or lecture about "being a living sacrifice".  The lecture went on and on about making sacrifices and how it doesn't mean anything if you don't give up something you really love.  I was told God is only happy if we make a real sacrifice and once you make a promise, you can't break it.  I had already been vocalizing how I was going to be an actress and I loved acting and singing and this is when I was wanting to take dance too.  So up came this lecture, after I said I loved acting more than anything and I was told we should only give God something you love.  So I told God I wouldn't act.  I kept it between myself and God and then I ended up telling my Dad, who, I believe, was the one to give me the big lecture about how God only wants a sacrifice that means something.  I'm sure anyone could have manipulated my Dad or a church person to drill that into my head, and wait for the outcome, but they already knew they could count on me to "do the right thing".

So they quashed my acting and began giving welfare to Middletons in the UK.  Truly.  Did you notice, by the way, what James Middleton focused on in his little speech?  "Living Sacrifices".  It was sort of a "thank you for all you've done to the beating bag through the decades so we could come this far."

After I told my Dad I made a promise to God that I wouldn't act anymore, or try out for anymore plays, and how I'd said if I could have one more part in the Wizard of Oz, then I'd quit, my Dad said, "Now you've told me and I have to hold you to it."  Basically, I said it out loud so the NSA surveillance people and those bugging my house heard it too, and made sure they could make the most out of manipulating a little kid.  When I said, a couple of years later, maybe God didn't care that much and I had been young and probably He'd understand if I really wanted to act and felt pressured, my Dad said, "Nope! YOU PROMISED!" and my parents refused to take me to any casting calls and there were no more "call-backs". 

I did feel spiritual about it when I prayed, but considering the fact I was an MK Ultra victim and the torture and abuse, programming and manipulation of me, it was like a tactic of the enemy to keep me down.

When I therefore hear someone like James Middleton talk about "being a living sacrifice", I don't see "God" in what he's saying.  I see evil.  I see the culmination of decades of killing and torture and hypocrisy to get to where they are.

I never backed out of that promise until much later, when I tried out for a play in Livingston, NJ.  ("Living Sacrifices" with James Middleton pitting his fingers together chanting, "My sister is going to be the Queen").  Believe me, I never thought I had that role, but to see how they've been connected and have feared me to the point of stalking me my entire life to then gloat over me, proves they thought I would be their future competitor in some way.  So look at what they've done, to quash competition of any kind, even if all I would have done is sing a little, get married to someone nice and have a normal family?

Actually, in high school, in 1993, after someone tried to kill me, I tried out for a part in a play and got the leading role.  Then the play was cancelled.  Next, I was in Livingston, NJ, and was told I was very good but try out for a different role in a different play and I never did.  I always felt slightly hesitant about it, with this U.S. government bondage around me that wasn't from God.  I mostly focused on singing, because it wasn't acting, and I could still sing.  But I did sense it might be okay to try acting as well, and out of curiosity more than anything, with zero prep and going in cold for a cold call, to get the script, memorize and think of a character and present for an audition was sort of a thrill and a way to overcome public fear on a small scale.  I did not go back to try out for the play that was recommended and instead, in Portland, Oregon one day I sang a song at an audition and experienced extreme harassment.  It was probably around 2000 or so, after I'd been raped, and I walked into the same environment that had greeted me after Josh Gatov took me out in public to have my enemies gloat over me.  I was being forced out of auditioning at all, and told, "NO.  You CAN'T."  I said "What do you mean, I can't?"  and he kept saying YOU CAN'T.  Then finally I found someone else who said write your name down and they'll call you.  I always had people smirking and asking me, "Cameo.  Is that your STAGE name?"  So I did sing a part of a song but they wouldn't let me sing the section that showed off my voice and range, just a plain short few measures and then that was it.  It was discouraging enough, with all of the hatred fomenting in that place, to never try it again.  Anywhere, and it really has nothing to do with acting but with this country and repeated acts of crime against me in addition to everything from pressuring me out of acting competition, to stealing my homework to keep me from intellectual competition, to ruining my singing voice to prevent me from singing to keep me out of that.

This country is full of hatred.  Not only that, they took religion and knowledge of my sensitivity and sensitive nature and prayers to God, and manipulated me solely for leverage for their mediocrity.  From the age of 8 to 18 I felt imprisoned by a "promise" that was coerced and extracted from me when I was a kid susceptible to programming, when the only purpose was not to "please God" but to please a bunch of people who wanted me out of their way.  As long as a UK/Canadian/U.S. group could guilt-trip me, they had me caged.

Of course I made vows and promises to God that I kept.  My virginity for one, which was fine until I was 24 and the U.S. and a bunch of pithy Jews wanted to go after me on that as well.

What really tips the balance however, is not to allow people like James Middleton and Co. to insult you and accuse you over not faithfully keeping promises to God that actually, they themselves inspired (not God), but to realize it wasn't about concern for my spirituality or relationship with God at all, or a prophetic inspiration or a command from God.  It was from wolves and those who seek to kill and destroy every good gift that God gives someone.  What they preyed upon, was my "sensitivity".  No one said, "Did God put this idea in your mind and heart as something you feel like you should do?"  or "Making a sacrifice as a kid should come from God, not grown-ups".

What I had in my heart to do, was to be an actress.  Even if it meant plays, not movies or t.v.  I always thought about plays, and wasn't jumping to the idea of other things.  I wanted to sing, act, dance, and paint and be happy. 

This country wants living coals on a stake to show off for rich imbeciles.  Every argument against "religion" that could be made by a communist country, was made through extortion of me using a combination of religious brainwashing with U.S. military and CIA programming. 

When you realize how they got mixed up, by introducing their own ideas of "what God wants" with raping me of what I chose and believed for myself, you can clearly see how it is impossible to give even 'religious consent' to another person to raise your own child when there is an establishment of government corruption behind the impetus.  If someone was told it was "God" and you find out it's "the government" how does that work with someone you're told are your parents, and then you find out are not.  Who is the real mother?  Solomon says I am, when it comes to my son Oliver, and God has told me I am and this is what I know with my heart and know was given to me by natural right.

Corruption and lies from the U.S. and Canada are not grounds for invalidation of this right.  I just might get what I want, because I asked God for it, not the United States military or CIA.  Don't you forget it.  There is no way the U.S. can pull this kind of "fast one" without answering for it and I am gaining on them.

All of this to say when he uses the connotation of "sensitive assignments" and polygraph and asking to be tested and the "call-backs", I know that while E.H. was getting polygraph call-backs, I was bitten by the acting bug, after the U.S. targeted me for a "strategic arm reduction".

How nice.  Maybe the U.S. just picks out kids all over and zaps them for fun, for "strategic reductions".  And then you wonder why people like Carmen Wilson go in for "liposuction" of a minute amount of fat on the insides of their thighs. 

E.H. says when he was called in for the 3rd test, he asked his mother-in-law to prescribe a mild tranquilizer and he took one before the test.  I remember picking up some small white pill from the carpet around this time, or earlier, and getting LSD's out of my mind.  It was left there, for a kid to find, and I found it, and put it in my mouth, thinking it was candy or a mint.  One of those tiny pastilles Granny got or something.  Well, later in Canada when they falsely arrested me they had some guy that worked for them throw a similar pill (not identical at all) my way under the grate so was it from the U.S. or Canada?  E.H. probably knew he'd be questioned about it and wanted a chance to say yes, he had a pill and didn't know it was illegal before a polygraph.  I don't know what kind of pill it was in my house but I remember it just like I remember some tranquilizer shot to the back of my neck when I was older.

So I had been given these pills and then I was targeted to fall from a tree and break my arm and the Maiers gave me (so my Mom could see) an empty pill box shaped like Granny's mint box that was English, and a lipstick holder that looked like a grill under ceramic with a mirror, which fit over a finger.  I don't know if the message was "Pills and Thrills", "Pills and Grills", or "Pills and Kills".

He says the third test was administered by a "real, hard-ass son-of-a-bitch" they called "The Hammer".  (I remember that ride from the fairground.  "The Hammer")
************************************************************
UPDATED 8/24/13

I'm starting off today's comments with some things I remembered when I woke this morning, to add to previous comments.  One thing I've wondered too, is if I'm looking (or should be) for someone who is in jail somewhere in the world that cares about me, I mean in there for political or other reasons, because I've had this sense of the depression and sadness from someone starting around 7 p.m. at night and then until getting up in the morning since I was about 8 years old.  If my "bonnie" (a dear one) lives "over the ocean" I'm not sure if it's a full 12 hour time difference, a 6 hour one, or what.  I sense it sometimes when I wake up, and then it's like it's there until it lifts, all of a sudden, as if someone was just let out of a cold dark cell.  Then, I was told more recently, within the last year when I commented about it, "It's probably just something that you will have to get used to and you will have to deal with the rest of your life."  It isn't a sense of my own depression, which I understand and have experienced, like anyone, for a time, for natural reasons.  It's a sense of a lost twin.  Like a lost twin, or if not a twin exactly, some 'dear' person, related or not, that I am connected to .  I also do believe that sometimes the sense is from a cycle I was in of government abuse, probably, as an infant or toddler, but I think there is something else because I sense it's from another person.

Aside from this, things I remembered something about the acting in plays and call-backs and one with regard to being "peppered with questions" I remember when I was playing with Annie production kids, they all circled around me one day and asked question after question after question, rapid-fire, and then the girl named "Molly" whose real name was Molly but who played a different orphan, older than me, showed me a bottle of mace.  She told me I should get mace to protect myself (pepper spray), and then those kids that had been friendly, began a game of whispering about me loudly so I could see them whisper, laugh at me, and then run away.  So I was running after them to play and be included, and they kept running from me and taunting me.  I didn't realize it because to my face they were saying, to come over next to them and play, but then they'd smile and run.  So this is another reason I quit playing with the kids, and decided to sit in the auditorium and study the actors, and learned all of Annie's lines.  I knew all of Annie's lines, and most of the other adults as well and sat there listening and memorizing everything.  When I realized I liked this, and had just memorized almost an entire play, I tried to do it, on my own because I wanted to, with Wizard of Oz and they deliberately blocked me from studying.  They had known I had memorized the Annie play and they, for some reason, didn't want me memorizing another one and said, "No, you can't watch the other actors practice" and I explained I wanted to just sit quietly and watch and listen and they told me no and pushed me out.

So pretty much, in every way, this was a direct reflection of the United States of America and the exact same politics and anti-competition was obvious in every stage of my life, with everything I tried to do, from the time I was a kid, or maybe, from the time I was born.  If it had been one instance of anti-competition, that would be chalked up to a specific group, but it wasn't.  The exact same thing was done with a group stalking me and trying to control and oppress my life, regardless of what town or state I lived in.

The other thing I remembered, was about the same time Diana of Wales was singing "Uptown Girl" on stage and performing, I was being teased about being an "up and then down" girl, emotionally.  I would burst into tears and cry and then my Dad would say something funny and I'd laugh and I would cry and laugh at the same time, and say, "I don't know why I'm crying and laughing at the same time!"  For awhile, it was every night, I would start crying and then thinking about how I didn't even know why I was crying, I would start to laugh.  It struck me as hilarious to hear myself cry and not even know what I was crying over when I couldn't think of a specific event for my tears, so I would just laugh and then get started giggling to where I couldn't stop and then all of a sudden, this sorrowful break in the laughter and my sobbing turned to crying again and felt even deeper than it had before, total and complete anguish.  A few times, it was lighter and I'd keep laughing, but most of the time it turned to tears again, after the novelty of laughing over myself wore off.

No one brought it up to me, outside of my family, until after Princess Diana died.  After she died, my housemate Jana said to me, "I think you're manic-depressive."  She said this, just to say it.  And her reason was not that I was emotionally up and down because of subconscious triggers from things done to me as a toddler, or the piling up of a day's events to be tired and then sensitive, but instead, she was on the government trajectory that wanted to say I was a "slob" and not orderly and clean and so she wanted to say my cleaning my stove in detail was "manic".  It wasn't.  It was natural and what was sadistic, is that the U.S. did what they could to change the story about me.  I thought it was so odd of her to say this and then I didn't hear it again until a roommate from Japan lived with me in 2002 and told me she was manic-depressive and then at the sink, while I was washing my dishes (cleaning again) she said, "I think you're bi-polar".  When I look back at these two events, it stands out to me that out of the blue, these "unknown" housemates would come into my house and then when I was cleaning, or straightening up my place, tell me I was "bi-polar" or "manic-depressive" and why?  The only thing it would contradict is some desperate attempt to claim I was a slob and slovenly.  I was a perfectionist actually.  "Up and down" never had anything to do, in my childhood, with being clean one minute and organized and then making a creative mess.  It was always about my laughing and crying at the same time--which showed, more than anything, that I had a sense of humor and was able to not take myself seriously even when I was sensitive and the tolls of the day were upon me.  The other thing I remember is that sometimes when I was crying, when I was younger, someone would then tickle me to make me laugh.  So I'd be crying and then laugh and then cry again.  A man who gave more than one indication of having government information about me which he tried to use against me was Mike Tancer, who said snidely the first night he met me, "Have you always been a short-haired girl?" and the way he said it, out of the blue, I knew he was making some kind of internal joke about the up-down comments in my personal file.

Also, the U.S. programmed me with triggers to self-destruct and they hoped to use it to kill me.  I will explain this in a moment and then go back to the book or what I remembered from this morning, but basically, the U.S. used reverse signals and tortured me if I didn't do the exact opposite of what they told me to do, but used specific triggers for when they wanted this done. For example, telling me to put on the brakes, said with a trigger, was to tell me and train me to step on the gas. Don't touch the stove, was to have me "touch the stove".  I was not just trained to do or say things with words but by coached repetition.  You should have seen me at the sewing machine...with my foot on the pedal. 
"Stop!  stop!" and wow, what an incredible speedy Gonzales of a stitching line that was.  A real Rush!

Get lo bus...jack rabbit, i'm not  (if you watch the Touch It by Buster Rhymes (official and remixes) you can sort of see what I'm talking about. 

Also, before I go to that, pushing the red button with the palm of my hand that was above my head, before running, and then pushing it again when I stopped--my Mom marked our calendars with a red pen, with a red dot to 'start' her period and then a second red dot to mark the 'end' of her period.  It parallels the training I received, though later, I wasn't the one getting that training.

But let's see.  The U.S. is still too stupid to return my son to me and admit to the entire world they're liars.  They've lied about me and they kidnapped my son from me. 

I will go into this part later, but I was trained at one point, as I said, to stomp on the gas instead of the brakes when someone told me to "stop" and to touch a stove when it was hot even if they said "stop" and while later they switched around the emphasis, I was being told, "Why you keep doing that, even after we've told you to stop?!"  Over and over, all the time.  One of the most commonly used expressions from my Dad to me was this, "Why do you keep doing this? even after we've told you to stop?!"  and my Mom would say, "I told you to quit and you kept on doing it."  It sounds normal enough until you realize they used me as a toddler to reinforce, with torture, having me do the exact opposite of what they said to do.  If they told me to "stop" I was rewarded if I did not stop or quit.  Later, when I was an older child, they reversed this and began to "mean what they said" so to stay "do this", meant to do it and to not, meant not to.  They beat me in the 'transition' phases, blaming me for continually being 'disobedient' after this is what they'd taught me to do.

So when, for example, E.H. describes how for 30 months the CIA had trained him to break the law to "commit crimes" they then gave him a polygraph and expected him to be honest and not nervous and he says possibly it picked up on some feelings he had.

For me, as a kid, it was more psychological torture, because my parents and others trained me to disobey them and be rewarded for repeating it, and they used physical responses, triggers, and training with it.  Then when they accused me of disobeying them, and beat me, they beat me knowing I was only doing what they asked me to do.  So it got to the heart-wrenching point where I was in my bedroom reading Romans where Paul says "Why do I do what I don't want to do but don't do what I do want to do?  I see there is this law working against me."  My Dad must have been reading my mind and freaked out, because he came into my room and asked me what I was doing.  I said, "Reading my Bible."  He said "What are you reading?" and I said "Romans 9" so then he sat down as and talked with me, giving me extra attention, as tears were rolling down my cheeks and I said, "He is saying exactly what I do," and here I was, this vulnerable and impressionable girl, who was being brainwashed and tortured by my own parents and the U.S. government.  So my Dad was saying that it was just the "sinful nature" at "war" with the good nature.  So I was supposedly a "big sinner" when this is what they were coaching me to be as a toddler, to disobey and do the opposite of what I was told to do.

So I was Satan.  I mean, what else were they trying to imply?  They taught me to break the law, and to disobey them, and to do the mirror-reverse of what I was asked to do, and in some things there was physical training and triggers to go with it.

So when my Dad later, when I was 15 years old, took me driving and I was confronted with the "flight simulator" or car simulator of a vehicle, and then told to "STOP!" as we approached a RR track bridge, I gunned it.  Instead of hitting the brakes, I hit the gas and the more my Dad said "Stop!" the more I pushed the pedal to the metal. 

Before this was ever "tested" with my driving, my mother tested me on our sewing machine.  She wouldn't allow me to sew but to see how my response was to earlier training, when I was about 9 years old, 8 or 9, she allowed me to sit at the sewing machine which had a pedal and she tested the same thing to see what my response was if my foot was on the pedal and she told me to stop.  My stitching from the machine took off at the highest speed and after she tested this a few times she told me she wasn't going to teach me to sew.  The only reason she didn't teach me to sew is that they didn't want me to learn to use the pedal properly and wanted me to revert to earlier programming so that when I was in a car, I would gun it and kill myself.  This was WHY she refused to "teach me" to "sew" with the sewing machine.  So instead, I was sewing by hand.  I made a bean bag and Barbie clothes, by hand.  So then a few years later, when my Dad took me on my first drive, he was testing this reaction again and when he saw it worked, he said he was never riding in a car with me again.

I could kill myself of course, but not him or my Mom.  My Mom never let me drive when she was in the car, and my Dad never let me drive, and they never let me drive my brother around either.  I had always wondered why my mother wouldn't ever let me drive her around or my Dad and even when it was long drives and I could have helped with the driving.  I had also, as a kid, wanted to do something nice and of course, drive them around to show my driving and feel proud of it.  They both never let me drive them around because they knew exactly how I'd been programmed and while they never bothered to let me know I might kill myself, they protected themselves.

So are they really my Mom and Dad?

I know there are 2 Bobs, because I saw the other one today, driving past, who was different from the one at the house yesterday and yet one of the Dicksies told me my biological father is E.H.  So even with twins or whatever, were they thinking I was going to be a kill-sacrifice, or that if they didn't like me one day they could get rid of me? or is the motive for money or politics over-riding that of love? or is even my mother my mother?  maybe one of them is and one isn't, and I look like them, but both of them were previewing whether or not I might kill myself in a car with "sudden brake failure".

It's the kind of "brake failure" Diana was talking about, but one would think it meant the brakes went out or were bad instead of "failure to use the brakes" because of being trained and programmed to do the opposite instead.   That was one specific thing I was trained for:  "death through an accident by sudden brake failure". 

I wasn't a nanny jeopardizing kids' lives because I wasn't trained to do it with someone in the back seat, like a kid, but someone next to me or by myself, with the right cue of being hit or pushed off to the side from another car.

What I can say, looking back, is that several U.S. government kids and people knew about my training and didn't tell me, waiting for me to be killed, but protected themselves or pretended not to know by working around it.  For example, my Mom and Dad never let me drive them around, ever.  Not except for the one time and then I think one other times briefly, just to say I did, in a controlled state.  I was not allowed to drive my brother around--in fact, when I told my brother I'd give him a ride, my mother interjected and said no.  They all knew.  Not one time in my life did I drive my brother anywhere because first my mother or Dad would say no and then soon after, he was piping up saying "I'm not letting you drive me anywhere!" but there was no reason for it.  I remembered thinking it was very odd my parents didn't want me to spend any car-time with my brother "Levi". 

So here I am, faced with the realization my son Oliver is adopted out to people who tried to kill me.  Not only that, more than once, and in a country that has been backing the killers.  I could have ended up even marrying one their Bozos.

I've had about 9 hits put on me, through vehicular "accidents" and collisions and that is not including druggings/overdose or poisoning attempts.  Two of the "hits" were programmed so that I would do the wrong thing and "accidentally" kill myself.

So when I think about how I wondered why my Mom and Dad didn't want me to drive my brother anywhere or "bond" with him that way, prior to any kind of accident, when I think about how they previewed the effects of programming first--my Mom with the sewing machine and my Dad with the car, I know without any doubt, they have lied to the entire world about me and have protected my brother, but apparently they thought I was expendable.

So I asked my Mom today, "How is my son doing?" and when she said fine I said, "Well, I just wanted to make sure he's not being trained to kill himself or anything."

I was trained or programmed to do this with specific triggers, so for example, when someone was sitting next to me giving me a word, or when I was alone in panic mode after someone did something psychically like tried to run their car into the side or push me off the road.  I was specifically trained not to do anything when people were in the back of my car, like kids.  So people who knew either avoided riding with me or worked around it, to cover for it.  Some of the people who knew were Shannon Adams, Alicia Peters, Robin Bechtold, my brother (eventually was told), Erica Ballinger, The Thebaults, Ken & Mary Lynn Kargman, Carl and Mary Del Balzo, Lori Cartright, Alvaro Pardo and Henry,

(by the way, someone is repeatedly disconnecting my internet and it's not from the house because that signal is steady and it's somehow being interrupted while I write this at 8 p.m. and since 7 p.m. or so)

So all the people I was nanny for knew I wasn't endangering their kids because they were in the back seat. Some of them put on a pretense however, to make it look like they didn't care when actually they wanted to limit how much I drove even with them in the back.  But I was programmed not to do anything with people in the back, which is why Shannon Adams and Alicia Peters told me one day I could drive them home but only if they sat in the back.  So no one sat next to me on the passenger side.  Which was odd, when you think about how we were all in high school and a bunch of high school girlfriends don't usually say they will only let you drive if they sit in the back.  Robin Bechtold never wanted me to drive but put on a show to let me occasionally, so it looked like he didn't know, but he did and there are ways I could explain he knew and how I know this in hindsight.  Alvaro and Henry knew and didn't want me driving anywhere and then it was only on my own.  The one time I drove and he was a passenger, he was so paranoid and nervous he had white froth out of the corner of his mouth and dry-mouth the entire time.  I kept wondering what his problem was.

The person who tried to assassinate me by pushing my car off from the left did this in 1992 and then the person who tried to assassinate me by pushing my car off from the right, did this in 2003.  And then there was the "roll" in 1995.  No one was getting back at me because they thought I had deliberately endangered their life, at these times, because I never put anyone in a wreck situation or did anything to harm anyone.  It was just attempts to have me kill myself with a brake failure based on toddler programming, and then to keep trying to kill me by other means.  It's possible that psychological basis to have me commit a self-"directed" suicide attempt with pills was also programmed at that time as an alternate means for me to kill myself and keep the CIA and military looking "clean".  My guess would be, if that is true, something like candy was given to me in large amounts or I was given access to it, after being tortured or emotionally distraught with some trigger.  I know I ate almost a whole bottle of baby aspirin on my own when I was older and remembered, and it's possibly because even earlier than that, I had been programmed to destroy myself by "pills suicide" at specific triggers.

So yes.  The U.S. has been trying to kill me and used employees to rape me and my own parents to facilitate programming of me.  They didn't care if I died and this country violated international laws about political asylum to steal and kidnap my son from me, who is endangered as long as he lives in this country.  I was later tested about whether I'd still take pills later too, under trauma or certain triggers.

Mother fuckers.

I know when I saw this woman "Shelly" who died young, in her open casket, she had some kind of a rosary or necklace around her neck.  She Lee.  After I saw her, I began hanging up my long necklaces on the right side of my mirror for my dressing table.  I had a bunch of necklaces and there were two clear plastic tabs or hooks that held the beveled mirror to the frame in the back and I started draping them over this hook.

So again, when Stephanie Maiers is giving me an empty pill box and a "lipstick clamp" that rolls, what do you think the symbolism was?  Maybe death. The mirror was a nice touch to show how reverse meaning, and after I was targeted to fall from a tree, had a nice mechanical arm look to it as well.   The front was white like a sling and the back was a metal brace.  Uh oh, now my foot is getting stuck to the gas instead of the brakes!  Pedal to the metal, Oh My!  It also shows that when Alvaro Pardo was worried about my driving with him next to him, coming from NY where Steph's friend "Karin" was, with the FBI, it leads to Maiers and their knowledge of how I was programmed and collusion to arrange for me to kill myself.

Ca-ching...because it's cold hard cash baby.

With the pills, for programming me as a baby and toddler, to commit suicide later as an adult (if I didn't kill myself with "brake failure"...oops..."F" for hitting the brakes), I would say the few cues I have are someone saying I got into powdered donuts and was eating them all when I was a baby and no one knew how I'd been able to crawl that high or far.  Something like that.  I was also told I was found with one in each hand and I'd take a bite of one and say "num-num!" and then a bite of the other and "num-num!" 

What makes you numb?  Cocaine.   I got onto a table as a baby somehow.  Then later I remember seeing a bottle of baby aspirin and eating them all, thinking they were candy, but also, I remembered thinking if I was sick or didn't feel good, and was crying, that's what I was supposed to do.  So I remember crying first and then finding them and eating all of them.

For this, I believe I was somehow trained to do it outside.  Like, die outside from overdose, not inside a house.  I was programmed and trained to take a bunch of pills and wait outside to die, or maybe as a toddler, fall asleep or get picked up or something.  But it was to be outside.  This is where I took the bottle of asprin in Moses Lake and I also went outside when I was in Cashmere, WA and sat down in an orchard and waited.  So it was to be outside if I killed myself with overdose.  Then, to cover over this with a more benign idea, my brother and I were given $1 and told to "Get out of the house" and go buy some candy with it.  So we would walk outside to the store, buy candy, and eat it outside while walking home.  It was just sort of a cover for getting programmed to overdose on drugs outside sometime.

I am going back to this book to comment on more material, but also, around this same time of call-backs and when I was around 8-9 we also had a car stolen, some kind of a 72' or 70s Chevy and it was a classic sportscar my parents really liked, olive green, and I had to sit on their lap in the passenger side because there wasn't always room in the back.  It might have been a 74' Impala.  It was stolen one day and when it was found or returned, trashed up and had beer cans with beer all over and I remember the bag of Doritos.  I asked if I could have some of them and they said no, they didn't know where they came from but they were original Doritos and I was so hungry then I remembered wanting to eat them.  Someone had also taken a few cassette tapes and pulled out the ribbon so it was all over (or it was one cassette tape maybe but with all the ribbon pulled out) and left them there but mostly I remember the beer and the Doritos and how dirty it was inside.  There were also a bunch of oil cans inside and I was told someone had been pouring oil in and burning it up and pouring more in.  Maybe just a couple thrown in that were empty, but I remember that too.  Then, it was either that car or a different one and I think it was different, stolen when we were at the sand dunes and we had to walk around looking for it for a long time and then finally found it.  My Dad said, as he handed me the tape, "You know what you can do?  Get a number 2 pencil and roll it back up".  If he didn't say it about that tape it was about another one, because it was shortly after.  If there were more tapes, one was pulled out and then I did listen to part of one and there was a man talking on it.  This car vandalism occurred in 1983 or 1984 if I remember correctly.  It was after we were being made to be hungry.  I'm pretty sure the tape with the man talking on it was from that car, and I liked listening to it because he had a nice voice and said nice things but I didn't know who it was--it was an American I think but I'm not sure if maybe there was an accent.  It sounded like he was talking directly to me, to give me a message so I played it over and over and then one day it was gone.  I kept trying to make out one part of it.  I would rewind the player, play, and rewind, and play, and listen to it over and over.  Then my Dad either parted out the car or impounded it.  They left the keys in the ignition all the time but they also hot-wired it to start too.  It's the only car I remember being hot-wired.  It was also the one that a hanger was used on to "jimmy" open the locks through a crack in the windows.

I'm sure I could write a book about all of this, and make some money, but I don't believe I will be making money on a book deal in the U.S. because so far, the U.S. government has used people to try to intercept and control what I do and write.  There are things I can save for a book and put it together at some time, but the money I expect to have from the U.S., is compensation for the decades of forcing me out of work and lying about me to the entire world.  I expect compensation and the return of my son.  No one in their right mind will ever believe a word the U.S. has to offer again by the time I'm through.

pg.  46   E.H. mentions "The Hammer".  He says he had a military voice and told him to face front and "don't look at me".  My connotation to this is that  I used to say to my brother "Don't look at me" in the car, and my parents would laugh and say, "He can't hurt you by looking at you".  However, I was programmed and told not to look at the person, or one of them, who tortured me.  I was either told "Don't look at me" and tortured if I did, or I was programmed the reverse to not look at someone when they said, "Look at me when I'm talking to you".  I looked at everyone actually, even in lectures most of the time, but there were only a few I didn't look at and one was my Dad.  I was told, so often, not to look at him when talked to, and to keep my gaze lowered, that later when I was quizzed about the color of his eyes I said "Brown".  They're not brown.  Both of the Bob twins have green-blue eyes that sometimes even look slightly blue-gray, but they are not solid brown and yet that's what I said because I was never allowed to look him in the eye at close range.  Even when repeatedly told to look him in the eye or look at him when he was talking to me, I couldn't.  I would start, and drop my gaze down quickly.  I don't see why I would do this unless I was tortured if I didn't as a toddler.  My supervisor at Wendys and a doctor at a hospital commented about how "This is a patient who makes good eye contact" and I do, generally, right at everyone, but not with my Dad in his lecture tone and possibly not with a few others.  When E.H. indicates he was on drugs the day he talked to the "Hammer" it is possibly to insinuate one was drugged or on tranquilizers when in front of this person.  He says the Hammer asked him if he had taken any drugs and he said a prescribed tranq and the man hit the roof.  The other connotation I might have with a hammer, is that I used one to break open a can of blueberry pie filling when I was in a hungry mode.  I kept seeing it in the pantry, and instead of using a can opener and making a noise, I guess I followed the candy rule or drug rule and took it outside.  So I pounded on the can of pie filling outside and then hid the hammer by the shed, hoping I could find a convenient time to clean it off later, but I forgot about it.  I didn't want to make a mess in my room, so I took it outside and then I chugged it because I didn't have a spoon or utensils.  I was pretty desperate, and then my hands were sweating and I was nervous because I was afraid I'd get caught.  When my Dad found the hammer he said, "WHO has been using my hammer?!"  I didn't say anything and then when he showed it to me, I admitted I had and he said, "What's THIS?" and I said, "Blueberry sauce".

He said why did you use a hammer and the hand-held one was too hard to use, and the automatic was noisy, so I took it outside, beat it with the head and then realized the forked end would open it better and brought the hammer down on the lid with the forked end.  Then I chugged it.  All I can remember is I was starving and we never ever got sweets and maybe there was something programmed over blueberries, but I finally decided I'd open it up and I also remember I was mad at my parents for some reason, possibly crying, and honestly, it may have been a good reason, not to justify, but that's what I did.  What it really followed, was the same pattern of eating pills or candy like drugs, or drink, outside and not in the house, following emotional upset.  It was very drug-related in my opinion.  And what are blueberries but little blue "pills".  I still remember how it tasted--that is how acutely hungry or triggered I was.  I started to feel sick after over half of it was chugged.

E.H. says the Hammer questioned him again and again about drug use and drinking, and then on April 29, 1993, he gave him his final polygraph.  The book here has a typo of 1993 instead of 1983.  1993 is when I graduated from high school and left my parent's house.  It was right around that time, because the Seniors got out of school early if they had their credits and then took their diploma.  Actually, I think I first chugged some of it and then used a fork for the rest, just because I sort of remember maybe cleaning the fork but forgetting about the hammer.  The fork was instead of the spoon possibly bc it was the nearest thing or I didn't have to go into the house and open a drawer that might have been heard.  Of course I would have known a spoon was better to use, but I made do.  Possibly I had the fork because I thought I could try to puncture the top with a fork but it didn't work so I got the hammer. I know there were a bunch of indented little holes from trying and then after making all these dented hole impressions, I whacked it with the hammer and it went through.

So while he had his fourth test and I cleaned my fork, he says he was relieved when the ordeal was over.  I know I got spanked over it with a belt and wasn't shaking any hands.  E.H. says he then went to a grocery store in McClean and got snacks and champagne.  This makes me think of how my brother and I were coached to go outside and get candy at the grocery store after this.  We'd say, "We're BORED!" and my parents would say, "If you're bored, clean your room" but then they started to give us each a dollar and say, "Here's a dollar.  Why don't you walk to the store."  It was only on Sundays.  We were able to get a full lunch size bag of candy with it.  It was a plain brown paper bag and we'd walk with the tops pressed together, not folded over, because we had tall kinds of candy in them, so we had the two side of the bag pressed together and walked through many feet of snow for it.  We were able to buy many boxes and pieces of candy.  Franks Superette had lots of penny candies and individual pieces as well as boxes.  I always sensed a little depression around that time though, on the days we were told to go to the store, and before this I think is when I found a bottle of vermouth half filled and wrapped in a brown paper sack at the back of the fridge. 

He says May 2, 1983 he walked into the CIA and said "What's up?" and they told him to resign on the spot.  I don't know what was happening for me to relate, but possibly this was around the time I said I was giving up acting (what I loved most) after sort of pressure, or possibly I remember walking in after a candy trip with my brother one day and seeing a black eye on my Mom or some problem and I asked what was wrong.  I sensed something was wrong on some of those Sundays but I didn't know what. 

pg. 47.  He says the agency didn't offer him another less-sensitive assignment and just fired him immediately.  He also says he didn't get probation.  He says they asked him what he wanted his position to be named as because he couldn't say CIA for his resume so he said "Economic Specialist for the State Department" (numbly).  For me, I changed my aspirations to "teacher" and "singer" and I guess then we were allowed some candy, or if I understand numb and drugs or candy to go together who knows if there were medications involved at some point.  Our meds seemed to be the candy we got, but it was sort of replacing a programming for something else.

He says their attitude seemed to be they "stuck a knife in his back" but wouldn't tell him why and don't take it personally.  For me it would have been the whole pressure and lecture to give up something I loved, knowing acting was what I said I loved.  Also, we were tortured and no one would tell us.  I suppose finally, I think the car of ours that got trashed was a Chevy Impala, and then finally, around this time we were always told "maybe" and not "no" or "yes" anymore on anything.  It was always "maybe". He says he was required to return the CIA car and the keys to it.

Another thing, is E.H. says the agency didn't offer him a "less-sensitive" assignment, which, if he was talking about kids and I was "sensitive", could have meant custody in some way.  I know he's talking about country assignments but because some of what he writes is coded, I wonder.  I wouldn't know if the less-sensitive assignment an sensitive ones are to refer to myself, my brother Levi, Kate Middleton, or anything.

I should say, for me, commenting on all of this, nothing is other than what I say--no hidden meaning or use of sentences to say anything other than what I mean, or acronymns.

I was never told my brother Levi is related biologically to E.H.  I was told I am.  I know he was wearing Wranglers until I told my Mom other kids wore Levis.  I remember later, he was trying to sit on my face, or above it, as he farted which is most likely something someone told him to do.  As for programming of my brother when he was younger, I know he was taught to scan, because he uses his eyes back and forth to access both sides of the brain, and when he was on a soccer field with all the kids told to run to the goal, my Dad told him to run or get the ball and instead of running with the kids he dropped down to his stomach and started examining the grass.  The more my Dad yelled from the side to run after the ball, the more he stayed on his stomach as the other kids ran around.  So this was possibly an indicator of the same kind of reverse psychology programming.  I had thought it was odd and then someone said how nice to show he's not competitive or something but really, she knew it was about programming.

As to whether he was taught to self-destruct, I don't think so.  I was, but I don't think he was and I never saw any indication for it.  I don't think he got nearly what I got prior to 1977 and even later. I also was told I could let him drive me around but not the other way around and then he told me this himself.  So I think he knew something at some point.  When I think about "sudden brake failure", the only "Charles" in my family would be my brother, who my Dad called "Charlie Brown" and later, "Buster" and "Mister".  I know Judy Roark one day looked at me panicked and said "Cameo, don't look at me" and I froze because I wasn't sure what was going on. My Mom was upstairs and had a cool tone and the only people who I didn't look at was mostly my Dad and then sometimes my brother and I said this to eachother (He's looking at me, she's touching me, don't touch me, get on your own side, don't look at me...).  I think it is possible my brother would be involved in trying to kill me because it's shocking enough to know my parents were and they protected him and yet never told me how I should protect myself.  It is possible the government began utilizing my brother.
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UPDATED 8/25/13

When my brother then told me one day he'd take me for a drive, and said why didn't I go with him, I chose not to go with him, not because I didn't like him or because I knew about programming or plans to kill me, but because, as I told him, "When I invited YOU to ride with me in my car, out of all the times I invited you, you refused, so why should I let you take me for a drive when you never let me take you?"  It wasn't being petty, because he had made such a deal about it, it had hurt my feelings and I had also asked him why not many times.  Why not go with his sister as she takes you out for a drive?  He wasn't able to drive yet and he turned it down and acted weird.  Not only that, my parents acted weird.  So in hindsight, I believe he knew about my programming all the way back then, when he was in high school, and knew why he was saying he wouldn't let me drive.  The only way he'd know then, or back in jr. high for him even, was if someone talked to him about it.  My parents did the exact same thing to me.  I can't tell you how many times I said I wanted to take my Mom or Dad for a ride, or could they take me for lessons when I was learning, or after I got my permit, would they let me drive.  One time, they let me, just to say they did I guess, and after that, they refused and acted weird about.  It was so weird I used to say, "Why don't you let me drive?!"  and "Why not?"

Well, because they didn't care if I killed myself, because that was their entire plan apparently, for me to be a "Shelly" lying in her grave early.  She died of leukemia if I remember correctly, and I was living with the Hamilton part of Luke and the Peeping Tom.

Basically, what this means is, my entire family, the Gang of 3, took part in trying to kill me or have me kill myself.  My brother Levi knew about it, and kept it to himself and didn't tell me; my Dad knew about it and tested the results on a test drive in Moses Lake, right before we moved to Sherwood; and my mother knew about it and tested results with my reaction to a foot pedal for a sewing machine when I was even younger, in Moses Lake, and then wouldn't allow me to learn to sew with the machine to write over the programming.  They wanted to keep it as new and neat as possible, and having someone run into me from behind, on the side, hitting and pushing my car into a ditch, resulted in the panic reaction that was desired, from which sprang the programming that I was to gun it and slam on the gas instead of the brakes, which should have propelled me directly, head-on with a telephone pole and killed me.

Nice family.

I know they were all in on it, because all of them proved beforehand, that they knew of my programming and were performing "checks" to see if it was there and I was "operable".  Out of my Mom, Dad, and brother, not one of them said to me, "I have something to tell you Cameo.  I am telling you this because I want to save your life."

I am sure all of them said bad things about me to CPS "secretly" and to whomever they could, because as long as they thought they could keep me from knowing how they were defaming me and participating in the kidnapping of my son from me, they were protecting themselves and using "mental illness" or other suggestions as their defense for premeditated attempted murder.

Then, the first thing my Dad said to my Mom, after taking me out for the first drive to test how I confused the gas with the brakes (my ingrained brake failure programming), she said, "How did it go?" and he said, "You got a bottle of aspirin?" and something about "I need some aspirin".  So he went to the cupboard and got out the bottle.

Basically, it was a way of telling my Mom, who knew I'd overdosed on baby aspirin when I was younger, thinking, "I need some aspirin" that I had shown him the odds of a perfect "suicide".  I was tested, and "suicide-worthy".  When I was younger, at that house, my Dad used to grab my hands and hit me in the face with them saying, "Why are you hitting yourself?  Huh? huh?  Stop hitting yourself!"  That was supposed to be a "game", and he'd take both of my wrists, and start lightly slapping my face with both of my hands and say this. "Why are you hitting yourself?" I used to laugh and laugh...I laughed.

They plotted against me--my own family.

When my Dad went to the kitchen after saying he needed some aspirin, I followed him because I was excited about my first driving.  Then I saw he wasn't actually going to get aspirin and just said this and then when he saw me watching, he decided to get the aspirin.  So I stood there, by the cupboard next to the fridge, and he looked suddenly mean and annoyed and said, "What you are looking at?"  It hurt my feelings and I said, "I don't know."  Then he said "Go on" or get out of here or something.  But I remember this because I first wondered why he was saying he needed some aspirin and wasn't going to get any, but just said it, and then he was annoyed that I noticed and while getting 2 aspirin, asked me what I was looking at.  I think I might have even said, when he said this and didn't at first get it, "Aren't you going to get some aspirin?"

So basically, my family was plotting to have me kill myself, through their premeditated programming, while I was still a toddler.  They obviously didn't back away from their intent, because at different times they tested their results.  I know the Maiers family, which got federal contracts, was involved because of the gifts they gave me, intended to be "understood" by my parents, and by things they said around me or things they wanted me to do.  Later, Stephanie having me sit next to a social worker for her engagement party when my son Oliver was with me, was a way to have me know later she was involved in taking my son from me, but her motives for this, would go back to her family's collusion with mine in wanting to kill me off.

It shows Karin Whittemore was involved later in my life, as well as Christa Schneider, and that is not touching on the other assassination attempts where someone else took the wheel to try to kill me.  They tried to kill me by having me "put a hit on herself" using programming they'd forced against me, to trigger and facilitate my own suicide, and they then used themselves and became outright criminals who attempted murder against me themselves.  None of it was done in the "heat of the moment"--these were calculated, premeditated attempts of murder against me.

I do remember though, like E.H. says he didn't have to bring it up but did, "Shouldn't I have a polygraph?" and then was given one by the CIA and next he took a pill (tranquilizer)...I remember my Dad walked back into the house and in response to "How did it go?" said "I need some aspirin!" or you got some aspirin?  and then when he didn't get it, I spoke up and said, "Don't you need the aspirin?" or "Shouldn't you get the aspirin?" and he was miffed over it, that I verbally reminded him and then when I followed him into the kitchen, he was still mad at me.  If I was "wired" or under surveillance in some way, he knew it then came across that he was just using this phrase or making the comment, without actually following through on the action, which would mean it was a coded response, not a natural joke or comment.  "Don't you need the aspirin?"  "Aren't you going to get some aspirin?" and I said it because I was concerned but I was following him because I was excited I'd spent time with him.  Who knows, maybe they were giving me candy as a toddler after I repeatedly practiced their programming of me for "brake failure" and that's why I followed him over.

Anyway, it's not to be missed in the suggestions in the book Safe House!

While my family was premeditating my death, the other thing they wanted to work on, was seeing if they could put me in jail on false charges or by persuading me to do something wrong.

pg. 48.  E.H. says they kept trying to get him in for a physical and contacting Mary to do it and were calling the house.  He says he made calls to the embassy in Moscow after being fired and says they frequently make calls between the embassy and the State Department in Washington.  For me of course, I lived in the State of Washington at that time.  He said there was an "open" unprotected phone line used for routine conversations and they assumed the KGB listened to those.

The only connotation here is that there was a phone and I used to listen in from where I was, but also, I was wired myself and it's possible (probable) the house was bugged too.  I suppose it's possible if he sometimes refered to me as KGB, that I listened to open unprotected lines, might refer to the lines I was fed that didn't have anything to do with protecting my life.  No one was telling me how to counter the programming--it was being kept as tidy as possible for future effectiveness.  They also knew their best shot at having me kill myself by "brake failure" would be soon after I was driving, before I had more practice to over-ride the programming and had practiced the brakes and gas enough times, under enough conditions, to get past or minimize effects of the programming.  Their best chance at it was while I was between the ages of 15-17, and since driving at 15 was only permitted with an adult, it was going to be about 16 or if later, 17.  Which makes it even more interesting how there was a spinning wheel in Granny's attic, because it looks like I was supposed to be a forever "Sleeping Beauty" like Shelly, if I wasn't criminal enough to start house fires.  I was being set up to be killed and/or imprisoned from the time I was a toddler.

I didn't get any driving practice at age 15 with a permit and was told to wait until the driving instructor gave me lessons and then after this, I didn't drive but maybe once until I was 16 and got my license. 

My mother and father never intended to disrupt the programming and make it less effective.  All of the times I begged to use the sewing machine I wasn't allowed to.  And after the driving test, in Moses Lake, when it was shown it was successful, my mother waited until she knew I was reading one of my favorite books, and knowing how I loved to read and wouldn't be interrupted until I finished the book, she chose that time to once say, for a cover, "If you want to learn to sew, right now is your chance" and I said, "Wait! I'm reading." and said show me after I was done reading the book and then when I said okay, she said, "It's too late."  I begged her...begged, again, from that point, to teach me and she said, "You had your chance".  This was done after they'd also taught me to "do one thing at a time" and "don't start something else until you finish what you're doing".  I didn't practice multi-tasking until 1997, at CTR Business Systems and I realized I had to teach myself how to do it because I was programmed for intense focus on one subject, not a bunch of different things at the same time.  Actually, I think I was trained to do many things and multi-task as a toddler, and then it was "written over" with this "one-track" idea, and then I had to pick up the multi-tasking again on my own.

So my premeditated murder where the "hit" was done by me, myself, was imminent.  They never intended to do anything to ruin their chances of killing me.  They kept it clean.  After the first attempt to trigger my reaction the way they knew was planned to kill me, I was driving more and it wasn't as likely I'd do the same thing, so instead individuals were hired to hijack my car and do hit-and-runs and put boulders in the middle of the road, and poison me.  And they tried to trigger to me to overdose with pills, which I did and it was Granny and my Mom screaming at me and saying no one was taking me to the hospital and not to call 911 and that I was just making a "cry for help".  This was after Barb Greenman coached my Mom to email me and tell me she didn't love me anymore.

So it's like the little red hearts all over Cindy Sandberg's room, which were like the tiny red hearts I used to pick out from small candies to give and keep for myself. "I don't love you" and torture to my head that was extreme, without painkillers, along with isolation, and of course, it's how they programmed my reaction to be.

So.  THIS country has their hands on my son Oliver.

What do you want to do about it?

I have enough information to put several people into prison for life, and I have no doubt there are some who are getting ready to substantiate my claims.

E.H. says at the Moscow end a Marine guard answered the phone and was the go-between for the embassy and Washington.  This sort of sounds like my grandpa Garrett, who was a Marine, talking to my Dad (Washington) and Mom (Washington) regarding me and others.  But who knows. 

He says he had a friend at the embassy named Jim Smith who was expecting him and he told them "those assholes don't believe me" (over the polygraphs).  Actually, he says he did not tell him about the polygraph tests but he was angry over the whole affair.

For me, a "polygraph" "test" was the wiggly lines I was expected to make if I slammed on the gas and killed myself.  It wasn't like Mike Nichols, refusing to stop my car, having over a half hour to do it and another person there and no pressure and I saw his expression first.  They based their programming of me on panic impulses after doing something specific.  I think I was literally polygraphed over whether I loved or hated my parents.  "Do you love me?"  "Do you hate me?" and I'm sure they'd do it just to see if there was any trace of my knowing what they were plotting against me.  I remember Jim and Shirley were told about my driving test but I don't know who else.  Stephanie Maiers wanted to know about it.

He says he knew the CIA suspected all Soviet employees to be potential spies, including the ones at the embassy, and that they were suspected to be KGB agents. 

I suppose I could wonder if someone is saying the CIA was worried there might be one person on my side that didn't want to kill me and would have alerted others about it.  E.H. says he wasn't in contact with a KGB person before he defected and he never would have been crazy enough to call a KGB officer over an open line through the U.S. embassy in Moscow.

He says if he'd contacted the KGB he would have done so secretly by contacting the embassy in Mexico City or through a pay phone, not an open line.  He says "No professional officer is that stupid."  He says when the CIA contacted him about a physical again, he said he'd let them know he didn't want it and called the open line and said "I'm not taking the physical" which he knew could be heard by KGB and might let them know he had been deep cover, not a regular employee.  Langley called him and the CIA called him disgruntled and that probably the KGB, knowing this, might have thought to talk to him.  He says he waited 2 years for the talk and then they talked.

I would say, when thinking about how he was accused of contacting the KGB in Switzerland earlier, and his mention of "Berne, Switzerland" (burn) I might think of how the 74 Impala smelled like burnt rubber and had burns and oil all over it.  I am not sure if this is when I heard a tape with a man's voice on it, but no one said who is was and I didn't recognize him but I liked having the tape, whoever it was, for some reason.  I might also think of how Stephanie Maiers later gave me, in 1988 or so, Toblerone chocolate, which was shaped like a triangle, and is from Switzerland, and was like the triangle shape of the opened Doritos in the car that I found.  Probably even the orange fish "Dory" from "Finding Nemo" has something to do with it--I mean, with being inspired by some earlier event.  Possibly. 

I think the other thing that comes to mind, back to previous spy training, but not about this section, is that I also learned how to make invisible ink with my Mom.  She showed me how to write on paper with lemon juice and hold it above a toaster and you could read it.  She used a toothpick I think, and I thought it was great.  It dried and you really couldn't see it and then if you put it above a toaster so it warmed, it browned enough to show the letters.  It was one of the best fun things to find as a kid.  So I made secret notes with lemon juice, and I also knew how to steam open the seal of a letter by holding it over a pot or kettle of steam.  That was all earlier stuff though, when I saw the lock picking.  I was then given or bought a bottle of disappearing ink that showed up bright blue on clothes and disappeared without a trace and when I did this to my Mom and brother they didn't like it.  It was more of a boughten gag gift, not a secret message. 

Also, when I visited Stephanie in Seattle I noticed she made a big deal about a bunch of scarves hanging over a hook to the left of a wall, which was like the necklaces I'd draped over my mirror as a kid after I saw Shelly's funeral.  I had a weird, bad feeling about it because I could tell Stephanie felt triumphant about something and I wasn't sure what it was but I knew it had to do with me. 

None of the Maiers ever contacted me again after the attempt to murder me, by triggering my programmed response to an attack with another car.  She called or wrote up to that point, and then I never once heard from any of them again after they tried to put the hit on me, and wanted to say I did it to myself.  I didn't talk to her again until 2004, and it wasn't until after E.H. had been declared dead.  E.H. and my Grandpa Garrett, the Marine.  There were definitely worried people around when I didn't die as planned so they worked at other attempts and then false arrests and defamation to claim I was mentally ill.  It was all they had, and it's still all they have, because my testimony, on the face of it, could put dozens of people in jail for life, and should be grounds for the return of my son to me and full Witness Protection.  But who in the U.S. would give me "Witness Protection" when clearly the U.S. government was paying some of these people and supporting it to begin with?  Did the U.S. and Canada collude to violate international laws regarding political asylum?  What do YOU think?  What's the U.S. going to do now, put all of their paid employees in jail?  Can I make a citizen's arrest?

It's not like other, totally random people haven't guessed or included inside jokes about what has been done to me and what my brother has done.  Our about our programming.  You can watch the Snicker's ad with the coach on the playing field to guess that much.  The coach gets his team in a huddle and shows them a playboard and tells them what to do and then they all say okay!  and nod and he yells, "Do it for Muther Russia!"  Basically, if they're all programmed like my brother was, they'll all lay down on the field and not move.  So everything in the commercial, as a pun, is the reverse, including potentially, doing it for Russia when it's for another country, not Russia.  The whole idea is that "snicker, snicker" it's all a lie.

The other thing the U.S. did, which they thought was a great joke was RPAW.  What's the reverse of that?  WAPR.  Like Whopper.  Num-num!  So it's from
Ring around the rosy
Pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes,
We all fall down

It marks an "event" made deliberately every 2 years.  For me, it was bad things planned, and then the reverse for Katie, was good things.  It's been this ongoing joke intended to degrade me and my son and reward the efforts of people who have harmed us, including Bob and Dicksie Garrett.  Not only does it mark symbolic events...how many ways can you die?  death was planned for me that many ways, while for Katie, they planned the exact reverse of it.  So I would say it's a very sick, sick, form of premeditated attempted murder.  I will explain this more later, after more commentary on E.H's book but he mentions the 2 yr. timeframe more than once as well.  I also know when I was held hostage in Nashville, TN and assaulted with injections and drugged, my mother either then or later said to me, "I said to him, 'Now Dr. Saw-Haw; now Dr. Saw-Haw" and she repeated his name in groups of 2. 


pg. 51.  E.H. says, in ch. 5, "Ed Howard, Ex-Spy" that as of May 3, 1983, he was out of a job. He says he was in a state of shock, disoriented, and angered and that they kept him on the payroll while telling him to see their psychiatrist Dr. Bernard Malloy, who was more interested in limiting CIA damages than helping him.  He says he had "fast decisions" to make, that the 2 yr long plans for Moscow were in tatters, and they had to come up with "Plan B".

I don't know how it really fits here, but I would add that around this time, while I was being newly called a "slob", had my homework stolen from me, and was forced out of acting, I was also being called the following names, out of the blue:  brat, ingrate, rotten, weird, baby, and told "don't be so sensitive." We also had food deprived at this time and were told to "keep your mitts to yourself" and "keep your paws to yourself".   We weren't humans with hands anymore but had cat mitts and dog paws.  They didn't want me to be 'sweet' or 'sensitive'.

I was  also very neat and was suddenly being taught to be messy, and right now, in the place I live now, I keep it a mess, yes, but that's because it's a small space, I don't live with anyone else, and it's not a normal situation for me.  Anyone who has lived with me knows I am, by nature, orderly.  Wanting me to be messy, out of the blue, along with beating me, and verbal abuse and calling me names, was all at once, all of a sudden.  I had not been called names before, every single day, and told to "shut up".   The amount of verbal abuse was sudden and extreme.  So for me, I was in total shock, disoriented, and angry. 

E.H. says he left Washington and returned to first loves of economics and New Mexico (NM).  In June they rented out their Washington home until it was sold, packed the car, and drove to cattle country.  Who knows what the underlying message is.  money and drugs-meds? I mean, if he's referring to someone else?  He says, pg. 52, there was a mix-up with his passport and indicates more than one time, some significance of 16 days after he was fired, it was still sent to him.  It established a connection of diplomacy credentials with the Soviets so he kept it.  It was on pg. 5 that it said Department of State , Washington.  (He never mentions D.C., just Washington) and that the "bearer is abroad on assignment for the foreign service in the U.S.".  I suppose it also sounds like another way of saying, "The woman who bore the child or whose child it is is a "broad" that's on foreign assignment for the U.S."  I say this because my Dad (Bob Garrett) used to refer to some women as "broads" or "that broad".

E.H. then says while in NM he became depressed and turned to drinking, which caused friction in his marriage.  The only strange thing I would say is that the car we found returned had beer cans all over it and empty motor oil bottles in it. He says there was a lot of drinking for awhile and I don't remember anything from my past like this.   He then got a job in June with Curtis Porter and Philip Baca and they sold the VA house and move to Verano Loop in El Dorado.  My comments would be I think this is about the time Granny changed her name from Constance Beverly to Amythyst D'Oro and I notice 108 was his house number there. He says they had parties there and he sometimes drank too much (pg. 53).  He says, pg. 54, on October 20, 1983, he went to Washington and sat down on a park bench and thought what if he just went in and told everything he knew but, he says, everyone has fantasies and most never act on them, and he was going to and debated whether he'd be taken seriously or "thrown out as a crank" and the possible benefits and liabilities.

For me, I think about how this was 2 days before my 9th birthday and I had asked for a 2 foot tall doll that would "walk" with me if I held it's hand. I had a list of a lot of things, and got everything I asked for that year, but I remember I was surprised I got the doll.  I saw her in a catalog, and it said she walked next to you and I wanted it.  She was hard plastic and her arm went all the way around but if she stood on her feet, and you held a hand and moved it up, it made her feet go forward.  It was sort of a crank-arm type of thing, that got the feet to move, and she had blond hair with bangs, blue eyes and I decided to name her Crystal.  I always held her left hand with my right and found she didn't walk as fluidly as they showed in the catalog but it was okay, and I was happy I got her. 

So when E.H. mentions everyone has "fantasies" and a rubber doll is one to some people, in that other context, and for me it was to have a sister or this doll I asked for, if I'm related to him, as I'm told I am, I would say he remembers when I asked for this doll.  Which would be a way to let me know he remembers me.  Of course, a lot of people in the U.S. read this book, U.S. employees, and used it to hunt me down with and make jokes over. 

I almost barely remember someone coming to our house and asking me if I wanted to live with him but it must have been someone leaving a party and joking but I remember someone at our front door vaguely and I was too afraid to go with him.  I remember he sort of looked like my Dad (one of the Bobs) but a little different and he wore a long coat that went past his knees.  He visited us at night.

He says he didn't visit Soviets until he was in Helsinki  and then he mentions the most embarrassing event of his life.  With this I would say I remember visiting the Devil's Punchbowl, a waterfall and small lake beneath it, and says it was an event that haunted him the rest of his life.  What I mean, is with the mention of Helsinki I think of visiting the Devil's Punchbowl, not that that is the most embarrassing or haunting event.

I think possibly his haunting event was either the shooting he next describes or, since it's at the end of explaining how he sat on a park bench and didn't know what to do, maybe he is referring to this time.  As for the man, I only remember one time really, and a card or something and it was about my birthday.  It wasn't like I remember someone coming and going at night all the time--not at all.  I very vaguely remember telling my parents there was a man watching me from a park bench too, from behind the chain link fence while I was on the school playground.  He didn't seem mean--I just didn't know why he was watching me and told my Mom he sat on a park bench that faced the school yard.

With the doll Crystal, I had been pleading with my Mom to have another baby so I could have a sister to play with and I liked my brother but thought I could do some things with a sister, like play Barbies and other things.  I was told no and then I liked dolls and stuffed animals and science things but I saw this one doll that said it walked with you and it had a photo of a girl holding her hand and walking with it.  It gave her a name or a title that had to do with walking and 'lifesize', so when I got her, I tried walking around with her.  She was dressed in black velvet knickers, as in 3/4 pants that buttoned at the calf.  They were not tight but shirred and sort of puffed out a little, and then had a band around the calf that was tighter, with a loop and then the button and then the waist was a band and flat and they buttoned in the back.  She had solid white stockings under this and then plain velvet flats.  Her blouse was solid white and buttoned in the back.  Her entire outfit was only black velvet and white.  I think there was a black cape or jacket that went over it.  I believe she also had a plain black beret.  For some reason the cap and cape disappeared at some point but the blouse and pants and stockings and shoes were always there.  She was dressed sort of like a French riding doll or artist.  My Mom offered suggestions of names but I said, "I'm going to name her Crystal" and I went to my bedroom first to think and then decided and went out to the living room to tell everyone.  She said why and I said, "Because her eyes look like crystals and she has blond hair."  I had pretend tea parties with Crystal, tried to make her new clothes by draping things around her, and mostly, I walked around the house with her, in my room and elsewhere, trying different surfaces and I tried her other hand and arm too, but it didn't work as well.  I think I told my Mom I wished her other arm worked too, or something like that because when I tried the other way I ended up dragging her a little.  When I was done playing with her I had her standing next to my bed.  I put her in the corner once to prop her up but it didn't feel right, so I had her standing right next to my bed with a hand on the bed frame or my dressing table seat that I sometimes put at the end of my bed.  I remember one day my Mom walked in and something spooked her with Crystal.  She jumped and gasped and I said, "What?!!  What?!" and she said, "Why do have her standing like that?" and I said "Like what?"  and I couldn't figure it out and my Mom never told me. I think that was the time I had raised one of her arms so it looked like she was waving, and she faced the door, so my Mom opened the door and there was Crystal, waving at her with another hand on the bed.   Sometimes I had her at the head of my bed and sometimes at the foot.  I used her for a body double but I'll explain that later.  I felt too shy to talk to her very much, out loud, as to a real person, because I kept feeling what if someone is listening or can hear me?  So I didn't have as much pretend conversation as I might have.  I used to say out loud, "Come on Crystal, let's go for a walk" and then walk around the house with her.  After awhile, talking to Crystal as we walked in the living room and kitchen bugged my Mom so she said why don't you do that in your room? and I said, "There isn't as much ROOM to walk in my room!"  My room for walking was getting cut down and I said, "I can't walk with her like normal in my room.  It's too small.  I need to be able to walk in the living room and kitchen too."  Something was bugging my Mom over things I said to Chrystal while walking with her and I think having me walk around everywhere, all the time, spooked her.  A few times, my brother would be sitting on the couch and say, "What are you doing?" and just stare, even though he was only 6 or so.  I used to whisper in her ear in front of my brother and then have her pretend to talk to me and then I'd say to him, "She says..." or "Crystal says..." and then he wanted to walk around with her so I let him try but he dragged her so then I wouldn't let him and my Mom said I could only walk with her in my room if I wasn't going to share with Levi or because it bothered Levi to see me walking her if he couldn't.  I let him hold her other hand sometimes but there wasn't enough room for it.  They basically didn't like the idea of my brother wanting to walk with Crystal. My brother was out there with my Mom anyway, and why should she have cared if I wanted to walk around with Crystal in front of my brother?  He was watching t.v. or playing with my Mom and I was told the only place I could play with her was in my room.  She didn't walk on grass because it was too uneven and I tried.  This specific event has become a weird replay in Coquille, where if I walked the larger loop it was fine but if I took a smaller one with the idea of looking out for the house, it reminded them of their pushing me into my room.  I don't know why it was so important for me to walk with her everyday, but that's how kids are I guess...and it might have had something to do with remembering when I was younger when I walked with my parents and they held my hand.  Then at the beach they'd both take a hand and let me jump and swing and I remember it as being a particular time of social contact.   I guess she was sort of an imaginary friend.  Someone once brought that up, "Did you have any imaginary friends as a kid?" and I said no, because I thought of them as being invisible ones, but I guess in a sense, she was.  I really did have some unconscious "feeling" someone might be "listening" to me when I talked to her--like, as a kid, I didn't know what a bugged house was (or body) but I sensed it so I didn't talk to her or say and pretend nearly as much in conversation as I might have.  When it came down to choosing to sit with my brother and watch t.v. or go to my room and be with Crystal, I chose Crystal.  On a psychoanalytical level, my brother was live person who didn't want to play and was watching a machine (t.v.) whereas Crystal was a machine (toy) and I could make up playing with my imagination.  I couldn't force my brother to interact with me, but I was able to play pretend interaction with her, and that was playing.  My idea of playing was not watching t.v., though I did like cartoons and movies.  When my Dad got home from work he'd say, "Why don't you come out here and join the rest of the family?"  I pretended she was my sister and I was teaching her things and taking her around with me, she was a play friend, and then a couple of times I switched the pretend to have her be my Mom and I was the kid.  I never had her sitting when I wasn't playing with her because her legs didn't bend and her waist didn't.  So she either had to lie down or stand and I had her standing.

I had no idea other people in the government were privy to my entire childhood because later, a joke was made with having me sing the song "Walk With Me" and I remember Shirina Edwin smirking and handing me a cassette tape that said, "It's your song" and I listened to it and my voice had been altered and slowed down.  It was even slightly deeper.  I even sounded off-key in parts and since she was the audio person I had wondered why she deliberately made my voice sound worse than it was.  I had seen and heard what she could do so I knew it was because of her technique, not how it came out.  I said thanks, but I sensed a kind of rubbing it in then and didn't even pick up on the joke over my walking doll and the song (sang for a wedding) "Walk With Me".  Also, when I worked at Helzberg Diamonds and the manager said, "Let's walk" (everyday) I never thought, "He's saying this every day because he thinks it's maybe funny or maybe he just knows I walked Crystal all the time and I like to walk."  I don't know, but with Shirina I knew something was up.  It's sort of funny, but I felt very creeped out when I discovered CPS was releasing and recording all of my visits with my son to the public in Wenatchee.  I mean, this is after the CIA and military made enough use of me and then they violated my son's privacy.

pg. 55.  E.H. says he went into the desert for target shooting.  Knowing what the weather is like in New Mexico, I don't blame him because they have some really extraordinary mornings and evenings.  He says he put the gun under the seat of his jeep.  This would bring memories for me of putting things under the front of the car seat but mostly, if the keys weren't in the ignition, they were there, or I also remember a box under the seat.  It was never a "key box".  I wasn't supposed to find it one day, but I put my hand under the seat and felt something and pulled it out and it was some kind of a metal box with knobs on it.  I said, "What is this?" and I could tell it was something I was not supposed to find.  I was told to put it back and then a box of bee-bee pellets replaced it.  It was a box full of ammo and I'm sure, for a pellet gun by how they looked, but I'm not sure.  The box I found was not really a radio because I would have known it was a radio if it looked like one.  It was some kind of electricity box.  There was no speaker sensor on it or anything that would emit sound and it looked like an electrical box.  Later, it was replaced, right after this, with a box of ammo, which I was told to find or find something behind it so I would see that more often than the first thing I had seen.

E.H. first says he was a licensed gun owner and then he also specifically mentions he was a licensed gun dealer and brings up the licensed gun dealer a few times.  Then he mentions putting his gun under the seat which brings to mind what I found under our seat.

If he's suggesting something, if it's a box that conducts electricity for purposes of torture, licensed gun dealer would interchange with license-to-kill.  Or torture.  The U.S. tortures kids for fun actually.  He also mentions with this gun he shot out the roof of a car.  If a car is a person, the roof would be the head.  My Dad worked on cars himself until, he says, "They got electrical", meaning, "digital".  I recognize a Mag Pro 44 electrical points box as being similar to what I found, except for the color.  I would have to look at a few boxes to know.  However, I looked up something with 44 in case it was to indicate the type of electric box used.  I know my Mom later quizzed me, in the 90s, to see if I remembered anything about that box from the late 70s-early to early 80s.  She also freaked out when I gave her a fridge magnet and I didn't know why.  It said "Bee Happy" on it.   I know that was a song my Dad was singing around the house a lot, and playing, at one time.  Be calm.  backwards that's mmlac (mm-lock).  Nothing like lock-jaw from electrocution.  Be galmm!  I was told not to step on any nails to not get lock jaw, but grates and boxes that conduct electricity are worse, I promise.  After my own experience with torture, the show Magnum P.I. was on air.  The name itself is sort of a combination of magnetic electricity and being "numb".  Which is why E.H. would refer to the gun under the seat as a Magnum .44 and not another one he had in his collection.  What I saw was a kind electrical conductivity/circuit box that was portable.  Also, I know my Mom got weirded out if I stood over a grate that was for the vent in the floor, which I did if I was cold, for warm air, but she didn't like, and Granny noticed a couple of times and said the same thing and didn't like it.  So how does Granny know about torture?  I also know Mormon Geoff Rasmussen, whose Uncle is in FBI, knows something because he vomited profusely after seeing me put my feet up on a grated heater on the bus.  I could tell it bothered him and then he threw up all over and he never did that for any other race.  I specifically saw the look on his face and wondered what in the world was wrong with him, and he kept staring and acting weird and distanced. I saw his expression and it was one of hatred towards me and yet worry over getting caught over something.  It was the look someone might have before doing their first professional "hit" job. He was focused on looking at where my feet were.  I never told anyone about it, how he acted, ever.  This was my Senior year, after someone had tried to kill me on the road.   I just noticed and then what's weird is after I saw him looking this way at my feet, he came down with anklyzing spondilosis.   I think it comes down to people worrying that if I repeat something similar, I might remember or someone else will be tipped off as to what was done to me.

E.H. mentions a "crank" such as one would use for a generator (though of course, I can also think of the doll context), and then a 44 Magnum under the seat (which could apply to a metal box I found under a seat that I wasn't supposed to find), and then mentions a hole blasted in a roof (voila...the inspiration for Fallon's skylight) and how it would be fun to "screw the CIA".  In context of cars, weapons, license to kill, cranks, 44 mag, ...a screw might not mean sex abuse and could be another part of a mechanical apparatus used for torture.  I know without any doubt what my fear level was at the Central Washington Hospital when a woman who first whispered something in my ear, went to the counter to get a "weapon" while I was strapped down in a chair, vomiting.


http://www.federatedautoparts.com/PressRelease.aspx?prid=247  I'm putting this link here just to save and look at tomorrow bc I had an idea about something in the article, made me think of another thing.  So...tomorrow then.
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UPDATED 8/26/13

I just remembered.  The Crystal doll had a black velvet ribbon (band) for her head, not a cap.  I also think she possibly didn't have the jacket, but just this pretty blouse, velvet pants and shoes the velvet ribbon in her hair.  She also had a one-piece undergarment that had a v shaped slit in the back and one snap button for the closure.  Then, I used to try draping different clothes and fabrics and didn't have anything else for her to wear or material to hand-sew with, so for variety I had my white and pink lace dress with pink ribbon in it that I'd picked out when I was given a choice of dresses, and I used to put my Cameo necklace around her neck.  The dress was long on her.  On me it was just below the knees but on her it went to the ground, and the Cameo necklace was a long gold chain with little knots in it (sort of a twisted gold chain)--I guess not knots, but the twisting gave the appearance of it, and an oval pendant with a carved white Cameo face in it with a peach-sunset pink (not dark coral) background.  It was about the size of a half dollar coin, larger than quarter size.  On the back of the pendant it was flat gold plated with a scratched criss-cross pattern to it and a very small insignia at the bottom but I don't remember what it was.  It was tiny. To describe the criss-cross pattern, it was like "brushed gold" as they say, but in a distinct criss-cross, both ways, at a diagonal.  If you turned it over then, and looked at it straight on, sort of diamond pattern from the criss-cross, not squares.  The insignia was carved into the metal so it was slightly indented, not just a stamped label or something.  It came to just below my sternum when I wore it and on Crystal it was longer. I had other necklaces but this is the only one I put on her.  I had two Cameo necklaces like this.  One was in black and white (with gold) and the other was in coral pink (with gold).  I think the black and white one had the criss-cross actually, and the other one was flat gold.  The first one was possibly my mother's and then she gave it to me and then the other one I got as a present.  I wore the black and white one with the criss-cross in the back, in high school, and I wore the coral pink one in Moses Lake and on Crystal.  I wore the black and white one for my 10th grade school photo. You can't see it, because the pendant is below the frame of the picture, but you can see the gold chain to it, and it went in a v shape to the pendant which went right to my sternum.  I actually remember more than one Cameo necklace and one was stolen from me.  I first remember a sort of antique, beautiful Cameo that someone gave me.  It was very high quality and it was a present to me.  It was made of the shell stone and real materials and was stolen.  Then I was given the coral pink one (which was not real materials and larger and I noticed the difference in quality even as a kid) which I put on Crystal.  And then there was the black and white one that had been my Moms (I think) which I wore mostly in high school.

I remember when I got the second one, which was larger and not of the real materials (ivory) or as refined, why I was getting duped.  I wasn't duped, but I wondered why the one had disappeared and then I had this other one that wasn't as nice and was a little clunkier to replace it--it was more commercial and not as artistic or refined, but it was still feminine so I said thank you and my feelings were sort of hurt that I didn't have another one as nice as the first one given to me.  Then, I didn't wear a lot of pink or peach in high school so I wore a vintage black and white one.  I have no idea who stole my first one.  The first one was smaller (maybe nickel or quarter size but oval and not as wide as a quarter), more delicate, and real materials; the next was a huge half dollar or dollar size or larger pendant; and the black and white one was a little larger than quarter size and oval.  Aside from this, I had a small cameo on my dress for my newborn dress and I had a pin and earrings that were peach colored which I wore for a school photo in 7th grade but were never favorites.  I only remember 3 necklaces total and I never got another after the black and white one disappeared.  All were made of hard plastic (or other synthetics) except for the first.  Possibly there was also tortoise shell in the first because it wasn't this coral pink color the next one was.

When I got the Crystal doll, one of the first things I did was take the velvet band off of her head. I think probably it was an unconscious reflex after possibly seeing people tortured with devices around their heads or on my head.  I don't know.  My mother didn't look happy and said, "Why did you do that?!"  I said, "I don't know".  I wanted to brush her hair for one thing, and I couldn't do that with her headband on.  Later (year or more) when my Mom gave me her bottle of Emeraude perfume, she took the cap off and I felt displeased because it didn't look as nice--it was just a nozzle, and I didn't know why my Mom had done that, but it's possible someone else did it maybe.  Oh, and I was given this velvet choker band with some kind of green oval stone in the center later as well, but I sensed something wrong with the idea.

Other things I remembered this morning which I want to write about before commenting further, is that if E.H. is really my biological father, it was in 1993 I was told to sing the duet "Unforgettable" by the deceased Nat King Cole and his daughter and it was commented how neat it was that she was singing in between her dead father's song.  It was after the first assassination attempt against me in Sherwood, Oregon.  So I sang it at the retirement home in 1993 where my Dad took me to sing.  It was me and Nat King Cole on the background tape.  I think of this song because my comment "I remember things", to my Mom and Dad, was not taken lightly.  Since I was hypnotized and tranquilized or electrocuted sometimes as well, and things were covered over, it was hoped I'd remember nothing.  Then at the same time Robin Bechtold was playing the Metallica song "Unforgiven" to me all the time and had made a cassette tape with this song on it which I played at my house in 1992.  He had recorded "Unforgiven" and "You're My Angel" (aerosmith) and a couple of other songs, prior to the assassination attempt of me.  So between Robin and my Dad I was getting the opposite of "forgive and forget"--they were playing "Unforgiven" and "Unforgetable".  It says Natalie recorded it in 1991 and I don't know the release date.  I sang it because my Dad recommended it and took me to sing at a retirement home.  The assassination attempt was before or after this event and then after the attempt, my Dad said he was going to give me all of his music equipment and was thinking of having me be the performer and he could do back-up for me.  Instead, he decided to keep everything and never did back-up with me or had me sing with him again.

The other thing the U.S. did to me was try to downgrade all of my music.  After I was pressured to give up acting, I only sang around the house and a little at school. As soon as  I started singing and was being noticed at my grade school, I was pulled out of school and home-taught.   In jr. high I began singing openly more, to the shock of all, and then the same year people realized I could sing, and Will Wagler said, "I had no idea you could sing like that" I was moved out of the school and out of state.  What I did not realize was that some of my singing and music was being listened to, but through surveillance, and then passed on to music artists that made money off of it.  No one was supposed to know I was a real singer and songwriter and the source of some of the ideas.  By the time I sang publicly in school for a talent show "Love In Any Language" the first attempt to have me kill myself with "brake failure" was planned.  After this, I noticed, for example, for Senior graduation, I had specifically said I didn't want to sing at the highest range because my voice sounded much better at a lower-high range, and Geoff Rasmussen, the same one staring at my feet on a rounded heater under a bus seat after a failed assassination attempt, jacked up the system to have it start high and force me to sing at a range that was not the best.  So I did.  Then it was Shirina, ex-Marine who dubbed down my voice to sound off-key and slow and low.  And at the very worst examples, my voice was being recorded.  So instead of keeping "public" recordings of an impressive voice, downgraded recordings were made to make me sound not as good, while people continued to steal my music privately and wanted others to think there was nothing special about my abilities.  I heard another one from the Assemblies of God church where Barb Greenman was there with the guy from CA.  If anyone had heard those, instead of how I actually sounded, I would have never had a chance in music, and that's what was going on.  The exact same thing was done with documentation of how I kept my house and if I was a neat and organized person or a slob and unsanitary.  I found out efforts were made to create the worst possible impression of my upkeep of property and personal ownership, as if I ruined everything I had or returned it in poor shape.   I was being called "messy" verbally where no one could see what was true, and then later, the greatest efforts were made to document the worst possible conditions, I guess, to make me look like I couldn't be trusted with anything and didn't take care of things.  I don't know what the motive was with this.  It is possible they thought if I didn't kill myself or get murdered, they would use this to create a reason for kidnapping a child from me--I'm not sure.  Or they didn't want me to be trusted with assets and property.  My homework and intellectual abilities were also downgraded from what they actually were.  So my organizational skills, intellect, and talent--all things which I could use to support myself and be financially independent, were being scrubbed down to nothing.  Not only that, documentation was being made to make it appear as though the truth was in the record so the government didn't look like they were lying about me and oppressing me.

Seriously.  If I had died successfully, in a successful "brake failure", is that when the photos of the house in Moses Lake with the kicked in walls were going to surface and be blamed on me, not my brother? 

What better blackmail is there, for the U.S. government, than to have parents locked into evidence that proves they were involved in premeditating and programming the eventual murder or "suicide" of one of the kids they raised?  They clearly wanted my brother in the loop.  For my part, I never planned, organized, participated, or thought of any kind of harm for them, aside from being angry enough to say they lied about some things.  I am the only one that is not a criminal, but this country rewards those who degrade the country.  That is why this country has lost it's savor.

The other thing is I believe this one man who came to the door one night in the long coat, he gave me a card and then he asked if there was anything he could get for us and I piped up and said, "I'm hungry."  Typically I wouldn't say anything.  I used to go to Granny's, and be very hungry and tempted to ask for something and I never did.  My cousin Rory opened the fridge whenever he wanted, and said what he wanted and I never said a word about what I wanted or being hungry.  I always waited until someone offered first.  Maybe when he offered I thought that was what he meant to ask, I'm not sure.  He said he'd be back, left, got a bunch of hamburgers, and gave them to us and left.  I don't know that that man was E.H.  It was possibly some other man, and he only did this, showed up like that, one time from what I remember.  He sort of had a little bit of a smirk I thought, as a kid, when I said I was hungry so I thought he didn't like what my response had been but then he got the hamburgers and didn't stay to eat with us, staying at the door, and left.  I almost think he wanted me to go with him and then when I said no when he asked, being too afraid, maybe then he asked what I wanted and I said I was hungry.

The U.S. was doing some really abusive things with switching back and forth from one thing to the next, so it was very much like being in a war camp.  I wasn't obsessed with food--I was truthfully very hungry.  I remember my Dad looking very disappointed and down, and my mother crying.  I know he looked concerned and I had been told I could go live with him but I didn't know who he was and was afraid to go with him.  I don't know if he had a smirk or it was disdain over something.  I had the complete and full impression they were all serious--if I wanted to, I could leave with him right then and there. 

I believe my Dad quit as second pastor to the Presbyterian church at that time, after this I think,  and took a job at Burger King.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe someone thought if my Dad brought home burgers and things, I'd confuse the two and not remember the one man, but I never forgot that night, whoever he was.  I was shocked my Dad quit the job at the Presbyterian church actually.  I had been in my first play there as a chipmunk singing "If you ask him to, he'll take care of you."  That transitioned to being screamed at and told "you don't take care of things!" and this bizarre sudden boot camp experience.  I even remember the hamburgers, plain with ketchup and mustard and I think no pickles for me but I used to get pickles and give them to my Mom.  At one time in my life I didn't like them and then I did.

pg. 55 E.H. says he was badly beaten after stopping at a restaurant, and that 3 men beat him and he pulled out a gun to scare them and it went off, shooting a hole through the roof of a car "belonging to one of them."

I sort of remember a beating or fight or gathering up of about that many men in our house and someone getting beaten up.  It almost seems like it could have involved that man who came to the door but I don't remember.  It was like some guys who were hiding out in our house then came out from around the corners and they exchanged words and someone was told to get out of there.  It wasn't men outside of our house that I remember, it was men who were called up to be inside of the house and then confronted the other one.  I believe one pulled out a gun but I never saw a gun held by the man at the door.  Who knows.  Maybe someone pointed the gun at my head.  Or came out with a shot of tranquilizer.  I actually remember one time where my mother came out with such a shot, in such a situation.  Another time, years later, it was my Dad who shot me with something or injected me, when I was in the hallway.  But it was my Mom when there were other people around me and I don't remember why--maybe because I was screaming, talking, or saying I would go with that man after all.  It wasn't Wayne Freeman or anyone I was used to seeing but I was being beaten and verbally abused all of a sudden so I possibly said the wrong thing.  In that case, I wouldn't have heard a gun shot or anything if one happened.  I was facing the front door from inside of the house when I remember my mother with the shot, and I was in the hallway going to my room when I saw my Dad behind me with the shot or some kind of injection (maybe smaller).  I know a hole appeared in the glass for the front window that was by the front door but I don't know when that happened.  Both my Mom and Dad approached me with a shot from the left, to the left shoulder or back of it.  What is also odd, is I have this scar tissue that forms in one spot in that place, to this day.  I guess ...I don't think ?...I've thought (maybe I have) about how it might be from getting shots there more often than I realize.  I'm positive.  I fully remembered and just almost had a panic attack.  Also, the spot on my shoulder is where someone might get shots, but I had developed a strange callous there and hardened spot.  I thought it was a pimple every now and then, like one buried under the surface but it always stayed sort of swollen up and hard.  One day, after being in D.C. I think, someone gave me something that made it go away so I didn't have it anymore and for whatever reason it comes up and then goes away but not like before.  I also think cops have been trying to override the memory of what was done to me, because the injection to my wrist, on one arm, in Knoxville, TN, was done to me at the federal holding facility, on my left arm, after they yanked it to my back. 

Alvaro Pardo freaked out over a black and white photo of me from 1993 where the photographer told me to look back at him over my left shoulder.  So I did.  I didn't think anything of it.  The photographer said he liked my jeans and with my hair down, look over my shoulder.  It was taken for my Senior year pictures in Newberg, Oregon, and then after I got them done, all of them were stolen or disappeared from my parent's house.  I really have no idea why Kate Middleton would throw the same look, over her left shoulder, at her wedding, after Alvaro saw my photo.  I raised an eyebrow for it.  When I was getting drugged and held hostage in Nashville prior to her wedding, it makes me wonder--that along with then being hand-printed and injected in my arm.  Alvaro took that photo of me when he found it, and turned it upside down on a table, along with turning a fish upside down that had a title "how to catch a fish".  When I think about it, Diana was looking over her left shoulder before the car drove into the pillar or post.  I know my Mom knew I had remembered her injecting me (sort of like the CIA's "knife in the back" but "don't take it personally") because I brought it up once and she didn't react well.  It's possibly why they wanted me to remember my Dad doing it to me later, hoping I would confuse times and facts.  I remember when my Dad was gathering up people, one time saying, "Call Larry" (who worked for police) and the time I remember my Mom there injecting me I think Jim Sandberg and Tom Garrett (my Dad's brother) were there possibly.  Tom was there once for something but I can't remember what and then I think the time there were different men I didn't know who all of them were, but they were cop types.  Alan Springer wasn't there or I'd have remembered him.  It was like my Dad, one man I recognized, and another I didn't recognize.  Larry wasn't there.  Larry was a black man and he wasn't there then.  Shirley Sandberg sent an email to my mother after I was assaulted and injected in Tennessee, joking about the "long arm of the law".

There is no injection or vaccination that I received that caused the bump I've mentioned, on my arm.  It showed up in high school and I didn't have vaccinations then, and then it was more pronounced or I noticed it more later.  I don't see how they could hit the same small "site" repeatedly, that many times, to cause scar tissue over the years, but who knows.  I know with my Dad it seemed to be closer to the base of my neck on that side when it was done.  When I was in the hall, and looked back, I looked behind my left shoulder and when I was facing the door and it was Mom coming at me, I looked behind my left shoulder.  I looked behind my shoulder because I saw the shocked expression on the man's face in front of me, so I wanted to see what he was seeing, and it was my Mom wielding a weapon against me.

Of course they all wanted me to die.  What do YOU think?  One time, after someone gave me a card, I do remember my mother trying not to cry over something.  The other time, when the man went to the restaurant and came back, I believe this is when he looked alarmed and I looked back and it was my Mom.

My Dad said to me, a week ago, "Don't do that.  Don't peek.  That's how you get shot." I felt this whole part of myself drop to the ground as I walked away and I didn't know why.  I was thinking shot gun and I tried not to cry as I walked to the store, but I think it's because I remember the shock of remembering what my parents did to me.  I saw them do it.  I can't remember if my Mom followed through  or not but possibly she was too shocked that I'd looked back, and saw her, she dropped her arm and pretended nothing happened as the shocked man walked away.  I know she didn't expect me to turn and see her.

When my parents did this to me, either they were acting to look like they hated me and were angry and injecting or harming me out of this anger and grim determination, or it was real. 

Also, I would add where he says something about being thrown out as a "crank" (would he be), when I was in Wenatchee, my mother's hometown, the cops there did their best to drop me outside on my rear after a disagreement with one of my cousins.  The criminal aspect of cops colluding against me has gone on as long as I was a kid. 

E.H. says he had to get a lawyer, was in jail for a night, and went to counseling and couldn't leave the state unless it was official business trips for the state.  This is also about the same time we were no longer taking trips to Canada and my Mom drove me and my brother to Washington to drop us off with Granny for a week now and then, but my Dad did at first, and then it was just my Mom.  He says he went on a trip to New Orleans where he met an old friend "Fred Johnson".

I should add here, before commenting, the person who had access to "tranquilizers" and other drugs and medications was Mormon "psychologist" Alan Springer, who lived behind our house.  I also think it's possible his wife, Tami, was Jewish, even if they were Mormon, but maybe not.

I was just thinking about the situation at the door and with my Mom, it may have been a small knife or gun she held at me.  I will have to think about it more but it is possible the reason I confuse it with the shot is because my Dad used a shot later.  It was a lethal weapon but I'll think about it more.

Other comments around that time that my Dad made, or catch-phrases, were "you're stubborn", "don't be cranky", "I'm just teasing you", "don't make such a big deal out of everything", and "she's a neat lady", "she's a sharp gal".  The "gal" was always "sharp" and the "lady" was always "neat".  My mother used those terms too "sharp gal" and "neat lady".  It came into their comments later though, later in Moses Lake or not until Sherwood, Oregon.

pg.  56.  Right after the weapons incident he mentions Fred Johnson and talked about visiting the Soviet embassy but he says he was just joking around and never had plane tickets or anything.  He says the FBI twisted it into a story that he was already a KGB spy and wanted to bring Fred in with him.  July 85' he says he visited Fred on South Padre Island, Texas.  The one thing that stands out to me here is the acronym, maybe coincidental, but it's "spit" and my mother used to spit on her hand and rub my face with it.  She did this, she said, if I had something on my face, but I always protested and said I'd wipe it off myself.  She did this a lot when I was a kid and it got to the point where I started crying over it because I was tired of having her spit all over my face.

He then says he bought 5-6 bottles of wine that were expensive, not the usual cost of $5 or $6 but more like $15 or so and put them in the fridge and Fred asked him, "Where did you get all the money to spend on wine?"

This reminds me of when I came up with my own book ideas to make money.  I wasn't allowed to sell candy and my Mom wouldn't help me make any to sell to kids on the bus so I drafted book order forms and charged about $.25 per book or "story" I wrote for them, which was much less than how much regular books cost at about 5 or 6 dollar but I priced them at what I thought kids on the bus could afford.  Somehow my Mom found out, I think because I was jingling my change together and asked "Where did you get all the money to spend on..." because I think I said I was going to buy gum or something to drink or something with it.  I said, "I write stories for kids on the bus."  I hadn't told anyone--not my Mom or Dad.  Only the kids knew.  She said to give her my money and "How much do you have?" and I said, "I don't know" and she looked shocked when I brought it to her.  She said, "You got all of that from kids on the bus?" because she started accusing me as if I took it from her purse and I didn't.  I said, "Uh-huh" so she counted it out in front of me and it was about $7.50.  I had nickels, dimes, quarters, pennies with me.  She said, "How much are charging per story?" and I said, "25 cents".  I had written and sold that many stories.  I had a BOOMING business.  I had been writing and illustrating tons of little stories for kids, catering to what they wanted.  They loved them, so when my Mom told me I had to quit, I was totally crushed.  I cried and had no way of making money then.  I remember even my Mom was shocked when she found out how little I charged and how much money I had made because it meant a lot of kids were buying them.

At the time, I got my inspirations from Scholastic Books (the book order form idea), kid's books, creative ideas, and a little bit of romance (I was sneaking her Harlequin romance novels and reading parts of them).  Also, after writing a selection and letting kids choose which ones they wanted, I got the idea to write short stories that included ideas about them, individually and of course, the kids loved that because then they were hearing these nice stories about themselves.  They got to choose from genres as well, "adventure", "romance"...

I know the parents of one kid called my Mom about it because I overheard parts of the conversation, so I knew someone was trying to "tell on" me to quash my business.  Kids were giving me their lunch money probably.  Hhahaa.  At least their milk.  That's how much milk was, a carton of milk was 25 cents.  It is how I figured out what to charge though, because I didn't think I should take all their lunch money, but a lot of kids, myself included, got at least money for a carton of milk to go with their cold lunch, and if they wanted to spend it on a story instead once, that was something they could afford.

I first said a kid on the bus gave it to me once and then when she saw how much I had she asked further.  E.H. says he made a joke about getting the money from his Soviet case officer and then found out Fred made it into a serious report against him in an FBI report.  He says if he'd been serious about committing a crime to get the money, he wouldn't have joked about it that way, but he said Fred made an affidavit as a statement of fact against him and that the FBI spent the next 2 years building a case of "nonsense" against him.

I may have even joked out loud, "I got it out of your purse" at first because I was sitting on the passenger side of my Mom's car and she looked through her purse first and then set it down next to me, open, in between us.  But then I told her it was from kids on the bus and my stories and she asked how much I was charging and counted the money.  And that was the truth.  It wasn't hard for me to write a short story that the kids liked, I liked doing it, and I was fast but also put some time into illustrations.  I think that was 2nd grade because in 3rd grade the teacher said we were going to all write "stories" and bind them in book covers as in book production.  It was between me and another kid and I was told the other kid won the best book prize because mine was downgraded for not have sharp edges when I cut the hard board for the book.  So they said my content was better but I was "docked" for my craftsmanship on the cover.  I remember thinking it wasn't fair and who cares about the cover, which any factory could produce--it was the content and storytelling and illustrations that sell an idea.  I thought they were being unfair and not very "sharp".  In a way, I knew even as a kid, it was some weird way of downgraded my abilities, from standing out in the crowd, to being not as good at what I did as I was.  It was sort of a way to knock me down for having the idea to sell books and make money, and give credit to someone else.  It was also at this time, they stole my real cameo necklace and gave me one that was clunkier.

I just remembered something more positively while walking and the black and white cameo that I wore in high school and later was the one with a smooth surface in the back and the larger one I put around Crystal's neck, which I also sometimes wore myself, was the one with the criss-cross etching or brushed gold and it had the engraved tiny letters on it.  The first cameo necklace I remember having that was antique I believe, was at least made with real materials and smaller and I think it was shell pink and ivory but the next one was such a brighter kind of synthetic coral there was a noticeable difference to it.  The color wasn't as delicate.  So I remember the necklaces better now (I think the exercise helped!).  Before the cameo necklaces I mostly remember a locket with photos but I don't think it was mine.  It was my mother's and she showed it to me.  I think the one I put on Crystal sort of symbolized some of the cutting and engravings done on me, from how the back of it was. Very possibly the black and white one had the initials engraved but I know the back was smooth because I thought about it and turned it over and would feel it with my fingers when I wore it.  I don't remember for sure if it was my Mom's or if I bought it at one of the Sherwood antique stores, because I went to a few of the ones in town, and they had glass cases with jewelry and I did buy some vintage clip-on earrings and things there so I possibly bought it for myself.  Most of the vintage earrings I liked had clip-on backs but maybe a couple were regular backs, and then I possibly got the cameo there and used a chain that was my mother's for it, and I bought some of the antique pearl necklaces there.  Nothing I bought was antique-antique...I mean, it was more vintage stuff:  1920s-1950s jewelry except for the cameo pendant, which was possibly newer than that--I thought 60s or 70s.  The engraving on the back of the pendant was C.M. I think.  I'm about 99% positive.  It wasn't actually an "engraving" but more of a factory kind of stamp in it that was indented.  I think that was on the black and white cameo on the back because the one Crystal wore had some indentation too small too even make it out at the bottom (possibly it was A.S.), and then the etching and criss cross.

I know when I wore the black and white one in my school photograph, I had wanted the picture to show it and was surprised it was cut off.  I remember someone looking at it and seeing the initials and asking me why I had it or something seemed to shock them over the initials.  I was asked where I got it and I didn't know what the big deal was.  At one point I had an email address with AOL that was
Camassia24@aol.com and I remember people making a big deal about that too.  I never thought about how it matches some of the initials in the cameos until just now.  I picked it at random, after scouring some scientific names for flowers, because I wanted something unique.  I am pretty sure I had this email address in 1997 when I got my home computer but it wasn't the first thing I had because I had one closer to my name.  Possibly I used this address a year or two later. 

As for my selling stories in exchange for the price of a carton of milk, when I was told I couldn't anymore, or around the time I was selling, the lunch ladies at the cafeteria began giving me sour milk.  I asked the other kids if their cartons of milk were sour and they said no, so mine were being "warmed" or left out especially for me when I paid the 25 cents at the cafeteria.  I remember telling my parents about it.  Around that time, I didn't think about the connotation, but my Dad started calling me "sour puss".  He would say "Don't be a sour puss".

Right after E.H. talks about the "nonsense" and how no one would take such a comment from a former intelligence officer seriously as he's putting wine bottles in the fridge.  I think of the wine bottle at the back of our fridge and it was Gallo vermouth.  So between "neat lady" (NL) and "sharp gal" (SG)comments by my parents--not sure what the idea is.  I guess it makes me think my mother, who sounds similar to "Fred" asking where I got the money, was discrediting me already to the FBI and that they were already building a case to discredit me, for any reason.  I know my mother wasn't the only one to say not to sell stories, but she's the one who opened her purse up and set it close to me, prompting my joke, which, taken apart from the rest of the conversation could be incriminating--however, she was also getting a call from someone about my selling books so it wasn't just her own directives.  E.H. says he returned from "Washington" and was visited by George Morgan, his former boss at the Soviet CIA desk.

Another expression my mother used to use, as it's come to mind, in conversations over the phone was "Well gol-LEE!"  I guess George Morgan doesn't ring a bell for me.  GM?  E.H. says he and Bernard Malloy (CIA psychiatrist) came to see him for several reasons.  E.H. visited Morgan's home to discuss his firing, they also came because he had filed a workman's compensation claim for counseling after his firing.  They took him to lunch and gave him an envelope with cash and asked him to sign under his old CIA pseudonym, Edward Houston. 

I remember someone visiting our house once, and it was possibly the same time I saw that man who left to get burgers and came back, but I also remember he asked me for my autograph.  I think it was when he gave my parents the card for me and then he asked me to sign my autograph on something and I did and then I got the card.  I remember later, I couldn't figure out why people asked for my autograph all the time, like a joke.  For the plays I was in, people asked for my "autograph" so I didn't think it was unusual for this man to ask for my "autograph" either. 

I do remember I had one of the worst beatings of my life before he showed up.  So when he asked me if I would leave with him, I suppose everyone was either shocked I didn't go, or figured the Stockholm Syndrome situation was pretty easy to do with a kid.  It's remotely possible there were two separate events but I mostly remember one night with a break in between to get burgers and then he even said there had been a problem when he got back, with where he went. 

He says, pg. 57, the CIA said they'd give him more counseling and he saw someone named Michael Dudelczyk (MD) in Santa Fe.  I suppose that could be translated Saint Fe or as Iron (Fe) Saint.  I think of this because if he was going to see Michael Dudelczyk in Iron Saint I might think about how my parents later drove to my place in Oregon after I hadn't seen them a long time, and gave me a cast iron bed that my Dad said looked like a mental hospital bed and I had said the same, and I might think about the iron shaped scar on my back that is the same shape as the bottom of an iron one uses on an ironing board.  It is the exact same size and shape.  I mean, exactly.  Something like this--having a hot iron pressed into my back, while I had to have been lying down, might be something you later have to conceal with skin lightener.

This sounds really odd, but Michael Jackson, known for the skin lightener on his face, had his nose job done to look like the iron scar on my back.  It's not a regular nose job, and if you look at photos you can see it wasn't a "mistake"--he had one or more jobs done to make it look like an iron shape and then when he got this look, he started using skin lightener.  I've looked at the scar on my back and it's barely visible and if someone hadn't used skin lightener, I'd have a darker impression or something to show for it. 

So when E.H. chose to get counseling from "Michael" in "Iron Saint" (alluding potentially to Iron Maiden, or a woman who has an iron print on her back) he wasn't picking at random.  He says himself he chose very carefully.  If I was lying on my stomach, I'd have an iron shape on my back and then two lines from my rear to thigh with a dot on either side.  I mean, someone had to have been worried, especially when he used skin lightener on his face, that this man was about to burst out with the secret.  It was written on his face.

Also, I began questioning why I had strange back pain in between my shoulder blades where the iron print is, before someone tried to kill me in 1992 and then again tried in 1995 and broke my neck, giving an excuse for some of the pain.  I had a horrible aching feeling between my shoulder blades sometimes and didn't know why.  This also makes some of the reactions to my ironing seem odd.   Also, Granny's ironing board that used to be in the kitchen is gone and replaced with shelves now and it used to be a pull-out ironing board.  It was there when I was a kid and I even used it.  But it must have eventually had a bad memory with it and with what was done to me, obviously, in Canada at Pemberton 'underground' or some other hidden facility.  The fact that I have an iron shape on my back is enough reason for Dan Gatti and Greg Smith's walking-on-eggshells suspicious looks when they said "Why did you put that there?" when I added an arrow with the word "truth" to my legal dossier.  Seriously, you can barely see the mark.  Someone worked in a professional way and then was extremely cautious to remove any and every visible trace of what was done to me.

I was just looking up some things, and thinking about how the FBI and a lot of people wanted to refer to "Jackson" in their own way after Michael Jackson died.  I don't think his death was an accident anymore than Dianas and they're probably connected by at least one thread.

Another expression my Dad and Mom used all the time was "Sassy".  "You have a sassy mouth".  "Don't be sassy".  "Are you sassin' off?"  "You keep sassing off that way you'll be spanked".  "You have the sassiest mouth of anyone I know." 

I am not on anyone's side if I don't know them so I have no idea about Michael Jackson or the man who was his doctor.  Some of the things MJ did look more intentional and symbolic for him than is admitted so I don't know.  I'll go into that more later.  I don't think he would have made sure to have some of his last words as "I feel cold on one side and hot on the other side" unless it is remotely possible he knew about the assassination attempt against me and how breaking my neck left me "cold on one side and hot on the other side" when getting into the tub with my Mom there.  I never thought about his nose shape symbolism along with the skin whitener, but this had to have been part of what was done to my back to make sure there weren't marks or to even things out. 

I should add, I am not always totally sure what fits where so some of this is ideas and not concrete conjecture.  I am making facts though, for myself.  It's not my imagination, in other words.  But I also realized, when thinking about how E.H. "coded" some of his book, I realized it isn't a set rule to follow--it's almost like he planned for connections to be made or triggered by associations, even tenuous or loosely held associations.  So for me, when I was thinking if it works one way the rule has to follow the rest of the way--that's not, in my opinion, how some of the underlying suggestions or triggers or associations for me, come through.  It's intuitive-based in structure and that is my opinion.  For me it brings things to mind that work in one way here, and then the next moment work another way.  It's like having my Crystal doll and not thinking of her as just a "pretend sister" but taking on roles of other pretend figures.  What I mean by this, is it's not a firm rule but one that is flexible and shifts and can be understood on an intuitive basis, but that doesn't mean I am correct about his ideas of where to lead, it just means that what I think of, out of it, can possibly be as enlightening to me about my own past, or help me to remember some things, or remember how they are slightly different while reading his own story.  So this is all to say I'm not nuts and making wild associations but obviously I'm not nuts.
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UPDATED 8/27/13. 

It was a gun. My Mom held a gun against me.

I had started to think it was a shot because of what my Dad did later, and how I looked over the same shoulder, but I remember the impact of why it was such a big deal, was that it was of the highest and most extreme level of a weapon held against me and as a kid, I was shocked.  I brought it up later, and mentioned it, which is possibly a time my mother than yanked one of my earrings out of my ears when she was mad that I brought it up.  Then somehow, someone must have given me major drugs or hypnosis, and then used various overlays, like my Dad using a medical shot and that kind of thing, to try to mix it up and have me forget.

I think it's part of when I later realized, maybe that was why my Mom and Dad were trying to discredit me, and have me look like a dishonest or criminal kid, so if I testified no one would believe me and say I had a pattern of theft and/or lying, and/or arson and that kind of thing.

She didn't hold it to my head so I saw her doing this directly.  The man was in front and I looked back and saw my Mom with this weird look on her face, holding a small gun, and the gun was pointed at the back of my head.  The shock of it was that 1. someone was holding a gun to my head and I knew it was a lethal weapon and not for making holes for "earrings".  2.  it was my Mom and I had never once seen her holding a gun before and I was shocked she even knew how to hold one, had one in her hand, and...that had the psychological impact of an explosion of white light.  It was the last thing I ever expected to see. 

When she saw I looked at her, her expression changed and she dropped her arm so the gun was out of view behind my back.  It was like she didn't totally want to drop the gun, but didn't want me to keep seeing her holding it to my head.

I do not remember any kind of gun "going off" accidentally or being shot.  I know there was a bullet hole in the glass for the front window by the door but unless there was a silencer or something, there was no loud shot sound at that time, that I remember.  If I was being used as a body-shield, that's possible, or if someone had killed me then (probably not) I guess they could blame that man that came to the door who might have taken off later.  I don't know.  I was just stunned with the idea my mother had a gun.  If I am correct, it didn't look like the gun I had seen my Dad hold so I thought she must have her own gun.  She also held it with only one arm and I want to say it was her left hand, not her right, that held it.  It was all coming from a left arm line and held to the back-left side of my head (where, coincidentally, I later began getting my migraines when the U.S. started triggering those to occur).

I also remembered thinking, when I found out my cousin Rani's first husband held a gun to her head, why did he do that and did he know what my Mom had done to me when I was very young?

I believe my Mom used her right hand with the hanger to yank down an earring in my earlobe, but she was holding the gun with her left hand and not using both arms and hands.

Another thing my Mom and Dad did to "test" my responsiveness to being programmed to panic, which was to trigger my reaction in a car of hitting the gas instead of the brakes, was around the time I was 8, 9, or 10 or so and they drove into the mountains one day.  Sometimes we drove into the mountains and hiked and took a packed lunch.  This day was different and an extremely narrow road was chosen. There was no reason why we had to keep going on that road.  I got extremely scared.  I was sitting on the right side of the car, behind my Mom, where I always sat.  It was so narrow and my Dad kept making comments about it and I said, "It's too narrow.  Dad!  The cliff is right there!  Please Daddy, please...." and I had a full panic reaction to the feeling of being too close to a drop-off on the right side.  I possibly unbuckled my seatbelt and moved to the middle of the car but probably I would have been told not to.  I think I did this and was asked what I was doing.  It wasn't just sort of narrow and I was terrified.  My Dad kept saying there was plenty of room. 

Around that time, I have no idea why, or what was going on, actually, I think it was years later, but my Uncle Valentin's cousin was driving a truck in the mountains in Mexico and went over a cliff. I think it was actually one of his brothers and my cousins all knew him and were crying about it and I remembered thinking it was strange.  I was told it was a narrow road and in the mountains and he went over the cliff and no one knew why.  It was maybe a decade later that that happened.

So my Dad said, when we were on that road in the mountains, or my Mom, one of them, to give them my hand and then I was asked why it was all sweaty.  I think it was my Mom, and I sat right behind her and she said give me your hand so I reached over the seat of the car and draped my arm over and she commented on how sweaty my hands were.  My "panic" level was being checked.  I also rolled the window down and they said roll it up and I said, "I can't breathe!"  So something I started using, for "sweaty hands" was white talcum powder. 

So decades later, after the U.S. held me hostage in Nashville, with the excuse it was for "mental health" evaluation when it wasn't and they interrogated me and drugged me, when I went to the post office to have my photo taken for my passport to leave the U.S., having a woman come out to "powder my nose" was not normal.

When I was a kid, I bought a small bottle of white Johnson & Johnson's baby powder one day and put it in the glovebox with my Mom in the car next to me.  She gave this uncomfortable look and said why did you put baby powder in the glovebox? and I said, taking it out to sprinkle some on my hands and then put it back, "For my when my hands get sweaty."  My powder was possibly a French kind from the place where I ordered from France, in a smaller bottle, but I had the idea because at one time my mother had a bottle of Johnson & Johnson's herself that she kept there and when I was very little, used to use.   I was given body powder, with a powder puff, after this, after I was already used to using it on my hands, which was before I ever took gymnastics too.  I got the body powder with powder puff when I was pretty young, maybe 7-9 years old and before that, I knew about powdering the hands but not sure why or what it was for.

When I fell from the tree, it wasn't panic because I was used to swinging on that branch all the time and there was no reason for panic.  I saw my Mom with something in her hand and looking at me and I guess, it was either technology or a deliberate trigger known to create sudden panic and sweaty hands, but I think it could have been some kind of device.  They were checking my hands all the time, for my panic reactions to things but I didn't know that's why they were doing this.  I was constantly told to give them my hand and they'd hold it a minute and then let it go.  Always checking at different times, prior to even 1982, to see when they were sweaty and a panic impulse was triggered.  In the summer when it was hot of course, it was taken into consideration with the rest of the body and the heat. 

I cannot even tell you how "routine" this kind of a check was.

I know on the day my mother asked me where I got my money from, I had just opened up the glovebox and used talcum powder to powder my hands.  She said I didn't need to keep it in there and I said, "Why not?  YOU used to keep it in here!"  I remembered when she had kept baby powder in the glove box.  She looked uncomfortable and said nothing.

I know Rani acted like she didn't like me when she found out I wanted to talk to her ex, Jason, because I was curious, and Gardenia got suspicious after her brother went off a cliff in Mexico and had this quiet disdain for me that I noticed later at Grannys, Alita was mad I said something about the Catholic church, and Valente didn't like my asking questions to get to know them, but I never disliked them. 

E.H. says in 1984 and 1985 he made 3 trips to Europe which the FBI criticized.  They claimed he met with KGB and passed them information during one or more of the trips, and he says it is not true.  He says no one had a single shred of hard evidence that he colluded with Soviets before Helsinki in September 23, 1985.

When I think of this I think about this being around the time I opened letters with a letter opener or pen-knife.  I also think I was threatened over commenting about the gun later, by being cut on my forearm because it was around that time I remember being cut.  I wasn't cut, at that older age, regularly to where I would remember, but something came up and I was cut and then blacked out or don't remember what happened after my shock that there was a knife there to cut me with.  It was very small.  I don't remember ever being cut by one of the kitchen knives used for cooking--it was much sharper.  I think it had to have been a pen-knife, exacto knife, or something like that.  It was something you could hold and it looked normal and then all of a sudden, there was a sharp blade.  I don't remember it being an entire packed pocketknife with all kinds of gadgets to stack it up.  It was a single knife-blade deal.  I was shown a pocket knife at one point, with all the extra things you could pull out on it and I didn't have a real reaction to it, but to the exacto knife I did.  I was afraid if I was even within a few inches of it, it could jump up and attack me on its own.

pg. 58 and 59 he describes the 3 vacations he took to Europe and says in Zurich he bought a Rolex.  I remember around that time my Dad bought a nice Timex watch.  I think my Mom did too, but it was smaller and not as technical.  He mentions Munich, Oktoberfest, the 22nd, sort of together and says he didn't contact the KGB in Vienna.  I suppose it makes me think of my parents in Munich, my birthday, and wondering if I was ever refered to, in code, for someone, as "the KGB".  Like a Russian spy but I don't assume this, or wouldn't for every occasion.  Why KGB anyway?  MK Garrett Baby?  Krystal Garrett Baby?  Chatty Kathy Garrett Baby?  KGB for Russian, i.e., Russo, i.e, "red" for redhead?  because I picked up the Russian language?  because I have a Russian connection?  because I was potentially going to be used against or for someone who had something to do with Russia? because I was stolen from a Russian hospital?  Because my real name is Mary Katherine Howard or just Cameo Howard or CLH (which sounds like clue). 

Here's something odd...very tangential and not to go with these comments, but last night around 9:10 p.m. someone solemnly, quietly said, "She cracked the code".  A young man said it.  I was then picking up guinea pig papers and the first one had an announcement of Kate Middleton having a baby and next to it, some black guy named Michael in sentencing phases and it had nothing to do with cracking a code and then I turned it over and it was a cartoon.  It had a sign for F&E Diner, a menu board that says:  "Special Eggloo" and then a man sitting at a counter tapping on a mound on a plate with a fork and the  words "tink, tink" to indicate the fork sound and looking at the chef who says to him "This Eggloo is a frozen omelette!"".    I guess it came to mind now because of the acronym to my name if it's Howard, of CLH (clue).  It was right on the back of the little blip about Kate Middleton and a black Michael charged with murder.  As I said, this doesn't have to do with the E.H. comments but is something I'm mentioning since it came to mind about something else entirely, as I am not switching to making a bunch of post specific to topic at this time and am working on just this post. 

I can comment more on pgs 58 and 59 later.  On pg. 60, E.H. says Aug. 1, 1985 (I was almost 10 years old) began the most painful period of his life.  He says Vitali Sergeevitch Yurchenko walked into the U.S. embassy in Rome and requested political asylum, was driven to Langley CIA headquarters, and then to a safe house in Virginia.
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It is still 8/27/13 but I wanted to add, about being questioned about where I got all the money, one time I was questioned, when I was getting baby powder out of the glove box and my Mom had set her open purse next to me, it was in that car and then another time it was when my Mom (or one of the Dicksies) was getting something out of the refrigerator and had the refrigerator door open.  I say this because if someone was listening or surveillance played, and you just heard audio, you'd hear the hear of something opening, which someone could think was a fridge or something, but it was the glove box and I got the Johnson & Johnsons baby powder out.  I am positive it was that kind because later I had the other kind.  This was when my Mom asked me the question and rummaged in her purse and then set it, open, in the middle of the seat, which prompted me (possibly a trigger) to joke flippantly, "From your purse".  Then I believe another time I was asked and my Mom had the fridge door open and as she stood there with the fridge open, and I think was rearranging things in it, she asked me where I got the money or how much I charged or something about the same thing.  I remember both occasions.  E.H. says Fred Johnson was an ex-CIA officer who made an affidavit to FBI making it sound like he was stealing, and that the FBI started building their case against him.

The other thing is that whoever the man was that came to our house, on one instance, or once when he was there, he seemed to like me or think there was something wrong and then by the next instance I had a feeling somewhere along the line, that even after seeing my Mom hold a gun to my head, he was more amused than anything when he left, and I remember all of the adults looked at eachother strongly when I was first beaten and then said I didn't want to leave (because it was all I knew) and they seemed surprised that I would choose to stay at a place where I was being verbally abused and beaten.  Maybe it was a signal that I had been tested and was "suicide-worthy" and all my programming was in place for my future brake failure.  I can't imagine why my mother would leave the living room to go to the kitchen and come back with a gun, but for some reason I almost think she went to the kitchen to get the gun and then I looked back when she was next to me again, after this, and saw the gun.  I almost want to say she had her arm extended out and the gun pointed at the back of my head and that she was wearing her 2 tone shirt that said "30" on it but I could not be 100% positive.

I had battered kids syndrome basically.

Now, I think it is odd the U.S. knows the only people I was ever bonded to, who raised me, were involved in trying to kill me and yet they have stolen every option from me for anything different, and defamed me.  I basically have no friends or family because all of the people the U.S. set up against me, are family (but I think I deserve to know the results of the DNA tests) and "friends" who showed up deliberately to hedge me in.  They cornered me, my entire life, to control me.  When I left for political asylum with my son, we had every right to it and still do. 

This country has held me hostage and abused me and my son as long as we've been alive.  I can honestly say I love my family and parents and don't wish harm to come to them, despite what they've done to me, so I have never hated them.  But I know they worked to have me killed off, and make it look like I did it myself if someone else didn't do it.  If they are not biologically my parents, then obviously they have done this for another child that is theirs.  If they are biologically related or one of them is, they did it for money or, in the instance of a group like Mossad, whose politics override even family ties, they did it for politics.  My Dad, or one of the Bobs, even began copping some kind of "defense" for himself in Sherwood, first saying "No one talks to me the way you do" and then later, it was changed to "No one treats me the way you do" and when I was the one telling them, in high school, that no one treated me the way they did, or said the horrible things they said, and that people liked me, they said it wasn't true, and then said okay it was true, so "If you can be nice to all these other people why can't you do that with us?"  and then after this, it changed again to not wanting to have anything to do with me at all, and then finally, "No one abuses me the way you do" and even comments about how I "verbally abuse" my Dad, from my Dad, to make it sound as though he's the victim, not me.  This is when they were the adults, in charge of raising a child, and verbally and physically abused me, allowed me to be sexually abused, and programmed me to kill myself and to have panic responses that would result in  programmed response to do the wrong thing, and die.  Then, they even conditioned me not to fight back against rapists, so while I actually love my parents, and hope maybe even one set of them is decent, the facts are laid bare, that they did not shirk from their decisions to facilitate premeditated murder of me.

This is why I believe many in my family and some so-called friends who were just government "plants", participated in defaming me secretly to steal my son and my son has been exposed to the exact same people and programming I was exposed to, and he has a right to political asylum outside of this country.

I don't know who to contact, that can help to present a case to prove his adoption is illegal and invalid but because Canada and the U.S. colluded in their crimes, and because we were no longer with the U.S. and my son wasn't in their jurisdiction, I feel he must have an angle or some international lawyer must know of something that can be done.  I would prefer to not be tortured, and have the defamation cleared, my name cleared up, my son returned to me, and a chance to live like normal in the U.S. with my son, but from what I've gathered, the U.S. has been paying my parents and others to do all these things to harm us.

When my Dad says to me, "The U.S. doesn't owe you ANYTHING" he is sort of speaking for himself, as if he and the U.S. are one-and-the-same and he is going to defend the U.S. because he works for them and they defend him.

It is possible one or more of them are political prisoners in some way or that they tried to get out or back out at some point, but nothing was ever said to me about it. I remember expressions on their faces when I was a kid or teen that would indicate some of it, at least by some of them was voluntary and enjoyed.

UPDATED 8/27/13

One thing I remember which I've mentioned before, is that later cops would suggesting to me there was a gun and a shot was fired. I remember at the time of the suggestion and pressuring, they were attempting to make it appear like the bullet hole that later showed up in our front glass window was from that time, and I knew later it was because they'd hoped I would agree and then they, who had the audio files, could say, "See, she claims a shot was fired and there is no such sound on the audio--so she doesn't remember."  At the time, not realizing how much bugging of our house (and myself) was done, I assumed they were trying to frame my parents or make the suggestion they fired a gun in the house.  I never agreed with them because it wasn't true.  I later realized the entire attempt of suggestion was to discredit ME, and my claims, above all.  If the cops tried to get me to say a shot was fired, of all the weapons that could have been wielded against me anyway, the one that would make a sound, which they could use to show I said it was there and it wasn't, was a gun shot.  You weren't going to necessarily hear a knife or injection or gun that wasn't fired, and therefore they couldn't prove or disprove I was correct.  If the cops framed me into agreeing with them that a shot was fired, they had evidence to prove no shot was fired, and anything and everything I said was out the window.

I had also thought, at the time, it was odd it was cops making the suggestion or trying to put the idea in my head or have me agree with them, and I know it wasn't a report I made, but some casual conversation that came up and I thought, "Why are police trying to get me to agree with them that a gun was fired?"  To my knowledge at that time, it had nothing to do with police.

So who were the cops that needed the 'cover' and wanted to ruin my testimony?

I'm trying to tell you something new, but...Well here's something.  After I was telling Crystal, "Come on Crystal!  Let's go for a walk!" and all of that, my Mom got this horse Aspen and began lunging her.  What this means, is you take the horse on the line and stand in one place and have the horse walk, trot, or gallop, canter, whatever, in a circle around you.  It's to get them used to the vocal signals.  "Walk!"  "Trot!" "Canter!"  "Gallop!"  Most people don't "run" a horse in a circle because that's not "lunging".   Most of the time, it was "Walk!"  or "Trot".  So this came up later, after I had Crystal and maybe it reminded my Mom about horses and training, I don't know.  I also lunged Aspen myself.   I lunged her whenever I was allowed to.  So I sort of got used to her and training her a little which was why I suspected "something is up" with when she began to back up or side pass when I tried to jump on her by foot.  I also used a saddle and got on with stirrups, but that was only if my Mom was around.  I didn't put her saddle on myself though I did use the reins and learned the bit later but didn't use that much, and there was a crop and a whip.  The crop wasn't really used for anything but the whip was used for the sound effect because it got the horse to move.  I didn't ever see her being whipped though.  It was a long whip.  I always liked to ride at the faster speeds of canter, gallop, and running.  There were a few times I was able to get the horse in a full speed run and then to stop abruptly and I had to not fall off.  I fell off, maybe once on my own or twice and I always got back on.  The only time that scared me was when she accidentally stepped on my feet and I realized the weight of the horse.  The first horse I rode was Sally and then there was a gelding too.  But mostly it was Sally.  The woman I mentioned who had a horse I rode, that worked at CTR, when my neck began to hurt but it wasn't from the trotting, was Sue, not Sally.  I think I said Sally once but her name, the blond's name, was Sue.

I don't remember when this was, but I remember one time really running with a horse and it wasn't on our own property with the fenced-in area and it wasn't the time the horses ran that belonged to the Maiers, it was a nice sleek horse who moved very smooth, and I raced her in a big field with lots of room to race.  I don't remember where it was but I remember racing with her and then a lot of canter and gallop, but I kept wanting to race.  This was when I got a feel for how a horse should move and what the difference is between a smooth riding horse and a lumpy gallumpy ride.  We went so fast, this one horse and I, that my face felt soft afterwards from the wind rushing against my cheeks...Sue's horse was seriously a Lump.  It was a Western saddle, which I've always found tilts back and forth and isn't my kind of seat.  It's possible this was because it wasn't a kid's saddle or fitted to the horse properly, but all of my experiences in the Western saddle haven't fit correctly.  Maiers' horses were Lumps (they'd been sitting around)  but much better than Sue's and I don't remember the saddle being all over the place.  I think I was riding bareback when I raced the horse.

When I was a kid I had someone observe me for riding lessons, and I was sort of an older kid, and I was just okay, but I remember the trot on that horse was not very nice.  Possibly that was Crystal, a woman I didn't name the doll after, but there was a woman at one point too, who watched me in an English saddle.  She was evaluating my "seat".  I always remember the one horse I raced with in a large field, and then Sally, who was fun in our fenced area, and Aspen when I could jump on her.  The time I raced the one horse I think my parents were on horses too or outside talking with some people.  The only time I was on a "runaway" horse was one time with Sally but it was still fairly controlled, and then an out-of-control time was the one time I rode the Maier's horse and we were on a narrow gravel road without a lot space and one horse nudged the other or moved into it on the side, and my horse spooked, and took off at charging like it had a burr under the saddle and would not stop.  I remember being upset that Stephanie acted happy about it or satisfied in some way, and I was shaking because it had occurred on a road with a high hill to one side and a cliff on the other side, and gravel is not the best thing to be on when a horse bolts.  I didn't fall off, however, which I was glad about, and the more I said "STOP!" the faster it ran.  I was screaming "STOP!  Stop!" and "Whoa" is usually what you say but either it came to my mind to stay "Stop!" or Stephanie yelled to tell it to "stop" and I did.  It was potentially another time my reaction and response to programming for killing myself with "brake failure" was being tested, and that was with the Maiers family.  Everything my parents knew about my programming, the Maiers knew, I've come to realize.  Because Stephanie was the one to be involved in that incident, where she was the one turning her horse into my horse's side, and because she was also involved in telling me to go down the "slippery slide" naked, I am positive someone trusted her, for some reason, to keep government secrets about me.  So my "best friend" who made pizza with me all the time and played Super Mario Bros with me, was waiting for me to be killed.  The horse ride was not until right before we were moving out of town.  I was 14 or 15 years old, and it was within a month or so of the same time I was told to go naked down the slide.  She was also doing this "feeling" my hand kind of thing but she was grabbing my hand sometimes just the hand, and other times, sliding up the arm to check the difference between my palm moisture and the rest of my body.  I would never think, as a teen like that, that this friend was doing such a thing, just because she grabbed my hand a lot, but because of the other two things she was involved in, in being a U.S. government instrument for testing my programming reactions, I don't have any doubt she might also be told to check to see if I was nervous around her for any reason, because that would be a bad sign and might mean I was onto her.  Altogether, I can remember 4 specific tests to see how I responded to programming and to check my panic responses and make sure everything was there, prior to the official "hit".

Other things I wouldn't know about.  I think she found out I was prone to hemophilia which is why she dumped a TON of garlic and onions into her salad when Robin went with my visit.  Other vulnerabilities might have been that I showered with them and I do remember them looking at my back and rear end a lot and I think it was because of the scars and maybe Stephanie wanting to know if they could be seen.  We used to shower in their solid square white-tiled room, all the time.  I loved it because I loved showers and steam and sometimes when they got out I'd stay in a little longer, but I remember turning around and seeing Stephanie wipe her eyes to cover the fact she was staring at my back and backside and I never interpreted it as a lesbian thing.  It seemed to be something else.  Aside from the gifts and the post cards from Europe, and the fact she was getting information about what was in my personal diary at my house (somehow), the only things that connect her to knowing about my government programming early-on would be the slide thing and the "stopping" the horse turned into the side test for my reaction.  She was only 14-15 years old, as old as me or a little older, and I never once would have thought someone that young was a government employee.

One time when Stephanie came to visit my house, which was later, and shortly before we were going to move, she and my mother talked in whispered tones together in the living room and I remembered thinking what are they talking about together that they don't want me to hear?!  I'm my Mom's daughter and Stephanie's best friend!  I didn't see anything but I had a feeling my Mom gave something to her or something was exchanged when I was still in my bedroom.
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Still 8/27/13.


I think what the cops were worried about, and why I couldn't figure out why they kept bringing up a gun and that it went off, or maybe a silencer was used, was possibly the context of the time when this came up and the need to cover it or confuse me, and the desire to switch what kind of weapon was held and what was done with it. 

I believe the reason she went to the kitchen was to "get something to write with".  This was a common phrase of hers, because she was on the phone a lot and she'd say, "Okay, let me get something to write with" and the pens were in the kitchen, in drawers or in a round can that was painted later.  I think the only reason she'd leave a small group, with a man standing at the door, and go to the kitchen, would be for this reason, and this is probably why I was shocked that when I looked back, it wasn't "something to write with".  But maybe she didn't say anything. I don't remember that part.  At least not right now, the full detail isn't as it sometimes is.  It's like forgetting a name and then remembering it later...I'm sure it will come up but I know some effort has been made to bury it.

When E.H. mentions Yurchenko, it's when I realize I haven't been following the news with Russia or U.S. spies at all.  I remember the name but, just looked up the wiki on him, which is sparse--I know nothing about him.  I wasn't sure if he was the soup guy or the one who went to Canada guy or what.  I could try to think of how his name sounds in English but I really don't know what it would have to do with me. 

In August at that time, I would have been getting ready to go back to school or in school already.  If I was almost 10, I'd had Crystal for awhile, and probably it was that entire summer I was trying to walk her around the house because it was during the day so we were home from school.  I believe I had Mischief then, my next cat, but I am not sure.  Possibly it was Mittens.  The cats all died fast.  I was heartbroken over all of them so I was told, "No more cats" because we lived near a busy road and they kept getting hit.  I think it was one per year, like when I was 10, 11, and 12 maybe.  I am trying to think if I had a cat when I was 9 and I don't remember any kitten or cat, just Crystal.  I do remember (total tangent) pretending to be a nurse to her one time and I laid her down for it but I had the weirdest feeling, as a kid, for some reason, about having her lying down if she was "awake" and I was playing pretend that she was really alive.  At night, she was standing by my bed (for the most part which I'll get into later) and I remember this very uncomfortable feeling turning her face down because she couldn't turn her head to the side that way and I didn't like it.  Then even lying down with her face up, I felt this empathy or sadness or something for her.  So my pretending she was my patient times were very short and not that many. I think I did arm surgery on her and I know I did heart surgery on her because I had heard my Grandpa had a heart surgery so I knew there was such a thing.  I think I also put clothes on her forehead or pretended she had a headache.  But I had a weird feeling about her lying down.  I had this miniature wooden rocking chair and I think I tried to have her lean against it but she couldn't sit.  I do also remember I put a red plastic fireman's hat on her one time, because I got one or my brother had one and I put it on her (temporarily).  My Mom really did not like that look.  I put it on her head forwards and backwards and it was always sliding around.  I was so preoccupied with Crystal and I was so preoccupied with kittens I don't think I had them at the same time.  But possibly I had mittens in 2nd grade and then she died and then Crystal, and then I tamed Mischief.  I know I began asking about the scars on my arms when I had Mischief.  As for painful times, I know I was being beaten, and verbally abused, and I would say this is remember the growing pangs the most.  I was told they were "growing pangs" but extreme ache and pain was affecting my knees (which on x-ray look to have an implanted microchips in them, so if the U.S. chose to target me, they did) and I had some nosebleeds for the first time around then, though it is possible I had one in 1st grade, I mostly remember a big one later.  One was just profuse bleeding and actually, it happened often enough I was told to just put toilet paper in my nostrils.  It wasn't regarded as a big deal, but one of them was just fountains of blood and scared me.  There was nothing we ate that should have affected me really.  We didn't use garlic, and I occasionally had aspirin with sugar mixed in it for my growing pangs but that was it.  I remember Walla Walla sweet onions, but I wasn't a kid who loved onions unless they were onion rings or on a hamburger and that was a later developed taste.  I guess we had liver and onions with the sautéed onions and I hated that and we didn't have it much.  Then there was the peas, carrots, pearl onions veggie mix we got at that time.  Before it was just all peas and then all of one kind of vegetable the next night and so on but we started having the pearl onions almost every night.  That was it for blood thinners really--pearl onions in a mix for dinner. 

My Dad started sleeping on the couch and he said his back hurt but it was possibly a little later he did this, or right around this time.  Given the fact it appears on x-ray that I have a microchip in my knee that has never been opened up or operated on (supposedly), whereas the other one has been operated on and possibly something was removed and/or something new added, it means the U.S. had the technological capability to torture me if they wanted, and could target me, and as a kid, I would have just accepted the grown-ups explanations.  It was every single night almost, and if I was not sitting on the floor with my legs stretched straight out, I was curled up in bed in the fetal position with my legs tucked in under me, my arms under my chest or bent to the side, with my thumbs tucked into my fists.  Someone would come into my bedroom, straighten out my legs, and I'd curl them up under me again.

I'm not saying this was all due to spies moving around or Yurchenko or anything--I'm just commenting on a painful period, since E.H. brought up painful times, and then using that date to think of what was going on.

E.H. says, pg. 58, when the FBI interrogated him, he said if you want to track someone down look at their Express card receipts and if you think I'm hiding anything, just look at my American Express card receipts and they'll tell you where I've been.  What I would think of is that I got my clothing for school at a place called "Express".  A lot of my clothing had "Express" for the label, but I remember this mostly after I was about 13 years old.  I also know when I asked police and FBI to do the same for me on a matter, they refused.

I note he says he stayed at the Movenpick Hotel, a Swiss hotel.  When I looked it up I see it has 2 red dots above the o and the reason I looked it up was because I thought the idea of a "moving pick" (like an ice pick, or a knife, or anything) was interesting.  It also might be like "move and pick" like "choose".
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8/28/13.  I have more to add or revise about the weapon scene, with my Mom behind my back and seeing her.  I remembered I actually DID try to report it to police, and it wasn't casual conversation, because that's how I knew they were cops and then why I wondered how they seemed to already know about it or wanted to make their own suggestions.  I also remember they refused to make a report even though I was reporting a crime, and there was no allegation of my being "mentally ill" or anything worked up against me at that time.  I remember things that happened later looked like retaliation from state sources for my attempt to get help.  There were 2 cops, both male--both bigger guys (not short and thin types).  I don't remember any kind of woman around.  The cops were incredibly insistent and shrewd--they were almost identical to the Mormon FBI agent from D.C. and the one from CA--like the Mormon one in how they tried so hard to change my testimony.  I guess though, I haven't noticed a really big difference between regular cops doing this (Sgt. Austria) or FBI--although Austria wrote a statement and tried to verbally work around and argue against my facts, the real masters of trying to coerce an altered testimony or working at suggestion or twisting words, have been the FBI.  It is like they get a special training for how to ruin lives and change a story.  Some of the psychological effort at suggestion and twisting words or getting a different reaction, seem more like CIA interrogators or people who are trained to go in on top-priority matters to get a full cover for the actual story.  It's one thing to suggest one or the other fact and ask which one or to try to find out what the truth is, but it's another thing to deliberately pressure someone to agree with them, to create new facts for purposes of confusing or concealing the truth.  I called it in over the phone and they met me in person.  I said I wanted to know if it was some kind of crime if my mother had done ____ and they started to try to interrupt and began working right away to override what my testimony was.  I didn't do it because I thought, "Maybe I can put my Mom in jail" or "I really hate my Mom" at all.  I remember at the time, I had not even thought about all of the other things done to me, but I knew something was really wrong and that efforts were made by my family to make me into more of a scapegoat.  It was Portland police that I asked.

About the pocketknives, I remember when I was around 8 or 9 or so, possibly a little older, we had a few different kinds of pocket knifes or Swiss Army knife types in the kitchen and I had noticed about those, that all of them disappeared.  I sort of remember a wood case one, a miniature Swiss one, and maybe a black one.  I know I thought, as a kid, "Why did we have all these pocket-knives and now we have none?" and "What happened to all of our steak knives?"  I also remember when the knife holder of all of our black handled kitchen knives was replaced with a wooden set.  I remember I said something out loud, and that it was after the incident with the man at the door and she looked uncomfortable and tried to say we didn't get any new ones, or we never had the other kind and as a kid I thought why is lying about this and doesn't want me to remember?  I remember also thinking it was weird that some of the pocketknives matched the kitchen cutlery set on the counter, but they weren't part of the set.  I remember I commented out loud about it once, when I found a pocket knife that looked like it matched part of the cutlery set that we had.  First all of the knives of any kind were inside drawers and then a kitchen cutlery block was set out on the counter and there were at least 3 of those.  One was black handled knives, one was wood, and one was plastic brown (or a set of steak knives were) and then there was a set with tortoise shell marbled kind of handles, including a large roast fork.  The black and wood handled ones had flat surfaces, the brown semi-rounded and a light texture to the handle, and the marbled ones were round handled at least on the roast fork and after the set disappeared, it was just the roast fork that was left.  There were other steak knives too and I barely remember an olive green handled set or pocketknife that goes back further than the other ones.

Also, I decided to look at the back of the one knee that I got an x-ray of which shows a microchip and there are a few scars from incisions or cuts to the back of the knee.  I can also see chicken pox scars on the top of the knee to my right and something very small that might not be a chicken pox scar, but the scars are at least as old as those or older and I got those in kindergarten or first grade I think.  I also think I have found at least one dot shaped scar on top of my head that is about the same size as dots I've found other parts of my body where electrodes or something were placed, but it's hard to find because it's under my hair.

As I was writing about the knives, I remembered a little more.  After that man left, I remember I went to the kitchen drawer and kept looking in at the pocket knives.  I don't mean that same night, but later, I began sneaking in and carefully opening the drawer hoping no one could hear it open, to look at the pocket knives.  I kept checking them, and looking at them.  Then I opened the drawer one day, with my Mom in the kitchen, to get a screwdriver for something.  She looked aside at the drawer and snapped at me, "What are you doing?" and I said, "I'm looking for a screwdriver."

I also remember my Dad put a gun in that same drawer and it disappeared.  However, when I noticed the gun was gone and was looking at the pocket knives, one day after always saying I was looking for a "screwdriver", (all the time--for putting inside cassette tapes to roll up the tape if it started to come out in my player and get tangled, before I was shown to use a yellow pencil, and for screwing and unscrewing the mirror on my vanity and different things as I moved my furniture around in my room) I said out loud, "Where's the pocket knife that was here?"  My Mom said, "What knife?" and I said, "The one in the pen drawer, the ____ one."  (I'm leaving out a few details to fill in at a later time).  The pen drawer was the one closest to the phone and had paper for notes, and pens, and there was a screwdriver and scissors and pocketknives.  Then it became more of a utility drawer and a hammer and other things were added.  There was also, I think, sort of a top pen and paper drawer with a utility drawer beneath it for awhile but it turned into a cookie cutter drawer at some point.  She said, "There wasn't one like that" and I said, "Uh, huh, because that's the one you used when...._____________ " and I added, "I remember."  She did not look happy and then my Dad did not look happy about me either.  The part that confused me sometimes was that either my Dad made sure I saw him putting a gun in that drawer before the man came over, and I looked over my shoulder and saw my Mom, or he put one in that drawer afterwards, and had me notice it was there.  I know the entire reason I went to the drawer the next day was to have a better look at the weapon wielded against me.  When I was asked what I was doing, I said, "I'm looking for a screwdriver" or "I'm getting the screwdriver" and sometimes I really was and other times I used it for an excuse to look.  So then the first two men to rape me, Josh Gatov and Robin Bechtold, were U.S. employees who knew each other and knew about all of this.

I have to delete my idea that maybe I met the cops casually in Portland, Oregon.  The cops I told, in a "casual setting" were Mt. Angel cops.  It was in 2000 or 2001, right after the police "Scott" told me their department had me on their "board".  I was taken to a warehouse and then Scott talked to me while sitting at a desk like no big deal, as if it was the only place to talk that wasn't a police station, and then after awhile, this other cop came from out of a side room and walked in, looking like he'd been hiding there all along.  He had dark hair and Scott was blond.  It was around that time, but I think before I met them in the warehouse, I had talked with this red haired cop who drove next to me and then Scott was there. I know I had said something to him about it, before I was in that warehouse and the man came around the corner, and I remembered how it was done exactly as the men did who were inside of my house when a man came over (possibly a different occasion for that).  I had disappointed my parents by being pressured to agree that I would pretend no one was in the house to find the man in order to lure him in or be caught off-guard when they came out from the shadows (or behind the walls).  They told me he'd done something wrong and they didn't want me to say anything, and that time I believe it was Alan Springer and another guy I didn't know.  So for being willing to "catch someone" they punished me.  I remember at first I said nothing.  Then I saw my brother getting rewarded for doing this one time so later they tried me again and said they'd give me something for it, like they gave my brother, so I did.   So then why has it been cops and FBI that have been retaliating against me and replaying the same scenarios ever since?  THEY were the ones setting me up to murder myself and to be killed by their assassins.  Both the U.S. and Canada colluded to disparage me with that "game".  The Mt. Angel cops did (in 2000-2001), and set me up to have someone coming around the corner the same way, and then telling me they were not making any report (after suggesting I should change my story), and the Canadian RCMP at the Border Patrol offices did this (2007-8), except they had 2 men saying I was going to jail, forcing me to sign something, and having a 3rd man in the background come out and say I could go now that I'd signed a false confession. 

I say:  So are we REALLY going to keep playing the "rape is fun" game gentlemen?  ARE you gentlemen actually or are you just a bunch of snot-nosed losers with badges of authority who use it to terrorize little kids you can't bump off successfully.

 I was a kid who had damning testimony against them. 

I didn't see anything else on the paper I signed for the one man at my house except for blank paper.  Maybe I'm wrong, but as a kid, I just saw paper for putting my autograph on.  If I'm wrong, and it was a form, I didn't read it first and by that age, I think I would have known what looked like a paper for an autograph vs paper for signing something else, though we did sign autographs across and on top of printed programs for the Annie play. 

I was raped by Josh Gatov in 1998 and then I wasn't raped by Robin Bechtold until after I talked to the Mt. Angel cops, who were  at that time working with Mt. Angel Abbey.

OKAY!  I have spent some time cocooning and thinking about the knives, and events and I think this is how it went.  I had confused some parts, but it's understandable given the different weapons switched in and out.

I will still continue to think about it and try to systematically go over each thing as it occurred, but what I remembered is that yes, at some time I think I saw my Mom with a gun, in my life, but I don't think it was then.  I did see guns, and I'll explain the context.

But first of all, what I remembered was when I started checking that drawer, as a 9 year old, old enough to remember, and looking at the pocket knives and things was that I was saying I was looking for the screwdriver or getting the screwdriver, to cover for what I was looking at.  When I asked out loud where the one of the pocket knives went, my Mom said there never was one like that and I said yes there was because that's the one you were holding when I turned around and saw you with a knife...I remember.  After I said this, my Dad didn't look happy about me and my Mom kept denying the knife.  So while I was in the kitchen one day, my Dad knew I was there and made sure I was watching and pulled out the drawer and put a gun in it.

The points for my remembering these things is that when my Mom denied the knife, it stuck with me, like a shock of "My Mom LIES?!"  And I felt sort of like, how could she not remember it when it's the one she held at me behind my back?  So I insisted and said, "Uh huh!  I remember!"  So then my Mom didn't look happy and said your memory is wrong or something and my Dad wasn't happy later but he was quiet.  He came in with the gun later, and put it in the drawer and then I was opening the drawer and seeing it but I didn't touch it for a long time because I was too afraid.  I did think, "Whose gun is that?!" because it wasn't the gun I saw my parent's with most of the time.  I don't remember that I ever picked it up entirely but I may have and I know I at least touched it.  Right after I touched it, it disappeared from the drawer.  I remembered my Dad put the gun in the drawer after I brought up the knife, because even though I was only 9, he had a dour, determined and grim look on his face and looked mad at me so when my Mom said there was no gun in the drawer or something, after I possibly brought up a gun, I thought maybe it was over what I said about the knife and he was trying to make it over a gun and not a knife.  I thought maybe they were punishing me for saying I remembered the knife there, by putting a gun in the drawer and removing it, and then saying, there was no gun and possibly if I'd been asked what it looked like, I would have given a different description out loud for the gun I saw than the gun they owned.  So I'd sound confused, in hindsight, if there was audio surveillance running.  The other thing is I later hoped if my fingerprints were on that other gun no one was going to try to frame me over something.  It came to mind because I wondered why it was gone right after I'd touched it.  How anyone would know I'd touched it, I have no idea because I had thought I was alone in the kitchen when I did.

So they were saying I didn't remember things correctly but I did, and I remembered these points mostly when I recalled the emotional feeling I had about why would my parents be doing this? It is the first time I ever got suspicious of my parent's motives, that I can remember.  It would be one thing to hold a knife against me, or at me, but to lie that much, knowing I knew they were lying, was when I wondered what was going on.

I thought about it today and I am not sure if my Mom went to the kitchen and said she was getting something to write with or not at that time.  I know I turned and saw she had a knife near my neck at the back of my head, but I was sometimes confusing this with seeing her with a gun at possibly a different time.  I believe I said out loud, "Why do you have a knife Mom?" and then possibly she said, "I don't."  Maybe she said she had a pen, or maybe someone verbalized something at that time, but I don't remember.  This all happened with the man who asked for my autograph so possibly something was said about a pen, or possibly nothing was said.

If I think about it, I can't imagine my Mom slitting my throat to kill me, but then again, I can't hardly imagine my parents being involved in programming to have me kill myself with brake failure or suicide with pill or drug overdose either.  I do remember her in the shirt that said "30" on it because of the occasion of that man being there, but it's possible my memory of her in that shirt with a gun is of a different time but I don't know when because I did target practice with pop cans with my Dad now and then, but never saw my Mom with a gun.  From what I remember, she held the knife in her left hand but I might be wrong since the main thing I was shocked by was the weapon and then I made a comment.

If she had slit my throat, or killed me, I am not sure what the objective would have been.  Maybe it was just a message behind my back, but pointed at me, but if she had slit my throat, my Dad was there, that man at the door was there, and I don't remember who else in that moment, right now.  Her fingerprints would be on it, and possibly mine if I struggled, unless she had latex gloves on and I'd have to think about it.  I don't know that I could remember that much but I might for some reason.  So I can't imagine who it would be blamed on except for a "strange man at the door" and since no one was there at the exact moment my Mom decided to get the knife or held it up or I turned and saw it, it was confined to the adults there and me.  Me, my Dad, my Mom, the man, and possibly Jim Sandberg and some other strange man but I blocked all of it out except for seeing my Mom and that man.  I also remember, whatever happened next, I had turned left and looked back to my left and the man in front of me turned right, slightly.  Actually, it was his left and I saw it as my right.

I know my Mom did buy clear disposable latex gloves at one point, but it was maybe later and I can't remember right now if I noticed anything else unusual at the time.  The pocket knife I asked about was either green or natural wood colored and she said there wasn't one like that.  I think I said green, but whatever one it was, we DID have it and then it was gone.  There WAS a carmel colored pocket knife that had a glossy finish or laquer or something over a marbled (or wood-grain look) solid red-brown color that was around forever, but I don't know that it was that one.  It was something like that or an olive green one.

The only confusion would be if my Dad first had me see him put a gun in the drawer, I turned and saw my Mom holding a gun at me, and then when I spoke up and nothing happened, I went to the drawer to look at it and it wasn't there.  Then I possibly was looking for the gun and wondering what happened to it all the time, and asked about it and was told there was never a gun there.  I would have said yes there was.  Then I could have been looking at knives because I was cut as a kid and the emphasis on never having a kind of knife that disappeared when we did, would have gone with the gun to claim they were both never in the drawer. 

So when I was later raped, the joke with Josh Gatov and Robin Bechtold was that Josh wielded 2 knives when he raped me and was the "knife" person and Bechtold, who had been smoking the night he raped me, was the "smoking gun".  To them, it would have been sheer joy, hate crime, and a great joke between them.  Either way, even if it was that it was the knife I saw and the gun was later, with my fingerprints on it, their "inside" joke on behalf of the U.S. government, which supports rapists, would have been the knives-smoking gun joke between them.  It was not an accident or a mistake.  It was premeditated, just like the programming of me to kill myself with "brake failure" was premeditated.

Robin's comment after raping me was "That was awkward", and he's German and knows the German for "ach" or "acht" and would have known about Edward Lee Victor Howard.  It was a deliberate expression used to be recorded for purposes of causing intentional distress to those who loved me and for making a sick government joke to the U.S.

I'll clarify more about that night and what happened later.  I guess I am not sure about how much to make exact on this blog post when I already tried to report it to police and they attempted to change what was done.  Obviously, this is all part of a larger crime.  All one needs is 2 persons conspiring against someone in a criminal way for a RICO action, and the "adoption" of my son is a lie--it was a kidnapping and is invalid.  What is important is that crimes were committed against me, planned and premeditated, and everyone from Josh Gatov to Stephanie Maiers to Robin Bechtold....and so on were 100% involved, all the way, feet first.  My own parents were involved in testing my responses to programming, and these others were given complete access to my personal records, encouraged to have me kill myself, to assassinate me, to rape me, and to lie and defame me. 


(I had to take a break from all of this and get back to work.  In the meantime, I played with the guinea pigs of course, and Kipper jumped over my legs for the first time, feeling secure enough with me now to try.  They all have unique personalities I'll write about sometime.  The last thing I said aloud to them as I was laying down new paper, before getting back to this was, as it was a horoscope I was laying down, "How horrible would it be for someone who really reads their horoscope, to find out they don't even have the one they thought.  I mean, for someone who really pays attention to those things, it would be a big deal.  "I'm not a Capricorn????!"  I tied up a bag of old papers and added, "PEE-Yoo!  that stinks!"  I did an errand and then came back as they were around my feet and said, looking down, "Hello vultures...  (In a "Hello Newman" kind of way),...what are YOU looking for?  Carry on, carry on!"  Before that, I was in the truth-telling chair, telling them how would it be to be like Joseph with the coat of many colors and your family that sold you out is coming to you for help with apologies and then they think, "He forgot we sold him" so they revert to all their bad ways--what does Joseph do then?  So he's in the basement still or dungeon and they think they'll be nice because he's about to get out, but OH! he forgot the magic password!  so then, not getting out, who cares" and as I said this, a huge great commotion and noise and I said, "What are you guys doing?!" and I looked and they'd knocked the whole house (one of the houses I have built up for them) to the side and I said, "You are in the leaning tower of Pisa?!"  and I laughed and laughed because well, you know, the transition of my talking about Joseph and then the leaning tower of Pisa, and well, you know, the sheaves of wheat (weet on you weeters).  Anyway, the new papers came up after that, but, so you know, the guinea pigs had invigorating conversation this country never appreciated so I am looking for a legal team actually, for me and my son). 

Oh this is weird.  I was making a drink and caught a moth flying around in one of my hands while it was flying and then I looked at it in my hand and it flew off, so I let it go and then I looked, and it was caught in a spider web instantly.  I broke the web a little and let it go.  Then I caught it again with just my forefinger and thumb but released it.  What was odd was how instantly it was caught.  I took a photo of the mark it left on my hand.  Anyway, I had been looking at it thinking, I would like to catch it for a moment and show it off, a regular moth, in the best setting possible for a photo and then it ended up in a web.  And I was listening to this when it happened: 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LaqMwE5NKaM

Pretty much another reason for demanding serious compensation from the American government.  What I mean by this, is nothing to do with the moth, which was an impromptu scientific observation I will cut out and put elsewhere when I am done with this post, but which I put here since I'm not moving from this post until I'm done with the comments about the book.  I am referring to the symbols in this video, which I recognize, as he's talking about "electric eyes" and "breaker on your head" and then the flashing circle in the back with the zig-zag mark through it.  I found these marks, scars, on top of my own head, underneath my hair today.  It was the first time to find them, so seeing this, even though I like Bowies artistry, does not give me confidence about the U.S.  I mean, how many entertainers did they bilk for money?  the United States has gone way overboard. What I think are scars and not hairlines (it's hard to tell, so on this, yes, I might be wrong!!!!) are where I didn't have the stitches for head surgery for the auto collision.  It looks like a vertical "lightening" scar was made in the center of the top of my head, with dots from electrodes to the side, and my Mom was given a horizontal "lightening bolt" scar across the top of her forehead later. 

On one hand, the U.S. has extorted my parents for whatever they want through their blackmail of my parents into cooperating with the CIA and Army for programming me (to kill myself even).  It is powerful blackmail.  From there, they can do whatever they want, and continue doing whatever they want.  On the other hand, I have seen things from at least one of the sets of twins that looks like they really wanted to bump me off.  And while I think of the incident with the weapon behind my back as some kind of accidental thing, the truth is that I was like the man in The Man Who Knew Too Little and had no idea some of this was real.  What was rape by Josh Gatov and Robin, for example, supposed to be, "acting"? 

pg. 58.  E.H. says they stayed in St. Anton, just over the Austrian border and any mention of Austria and Vienna is a total surprise to me.  I suppose it makes me wonder if this is why the U.S. freaked out when I wanted to go to Vienna.  I was planning a trip there and didn't realize my check was a different one (long story).  I had no reason to go there aside from doing some research and thinking it was a place that had coffee shops and readers and I liked the idea of having a hot cup of cocoa or coffee or tea and spending time there.  It gave the impression the coffee shops were like pubs and gathering places you could stay awhile, and they had a huge scientific archive which I was interested in after reading some books, and I had seen photos from a European calendar I had and thought it looked beautiful.  I was planning to travel in my black suit with a shirt and had my whole wardrobe for travel lined up.  Realizing later I am related to him causes me to think I probably came under some suspicion then, even though I'd never heard of "Edward Howard" before.  He says he and Mary had a fight because he wanted to go out and she wanted to stay in and he left and was back in an hour.  This sounds a lot like me in the sense that I often wanted to go out, even for an hour or so, maybe coffee or dinner, and my parents were always in, or with Monica, it was back and forth.  I can't remember right now why his plain comment there sounds so strangely familiar but there is something to it I might remember later.  It is like something I wrote in a last line for a poem, or something else...

pg. 59, he says various allegations we made he contacted the KGB.  I've already commented on the October significance or insignificance, and on the watches.  He says she sold the huacos at Merrin Gallery in Zurich.  I remember all we had was a canning jar of ashes from Mt. St. Helens.  My Dad had some, my brother had some, and I wasn't supposed to have any, but I got some and saved it a long time.  If I remember correctly, I had some kind of a vial or something that I put a little into, or some kind of jewelry.  I know my Mom or something was disappointed when I got rid of it and then I wanted to bring in more (it was there, just under the dirt) and I wasn't allowed to.  I remember I had a sad feeling like I had made a mistake when I did.  So then he says he returned to the U.S. with proceeds of the sale and it was supposedly "$10,000" in the desert the FBI suggested was from KGB.

I have no connection to this section at all, or money in the desert.  We never had any and I didn't find any coins buried around my house, although I did check under the seat cushions of our couch for "lost change".  I can only think of ten thousand or ten mil, and Milan as in "Meal on" or "Meal" because I was hungry around then.  By 1995, after my car accident when I had to research how to store money from a P.I. claim, I researched all the different securities and options and found out you can legally hide $10,000 at a Swiss bank account and legally not report it to the U.S.   So I read about stocks, bonds, money markets, Swiss accounts, annuities, real estate, and other investments but it wasn't until after I was made an offer for compensation that I ever even got a book about this topic.

pg. 60. I had backed up to the previous pages and now am back to the Yurchenko topic.  He says he'll describe the affair in more detail later, but will be brief here.  In the first week he says Yurchenko said there were 2 moles in the U.S. (Americans working for Soviets).  One had red hair, worked in communications in Washington in a suburb of Washington and was Ronald Pelton. 

The one thing I can think about here, is my brother and I were pelted with rotten red tomatoes around this time and I didn't know why.  I think it was just bratty teenagers and probably had nothing to do with this Ronald guy, but with the name Pelton, if someone heard about it, who knows.  I worked out in the garden with my brother all the time and one day this 80s sporty low-rider 4 door sedan drove past us and I mean, TONS of tomatoes.  I was so shocked.  I could not believe someone was literally driving past us, aiming at us with huge tomatoes.  Maybe it was larger-than-life then to me, but I would say a dozen or so tomatoes, and one of them hit me.  Actually, I dodged them all, but I somehow remember thinking I got hit on the side or on my shoe or something.  So I ran in and told my Mom (not crying though).  My brother was with me and he wasn't hit at all.  We were near the front of the garden, which was closest to the road, at the raspberry patch or inbetween other plants and those.  It probably has more to do with my getting sour milk from the lunch lady at the cafeteria, who didn't like my making money writing books.  I still remember that lunch woman (give me a photo and I'll nail 'er).

The other person E.H. identifies as "Robert" and says he was a disgruntled CIA employee assigned to Moscow whose assignment was canceled.  This would, of course, sound like my Dad (Robert Guy Garrett) or another Robert possibly.  I never heard my Dad say anything "Russian" however, as Dr. Zhivago was a movie that got me as close to Russia as I'd ever been and ever was.  I had thought to study Russian on my own once, at zero prompting from anyone, as it was with French, and my other ideas.  My Grandpa Garrett was also a "Robert" and I never heard anything Russian from him. The closest thing about Russian from him was talking about how close the huge bears got to his cabin, or seeing one on a hike.  I saw them too, on a hike with him.  Big bears.  Maybe there were grizzlies around, and brown bears, but I remember seeing some black bears, however, it could have been too far off at a distance.  So anyway, I didn't know anyone who knew any Russian but I can see where a "programmer" could come under suspicion.  I did think my Dad had "changed" in the sense that first he was kind and patient and then he flying off the handle and beating me and verbally abusing me, from a specific time, but then so was my Mom, though she wasn't quite as out of control (or took that appearance).  She was a real beater until she decided to let me Dad do the harder work and stay in the background on that.  I think it was programming because it was this major sudden shock.  It was like taking me out of a normal home, that seemed normal for the last 3 years at least, to going to a very abusive foster home.  Which is something the U.S. cherishes actually, and does on purpose to some kids.

In my mind then, I was first extremely shocked and catatonic and surprised and then it became this fear and constant worry and I thought maybe my parents had short tempers, didn't like me anymore, or had a bad day at work.  Then after constant fear and pain, I became angry and resentful, naturally, and maybe this is what the U.S. wants from little kids, before they bump them off, so they don't feel as guilty.  Nothing was "fair" and then sometimes I was then told, "Okay, I'll give you a head start" and what the U.S. was doing, was knowing I already had a head start naturally and then they slammed me down, abused me, and electrocuted me.  When I say I slept in the fetal position at night, I don't mean only when I was 4 years old.  Part of it might have been that my legs hurt, and I did later learn to sleep on my stomach or side stretched out, and sometimes naps on my side during the day were natural, but I mean, I was sleeping in the fetal position almost every night, up to age 10 or so, always on my stomach and always with my legs tucked under me like a ball, thumbs inside of my fists.  After awhile, almost every night, when I was almost asleep or had just fallen asleep, my Dad came into my bedroom and pulled my legs out to stretch them out from this.  He would sometimes say, if I said, "Don't!" "You can't sleep like that".  Sometimes he'd stretch them out and leave the room and as soon as he was gone, I curled them back up under me.  I had my arms in close to my body as well.  He used to say he would tuck me in at night and sometimes he did, at one time, he did and I was lying on my back in bed and he'd tuck me in.  Then I ended up in the fetal position for years. 

Just because the United States is a self-promoting Lie Machine that tells everyone, "We're the best!"  Basically, I got "tucked in" at night (age 3 or 4-8) and then later when the abuse started again, I was tucking myself into a ball and being "untucked".  Occasionally my Dad would say, if I wanted to play, "I'm tuckered out right now." 

This country, this U.S.A. did this to me and this is what they've done to my son, and worse.  No one has any idea how horrific the crimes against humanity are that the U.S. perpetrated against me and my son.  The U.S. and Canada bound me as well, but I am not sure how.  I was so young when they did this to me, and probably drugged and electrocuted and blindfolded, I don't remember.  However, the positions I was taking naturally, while at my house taking a nap or waiting for someone, specific things I remember, I know indicate I was confined to very small spaces and tied up at my wrists and also at my ankles, separately, as well as my wrists and ankles tied together (hog-tied).


It is 2:46 A.M. 8/29/13 and the U.S. is torturing me again, specifically targeting the metal stent they put in my heart, and they've shocked me with electrocution shocks 3 times in the last 10 minutes.  Before this, the U.S. NASA and DOD were targeting the metal stent to have my heart feel burning and lithium battery vibration kind of feelings, constantly.  The U.S. had quit torturing me when I started working on comments about this book again, and then for the last 3 days or so, every single night they have done the same thing by targeting the metal stent in my heart.  They electrocuted me 3 times just now, hard enough to stop my breathing and cause my body to move, and I have no heart problems.  This is something specifically from what they did to me in Maryland in a surgery for D&C where they did other things that are illegal.
*********************************************************
UPDATED 8/29/13.

Reflecting on things that came to mind before comments to the book.  The U.S. colluded to kill me and it wasn't some domestic violence scenario--it was premeditated while I was a toddler and the U.S. used agents against me to try to kill me, including my parents.  The other thing I remembered was that the time my mother (who always loved Stephanie) and Stephanie were whispering, was after Stephanie ran her horse into the side of mine and tested my panic response to a car running away out of control on a road near a drop-off cliff.  My Mom actually asked Stephanie, while she was there, how it went, and then when I was in my room getting something, Stephanie went into the living room and they began whispering for a while after joking about it.

This means Stephanie and my mother were working together.  I didn't know why they'd been whispering about it when I was right there and it was no big deal, but I hadn't put it together yet, or figured out they had all been figuring out how to test my responses and plan for a time to kill me and have it look like I killed myself.  I remembered the time in the mountains,  I did take off my seatbelt and moved to the middle seat in the car and I was asked what I was doing.  I said I didn't want to be on that side where the drop-off cliff was.

There were 4 occasions of testing my response, and 2 other occasions used to induce panic when a car went off the road to the right, and one was by my Dad, driving in the snow and he steered to the right into a ditch, when I was about 7 or 8 and the other was by Barbara Maiers when I was 14 or 15 and she drove to the right of the road in the snow, into a ditch.  In addition to this, remembering what I'd said about not wanting to be near the drop-off cliff, on hiking trips with the Sandbergs I was being held next to a cliff by my arms with someone "joking" and pretending to throw me over.  This wasn't testing my confusion over gas vs brakes for brake failure, but my response to other things.  I was also taken to a pizza parlor with my brother, with my parents meeting Sandbergs or being there alone, and we were given money to "go play video games".  I mostly played Pac-Man but I also played on the car game and it was one where you pretend you're racing a car, and the machine they had there had no brakes.  The only way it let you drive was to hit the gas and speed up or take the foot of the gas to let it gradually slow down. 

So while we were given money for "buying candy" outside, after being programmed to kill myself with drug or medicine (candy) overdose, we were also given money to practice brake failure in a car.  When I began to play the car game more, we quit going there because I think it was expected I would stick to Pac-Man.  I hadn't been playing the car game and then one time my Dad told me to play the car driving game and watched and then that was it.  I remember Jim Sandberg was there that time, also observing to see how fast I crashed.  My Dad also tested my response to someone saying "Stop!" at the time.  Jim Sandberg was involved in trying to induce panic by having me near the edge of a cliff, and then in checking my response on a driving machine.  My brother, on the other hand, was redirected away from the driving machine.  He played it maybe one or two times total and I remember when other games were pointed out for him to play.  He was about 9 years old and I was about 12 years old at that time.

Jim Sandberg, Maiers, and my parents were all government employees and all of them I witnessed trying to check how easy it would be to kill me and preparing and premeditating for it.  More might come to mind but that's some of it.  When we moved to Sherwood, Robin Bechtold tested my reaction prior to the actual "hit".  He raced up behind my car with his car and then was pushing me off the road to the right with his car, while screaming at me and I sped up. He watched all of it, smirked, and then left.  After flipping me off as well.

So, how many of YOU want to be "friends" with the following people:

Maiers
Bob and Dicksie Garrett
Bechtolds
Sandbergs

Is that enough for RICO?  I think so, and that's just the bottom of the barrel.  All of them shared the same information, and worked together.  They also were able to blackmail each other on later occasion where they wanted to, most likely.  When you open up that network and look at how many others they are connected to, you find the web of corruption and crime.  It means cops, FBI, CIA, military--all crooked, illegal, lying hypocrites that torture kids and premeditate murders.  I'd love to know how just the ones above defamed me to people publicly, to get innocent citizen's thinking there was something wrong with me, and I'd like to know how they defamed me secretly in government records or to those persons, while pretending they had no hidden agenda.

It is always possible, someone, in a huge group of people that are involved, regretted what they did or wanted to do something different and were already trapped into the blackmail.  The government blackmail, as you can see, is no different from mafia blackmail.  If someone thinks they've got blackmail on you over your own family, they might trust you with more, but it also means they control you and start pushing you around wherever they want you to go. 

My son is not safe where he is because it is obvious I was not safe where I was, and he's been tortured by some of the same people who tortured me.  The only person who really loves him, the way a mother should love their child, is me, and I take no responsibility for the government's actions against me to disparage my name and character and try to kill me and rape me.  I am not responsible for ANY of it.

I believe it was around the time my Dad and Mom had the weapon against me while the man was at the door, that I remember I started having panic attacks when my Dad went into my room, but I possibly didn't have those until just before we moved from Moses Lake, WA.  I tried to pretend I was asleep and was so scared, I froze.  It was after I wasn't sleeping in the fetal position as much, and I would have my legs straightened out already and I remember one time he pressed against my back (where I guess the iron mark is, that I didn't know about until this year) and I was terrified.  What I remember, is that he actually got an iron, like from an ironing board, and took it into the bedroom where I was lying on my stomach and pressed it down against my back, which freaked me out and I said nothing.  During these times when my Dad was coming in to pull out my legs, or "untuck" me, or later, when I was already "straightened out", he was then arranging my feet.  He arranged my feet to have one of them placed over the other one, not crossing the ankles, but one foot lying on top of the other foot, aligned.

I started to relive the feeling of panic of my Dad coming into the room as I lay rigidly still and straight, and then the U.S. began torturing me last night, to the metal stent in my heart and repeatedly shocking me with electrocution or some technology that does this, and they actually did this all the way up until about 9 a.m. this morning.  I think it was to prevent me from remembering things, but what I remembered was the panic and fear.  It was outright, sweating, fear, and I think my Dad figured out I wasn't asleep and checked my hands once and they were sweating up a storm. I had no idea why he'd grabbed an iron and pressed it on my back, and this scared me to death.  It was done over my bedding, which was thin, and pushed down.  So I was thinking this morning, why would he have put one foot over my other foot and wanted me to sleep that way? My thumbs were always tucked inside my fists at my side with either my arms bent up to the side, or linked together under me to an angle and with my feet that way, I thought it was like a "Penguin".  I don't know what the programming was for, or arrangement of my feet--maybe to have me sleep with my feet together so in the planned brake failure I got my feet mixed up, I don't know.  Also, the shirt that said "30" on it that my Mom wore had arms a different color from the rest of it, like a penguin and I think I said it was black and white or blue and white but I thought about it more and I believe it was purple or violet sleeves and white or light blue and white, I don't think black and white.  But it was like one of those baseball shirts that is all one color, with a number on it, and then different colored solid sleeves.

Also, I forgot to mention, when I said my Dad said "Call Larry" one time at our house, to my Mom, it wasn't the same time the man came to the house or I saw my Mom with the weapon.  It was a different time, I am 100% positive, but I also think there was something weird about it, like a man was already there at the house in the background but I don't know who.  Some tall white guy (not one with olive or darker tan skin).  So my Mom got on the phone and called Larry (a black guy, I think, but there is more than one Larry I'm sure).  I remember he and my Mom had not looked like they wanted to call him, for whatever reason.

Anyway, my Dad didn't press an iron onto my back one night until right before we were leaving that house I believe.  Now that I have found a scar that is iron-shaped on my back, I gather it has something to do with an iron or a masonry tool, but I was scared out of my mind.  I didn't feel my Dad went in like a crazy person and just dootdee-doo, pressed it on my back for fun.  It was more like, I don't know, a control thing and then of course they were all plotting my death.  I sort of felt it was a warning against my talking about how I was getting set up and discredited.

It's also possible that arranging my feet to be one over the other, knowing I was in a panic mode with his coming into the room, and sweating already, was a way to condition my feet to do something while I was panicked, as in crossing over each other.  Otherwise it might have been for something else. 

pg. 60.  E.H. says George Morgan was told, at the Soviet desk for CIA, the other mole could only be Ed Howard.  He says the CIA concluded he was the spy based on the description and that Yurchenko used information from routine diplomatic sources and open lines to construct a "straw man" to draw fire away from the major active mole:  Aldrich Ames.

Going back to pg. 58 quickly, after he mentions being in Movenpick (Mow-ven-pick, or "mauve-n-pick") he says they drove through Lucerne to Milan (which makes me think of milk and meals).  He says the next day he visited Marco and Anne who lived in Sariswil, outside of Berne, and that they both remember they arrived in Sariswil from Milan.  I think he's saying what he means to say, but since my Dad always played "Sorry" with us, if I'm E.H.'s biological kid (told I am), he says Meal-on (guy with burgers?) was before Sariswil (Sorry's will?)  and then I think of my parents friend Mark Shaw and what he might know.  Because right after this, E.H. mentions Oktober fest and Munich and the 22nd.

pg. 61, He says the CIA gave the FBI reason to think he could be a spy because of low opinion, so they focused on him to distract from the real mole, which E.H. says was Yurchenkos "simple, elegant,  plan that worked like a charm.  The woman in my diary that I pasted with my dream dress, "simple and elegant" (or simple and romantic) sort of looks like my Aunt Locklyn actually, but could be anyone, and a dream plan may be like a dream dress.

He says "The CIA was now in a real bind".  This brings to mind how the Springers tied me and my brother up but I think their Dad must have suggested it to distract from how I was really tied up in my bedroom and probably elsewhere.  I specifically remember being hog-tied in my bedroom and left there, by my Dad.  I then remember he showed me how to hog-tie someone as if teaching me.  An even earlier memory than this is of my Mom having my hands and feet tied and then untying me.  I remember it was white string or rope of some king.  Not a thick rope, but some kind of white cord.  I think the Springers, with their "psychologist Dad", wanting to lay a cover track over what was done to me, encouraged his daughter Kara to play-pretend tying us to chairs and things as if it was all a kid's game, maybe in the hope I wouldn't remember the other things, but I definitely remember.  I mean, clear as clear.  When I was hog-tied by my Dad I sort of remember being on my side or something, but with my Mom and her white cord, I remember sitting on my rear with my knees and legs tucked in close to my chest.  I don't remember the kind of cord with my Dad tying me but it was possibly a regular thin kind of rope...I don't really remember it being white cord specifically but I definitely remember it was white cord with my Mom.

After my Dad showed me what a "hog-tie" was, saying out loud to me, "This is a hog-tie", a few years later, they were changing the words "hog-tie" to "pig-stye".  So instead of telling me in my bedroom, "This is a hog-tie", my Mom was exclaiming in that same bedroom, "This is a pig-stye!"  So I was suddenly a "slob" just because it catered to the U.S. government's need to find other words for a cover for what they were doing to me.  I remember waiting for my Mom for very long periods of time, to untie me when I was being tied.  I don't remember anyone sitting there with me--I remember being alone.  I don't know if this was all the time, but I also remember sitting in some kind of box or cage.  I don't really remember it as a cage, but it was a box of some kind, and possibly if I was tied that long sitting, it kept me sitting upright and not falling over.  But there was definitely a box or cage involved. 

I think, since I was old enough to remember the box, and because they kept reducing the severity of what they were doing and changing it, it's possible that earlier than this it was a dog cage or something.  With the hog tie, it was one rope, around my wrists and ankles, and with the tied up hands and feet in the box it was 2 separate white cords: one for my feet and one for my wrists.

I was sleeping on my back or being tucked in that way, legs straight out, around or up to age 7 or 8 and then I used to ask, "Aren't you going to tuck me in?" and "You forgot to tuck me in!"  They changed their whole caring "Night night sweetheart" and tucking me in snuggly idea.  Then they were laying on the abuse and I ended up sleeping in the fetal position from about age 8-13.  Around the end of this period, I had my legs being untucked from me.  And then from about 14-15 or so, or possibly 13-on, I was sleeping on my stomach, with my legs out and then later, before we moved, I remember being rigid and afraid and then having my feet arranged.  I started crossing my ankles to avoid being touched, and my Dad would come in and uncross them and I would say, "I'm trying to sleep!" or "I'm sleeping!" before I started to get panicked.  I would say the iron pressed on my back was one of the most terrifying nights I ever had.  I remember panicking as soon as I saw the iron too, so I am positive when this was done to me, on my bare skin as a toddler or something, I was awake.

Also, I am positive about Robin testing to see what my reaction would be if someone tried to run me off the road or pushed me off with their car to the right.  He had one expression to put on an act of rage and "loving me"  ("I love you" I think he said and acted like he was crying but no tears) and then when I finally got past him and sped up, which I kept having to do, when he was behind, I saw him smirking.  He wasn't upset at all.  He was glad he had figured out what my response would be. 

E.H. adds that the CIA actually TOLD the FBI to go after him, by saying his work history matched the description of the "traitor" Yurchenko described. 

pg. 62.  He says lets assume he was going to Vienna to be "reeled in" and given instructions.  With this, after mentioning the CIA in a real bind, I think of the white cord I was tied up with.  He says if they were giving him info they'd do it through a payphone or "back channel" method, not face to face.  This sort of matches up with my being tied up in a box (like a pay phone booth with an open front) and hog-tied (back channel?).  He says you'd never haul him off to Europe for a face-to-face meeting.  However, here, I believe I was possibly flown out of the country and I do know I was taken to Canada.

He says here, it's standard procedure for the CIA and KGB to "stand down", that is, he says, "to temporarily suspend its local operations when some sensitive event happens".  I know the other reaction I had, when someone told me I was going to be punished, they (my Mom or Dad) would take my hand and begin walking with me into a different room and I would scream and cry and try to sit down on the floor.  They would yank on my arm saying, "GET UP" and "STAND UP".  I would try to sit down, and later, I would cry and say "No!  Please!" and start screaming and crying just at the idea of where I was being taken.  Sometimes I was crying and saying "I'm sorry!" half of the time not even knowing what I'd done wrong.  He says if an operation was suspended, they were told to go "on ice". 

He says when you recruit an agent, you developed these contingency plans "in the earliest stages of contact". He then says if the "fat hit the fire" the KGB would tell them to go with them right away through a danger signal.  I notice he mentions ice and then fire.

I can touch on that in a moment.  I also remember I was gagged so I couldn't talk or be heard.  I had both tape put over my mouth and was gagged with cloth and cotton.

I remember being gagged or having my mouth taped shut by my parents, my Aunt Locklyn, and Jim Sandberg.  Jim Sandberg gagged me with heavy duty duct tape.  He also threatened me at their house in Moses Lake.  Usually he was nicer and Shirley didn't like me, but I also saw another side of him that was mean, intimidating, bullying, and violent.  I was gagged with a cloth or scarf of some kind, and with duct tape, at my Aunt Locklyn's house when I was there, which I remember, and was gagged with duct tape and cloth at my parent's house and also either going in or out of Canada. I think I was usually drugged somehow shortly going into Canada because I don't remember much and then I don't remember specifically coming back but I do remember having my mouth taped for some part of the car trip into Canada.  I also remember some of the "mouth stuffers" as cotton balls and the gauze tape you can use to wrap around as a bandage, and some kind of cut up cotton rags.

When I was older I was told "Do we need to tape your mouth shut?" "Do you want your mouth taped shut?" "Shut up" and instead of gags I had my mouth occasionally cuffed or stopped with the palm of my Mom's hand and I would start crying after she did this.  First it was "Do you want your mouth taped shut?" and then it got reduced to "Shut up!" all the time.

When I was gagged going in and out of Canada, I remember some of the time, lying down in the back of the car where the seats folded down.  I don't recall being put in a trunk or anything, but anything is possible.  I also know Stephanie Maiers found out about it somehow and didn't tell me but instead started making fun of me saying she had cut up a bunch of rags and made curlers out of them and why didn't I try rolling my hair in rags?  She came up with this at the same time she came up with telling me to go naked down the slippery slide and was testing my programming response to "brake failure" in my car by nudging a horse into the side of my horse and then shouting at me to tell it to "stop".

My brother and I got so used to being gagged on our trips to Canada we started putting the gags on and off ourselves, or did later when it wasn't forced anymore.  Jim Sandberg said something aloud like "Do you want your mouth taped shut?" and held up a large roll of silver duct tape when he did and aside from threatening with this, he also tied us with rope and taped our mouths. 

The only time I pretended gagging myself and my brother with cloth in the back of the car was if the seats were down so it was like a floor in the back and we were lying down, and someone said we were going to Canada.  It was never if we were going to the store or downtown or something like that.  It was also usually when we were in our pajamas.  So later, when Wenatchee library had a 'pajama reading time' and I took my son, I didn't know why my mother sort of winced and why some of the parents there smirked at me but this is probably why. 

When it comes to "ice" I remember 2 different things.  I remember, for literal ice, I was constantly icing something that was swollen and I hated ice because it was so cold.  I also "possibly" remember, not for certain, but something about lying down over a whole sheet of ice.  I also "possibly" remember having to walk on ice, like how people walk on fire or lie on a bed of nails, I walked on ice with my bare feet.  Also, regarding fire, aside from being tortured with technology at night or beaten, I guess I think of, when E.H. mentions the "fat hit the fire", a "pig (cop) beating a kid" or I also have a thought, that is of unknown significance to me.  I know for some reason, the sizzling sound of bacon or sausage fat in a frying pan scared me.  I don't know why and I remember we didn't have bacon or sausage cooked around me and then when they did, I recognized the sound and got scared.

So basically, when I now think about it, I've written about this sound and how it bothered me before and I didn't know why.  And I've also written before about my Dad pressing an iron over my bed blankets onto my back.  I just recently, since then, discovered I have an imprint and scar of an iron on my back.  So why do you think the sound of "sizzling" might bother me?  It might, at least, be one of several forms of torture that produced that sound, which would make anyone who was both living and awake to hear it, afraid. 

E.H. states it is further evidence he wasn't a spy because if he had been, the KGB would have alerted him to leave the U.S. because Yurchenko had identified him. 

pg. 63.  One thing I note is that he says if he was in Europe already when the "fat hit the fire" and I would guess this meant I was tied down (with rope) when I was tortured with an iron to my back, among other things.  At least it triggers an association.

He says if he was an agent the KGB wouldn't let him meet them in Vienna and then especially wouldn't have allowed him to go back.  He says the reason he didn't do these things is because he is not a Soviet spy.

He says oddly, in mid-August of 1985, an FBI agent Bill Gillespie (BG) visited him unexpectedly and said he had a question about his dealings with a man named Philip Troutman, a NM employee who had been indicated for trying to extort money from a NY bank.  He thought it was odd he'd go in person when he could have called, but he says his mission was clear.  G wasn't interested in T.  He had gone to verify the residence so the FBI could start surveillance, install a telephone wiretap (wiring), and then became part of the FBI's 60-man (wow, only that many listeners?) 24 hour a day EH surveillance team.  To me, this sounds like he's saying the only excuse for torturing me was to dissociate me and cover their official tracks of wiring me and turning me into a surveillance machine.  He then says "The FBI's hunt for evidence against me was on" and then soon after this he mentions getting the book "The Hunt for Red October".  I'm a redhead born in October.  Cutting me up, torturing me so that the "fat sizzles" on my back, and tying me up...sounds like a hunt to me. 

pg. 65.  Titled Seeing Shadows.  Abbreviated S.S.  and what I would think of is how what the U.S. and Canada did to me was and is as bad as any crime reviewed in Nuremberg Trials for crimes against humanity.  On this page he describes seeing a man in a baseball cap in a green sedan.  For me, it makes me think of someone parked on the road to my house who I noticed one day, who I thought was selling marijuana and didn't realize was possibly surveilling me even, and it also makes me think about the green sedan my parents owned, the 74 (or 76?) Chevy Impala.  Baseball cap wouldn't mean anything to me except for Crystal (who I think I possibly used a "K" for, for name now and then) had the fireman's hat that looked like a baseball cap when on backwards. I would also think of the baseball shirt my Dad gave my Mom.  Jim Sandberg also wore a baseball hat all the time.   I also notice E.H.'s use of questions, "Was he this? was he that?" and it's the same format as the questions in the game of Clue, which I received as a present.  I notice he says both something "intuitive clicked" in his head and that the green sedan "cut across" the loop.  Gun and knife, obviously.  First the Clue-style questions and then the click of a gun and the cut of a knife. 

pg. 66.  He says the man was pissed and his face was full of anger because he knew he'd been burned.  How was he burned?  E.H. says he, E.H., made a "left turn" and caught him.

(I just went out for a walk, thought about some things and can clarify here...I only remember my Dad hog-tying me once, and possibly when I asked what it was, but I don't think I'd have asked.  The shirt of my Mom's that said 30 was not black and white because those are not colors she wears or that my Dad would have got her--I think it was lavender and white.)

The other thing is when I was an older kid, I went into my closet a lot.  It is possibly because I was in a box at an earlier age and felt comfortable that way but I moved a dresser into my closet and made it a place I retreated to.  I read books there and moved a lamp into the room so I had a light and it was this tiny walk-in closet but I would go in and shut the door and make it my hideaway.  I also started storing a little food in there, mostly bread.  For example, I wouldn't take a whole loaf of bread, but a few pieces or maybe 4-5 from the rest of the loaf when there was a new one in the drawer and I'd put it in the closet so if I was hungry I had something to eat.  My lamp with the angels was too short, I think, without an extension cord, so I plugged one in and ran it into my closet and then I had a little bread in there, and started keeping a few other items as well, so that when I was hungry, I had something.  I never told anyone but I'm sure someone knew.  I would keep bread, apples and storable fruit, crackers, peanut butter in a jar with a spoon, sometimes cheddar cheese if it was a small enough piece and I wrapped it in plastic and ate it in a day or two, and jam, and sometimes I'd put some chips into a bag, and I also had raisins and marshmallows and sometimes a few chocolate chips in a bag in there. I also started scooping frozen orange juice concentrate out of a can with a spoon.  So I would go into my closet and read, or eat, and think about things.  I had a blanket I put out so it was like having a picnic and then I was washing the butter knife and spoon and hiding everything.  I did this for a long time and then when I was much older, I didn't keep food in there anymore and just snuck something at night if I was hungry. 

Considering what I went through as a kid, I don't have any doubt, whatsoever, that it is "God's will" that those who tortured me and raped me, die. 

pg.  66.  E.H. says he was shocked to think the people surveilling him were his former coworkers.  He says he thought, "No! It couldn't be them!"  For me, that's what I thought over the shock of the weapons.  He says at that point he was ready to admit he was working too hard and seeing ghosts.  To this I would think about my being a ghost for Halloween in the 2nd grade.  The other thing I do remember, is someone was coming in and out of my own room with a white sheet over their head and body (from my closet, to my closet and out) and then I started joking around with my brother by pretending to be a ghost at night, to gently "scare" him and he knew it was me.  The other thing I did, when he felt left out because of Crystal, and my Mom said why don't you play with your brother, if he didn't watch t.v., I used to drag him around on "rides" on a blanket, all through the house, and I swaddled him up like a "baby" and pretended he was my baby.  He loved it.  I made him lie down and did 3 corners on him, and wrapped him up as snug as I could in a blanket and carried him around cooing at him and he would say, "Goo-goo gah gah?"  I told, "Say, 'goo-goo? gah-gah?" and he'd say this and I'd say, "Oh my baby!  my baby!" and this started to bug my Mom too because he really got into it.  I told her, "But he LIKES being a baby MOM!"  I told her, "Mom, he likes being wrapped up really tight and then we pretend he's my baby."  He loved it and started getting upset if I didn't wrap him up tight enough.  I fed him with a doll pretend baby bottle too, pink and white, that looked like it had orange juice in it.  And he'd say, "Mama!" and reach up his arms for me to pick him up.  He grabbed the ice cream cone pendant I had on a necklace around my neck and licked it, saying "Mmm!  Ice cream!  Baby want ice cream!"  He relished being a baby.  The other thing about shadows is that at that time I saw shadows moving every night on my wall from car lights of cars driving past our house.  My Dad had also shown me "shadow puppets" earlier, when I was younger, and I was then sometimes making them to myself on my wall from light from the living room if the door was open.

E.H. says he thought maybe the guy in the green sedan is just lost or enjoying a drive and then his CIA training overrode his wishful thinking and he remembered "one of James Bond's maxims:  "Once is coincidence.  Twice is enemy action."  So what happened is either the first or second time the "ghost", a person with a sheet over their body, went into my room at night, back and forth from my closet, they stole my necklace that had a pendant which was my favorite, an ice cream cone pendant.  I asked my Mom and Dad about it and they smirked, and when I noticed it was gone, they were both sitting there together, eating ice cream and smirking at me.  I knew they knew my necklace with the ice cream cone pendant was stolen, and they were the two in the house.  So at that point, I thought, "First I catch my parents with a weapon against me, then they lie about having any and say I see things wrong, and next they're stealing from me and wanting me to talk about 'ghosts' out loud."  I knew then, at age 9, they were trying to make me sound crazy.  My mother even tried to prompt me to say I saw a 'ghost' in my room.  It was known to be my favorite necklace pendant, so where it went, I have no idea.

I believe that was the first thing stolen from my room.  The next thing was the cameo pendant that was real.  E.H. says he wanted to make another effort at "flushing out the quail" and the only person I knew who ate pheasant and quail was Katie Fallon.  He says the El Dorado Wilderness Area was located about 3 miles from the Interstate El Dorado Intersection so he bypassed and went to Old Santa Fe Trail Road.  He went under a bridge, and then noticed the same green sedan and then a gold car too.  He describes turning on a flashlight and temporarily blinding them and then heading for home.  I remember I had a flashlight and went out and asked my parents about my cameo at one point.  I don't remember at what point I had the flashlight or why, but I remember I turned it on and they said not to shine the flashlight in their eyes.  They took my flashlight away. 

pg.  67.  E.H. says he was angry and scared on the drive home and felt like Butch Cassidy when he kept spotting the posse following him.  He says he didn't get their license plate numbers again. 

What I remember is it was possibly the cameo necklace stolen first and I noticed and then it was the ice cream pendant and I was sure then, and saw them eating ice cream and smirking.  I thought why are my parents stealing my jewelry from me and who are they giving it to?  It was the cameo and the ice cream pendant, in either order.  He mentions license plate twice because it was the same thing both times. 

So what I next think of, is the Israeli movie, "Walk On Water", about a spy who wants to kill a "Nazi" and infiltrates a family to do it.  When he balks at killing the Nazi (an old man on his birthday with the birthday hat), the brother in the family that is infiltrated pulls the plug for him and then the Jewish spy marries the Nazi's grand-daughter.  At the end, a baby is born to the Jewish spy and the Nazi's grand-daughter and the brother stands by happily.  A review for this movie had stated, "Not a single frame will be seen outside of Israel" (or in America or something).  I think what is implied is obvious.  The acronym for this chapter in E.H.'s book is even S.S. 

E.H. says they were government agents but to make a case of government harassment, he would need better evidence.

pg. 68.  He says "halfway home" and past entranceto El Dorado he pulled one more trick to verify what was happening and a third of the way up the hill he parked and waited with lights out.

To me, yeah, because my flashlight was gone.  Lights out for that reason.  He waited for the cars and they didn't show up.  Instead, he says the distant drone of light aircraft came next.  So, "from a distance" someone involved in airlines.  I would say it could indicate Jim Sandberg, whose son worked for Boeing, or the Maiers, who turned their driveway into a lighted strip that looked like a runway, or "halfway" there, and from a distance, the UK Middleton who worked for airlines. 

I would have to think about it.  He mentions "light aircraft", "wing lights flicker" and circling the area.  The other thing that comes to mind is that E.H. says this plan was at extremely low altitude, and when I was in Seattle, Wa, they put out a military plane on a special course to fly well below standards above me, only a few hundred feet above the tops of buildings there.  I knew it was harassment but I didn't know why the U.S. would be doing this.  A lot of people knew why or thought they knew, so basically, they've carried out this whole harassment against me and for their own enjoyment, thinking I would never know about E.H. and that he was my biological father.  He says he knew the FBI used light planes and twilight scopes to track Soviet diplomats in the U.S. and the state police had no reason to do this so it had to be FBI.  But why? he asks. He says he told Mary and she said he must be seeing things in the dark, and he says he saw the green car 3 places and then why would an aircraft circle him in the dark?

pg.  69.  He says he was then busy and then he was surveilled again by a man in a light blue Mustang.  He also says he drove to a pharmacy and this is where he saw him.
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UPDATED 8/30/13.

The other thing that came to mind, when reading the above pages, not having to do with my bedroom but sort of...sort of intermixed the way it's written, is my brother, pulling into the driveway after someone ran into me and tried to kill me.

I remember, that night, he came driving up very late, in someone else's car and as he was driving up, I noticed the headlights were the same as the ones from the car that flashed its brights at me, from behind me.

I would never suspect my own brother of running into me with a car, but I did notice the headlights and how the car looked from the front.  I then noticed my brother walking into the house, sweaty-face, and looking a different color and sick, and not wanting to look me in the eye and avoiding me.  Then right after this, he moved out of the house to a different town.

I also remember he was doing deals with Robin Bechtold and saw them in private conversation on one occasion at the very end of our dirt-gravel driveway, which was unusual and they didn't want me to see them and then when I did, they whispered and then went separate ways.

My brother then supposedly held a gun against someone and I never heard why, but it was Annette Sandberg that got him the free pass, and her family was involved in observing me to see how my responses were to programming for "brake failure" in  a panic situation.

The way my brother acted after someone had just tried to kill me, and avoiding even talking to me, and then fleeing the house to live elsewhere, gave me enough suspicion to watch him as he pulled up into the driveway with that car he was borrowing that wasn't his.

Later, Judy Roark 'suggested' he was involved.  Judy is dead now, right after I intercepted and opened up something she sent to the house.

When I saw a photo of him with my son on his lap for a wedding, my son looked extremely unhappy and miserable and afraid of him and my brother, in that photo, looks like a proud gigilo.

My photos and yearbooks and things that were being stolen were being given to other people by my brother, and according to him he got involved in "drugs" in Newberg, but one of contacts was Robin Bechtold, who had tested my response to brake failure before someone ran into me.

Several of the men who were government employees who later raped me or did other things, made a point of first driving "someone else's car" before they committed their crime, potentially as a warning to anyone in my family (if they cared) that someone could talk about my brother Levi.

Levi (i.e., "Charlie Brown") was "in the loop" with Sandbergs.  He was also exchanging "business" with Robin Bechtold.  He not only left the house after I was hit, he dropped out of school. When I went to go get him because I felt sorry for him, he started working at a place where he met the man who knew Mike Nichols, who next tried to assassinate me, and who was connected to Robin Bechtold (my brother was working at an electronics store then, like Mike and his friends).

After the assassination attempt, a second time, I invited him to "detox" at my house and when I pulled into my driveway one day, he was outside digging what looked like a shallow grave.  I asked him what he was doing and he said he digging a ditch for the water to drain down.  After both assassination attempts against me, all kinds of comments about how he was just a drug dealer and addicted to drugs and methods for gaining my pity were made.  The Sandbergs, Annette Sandberg specifically, both times tested the grounds by implying my brother might go to jail over the gun incident, however, they just wanted to know what my response would be because they were involved.  Then my brother met Carmen and she joined the U.S. Army which Roos was involved with, and she is the one who bristled at any negative mention of Mossad.  She and my brother were stealing from me and she was connected to people that led to Middletons.  When they divorced, I believe it was strategic in case one of them got caught, the other one might be free or have a chance to get away.

My brother should be nowhere near my son Oliver and my son should be returned to me based on the fact those who lied are government criminals who tried to murder me. 

There is more information than that.

And I also remember I tried twice to get the license plate number on that car that my brother was driving and asked my Dad about it or my brother after he was gone, and I remember he started to suspect I suspected him because the 3rd time I saw him driving up the driveway, at night, he kept the turned the headlights off after he pulled into the driveway.  Then he was gone, left for Newberg, and I was told, when I first asked, no one knew where he was. 

E.H. indicates the people involved with the situation he was describing (however it relates or not) were FBI connected.  I have had a feeling my brother somehow got a job with the government aside from his regular job.  I know he asked what I thought about his joining the military once.  At different times he's acted paranoid over the phone, insisting he wishes he could do something to help me; he's tested me by asking what I think about military, and what I would think about his visiting my son. He and Carmen quit talking to me from 2005-2011 and weren't in touch that much before then.  She divorced him sometime before Kate Middleton's marriage, which I remember because around that time I attempted to contact FBI again to make a report and prior to that, in Washington state in 2009 I had, and I had tried talking to U.S. Marshalls once as well.  She supposedly took almost all of the assets, but if they thought they were going to get caught, they would split up and move them to the best location for both of them, because both of them were involved.

When Judy Roark indicated to me my brother was involved, my mother was extremely cool and hostile to her and wouldn't let her come up the stairs and Judy talked from the bottom of the stairs with my Mom at the top of the stairs.  My brother would have had, over these years, a very high motive for defaming me and/or trying to set me up to get rid of me somehow.  He and others of course.  I would have a better look at the Adams and Peters cars, and the one my brother drove.  I know Aaron Bourne, a Jew who lived near, was also happy about what bad things happened to me but I don't know the extent of his involvement.  When I saw the one from Adams or Peters I recognized the car, but when I saw my brother that night, I recognized those headlights and the front of the car and my brother had never acted the way he did that night.

I saw Robin giving my brother something at the end of the driveway, when he was back from Newberg as well.  They were never seen in school as "friends" so I wondered what it was that they would be exchanging.  That time, I assumed it was about drugs, their common interest--however, they both also had an interest in killing me.

I am going to keep commenting on E.H.'s book next.
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It is later in the day....I wrote some of the above early in the morning.  I have already written this part down I believe, but I do remember I finally got the license plate number and had it in my room and then someone stole it from me.  My Dad saw me go outside and write it down and he said, "What are you doing?"  and didn't look happy.  I put it in my room and then someone took it and at that point, my brother disappeared.  At the time I had thought, "It's bad enough if my brother is up to something, but then my Dad acts suspicious too? and the number is gone?"  I wasn't sure if my brother or my Dad took it, but I figured one of them did.  No one else went into my room.

Much later, over a decade later, after I met the FBI, when I told them about Bujanda and Garza, and the business card he'd given me with phone numbers on it, it was stolen from my apartment, the entire card was taken by someone who broke in or, the only other person in my apartment was a kid who said his Dad was in the U.S. Army.  It was the same thing--someone stealing evidence from me.

When I asked my brother what he and Robin had been giving each other at the end of the driveway he said, "Oh just some music."

What I saw from a distance, was Robin give my brother something.  It looked like they both exchanged something, but because I had seen Robin handing something to my brother, I thought it was drugs and drug money.  So I asked my brother what kind of music and could I listen too, and he said quit being nosy or something like that.  I remember my brother had a CD in his hand but I thought, I don't know if that's all I saw at the end of that driveway.  I also thought, "Why would Robin give my brother a CD for something when they aren't even friends (so I thought) but to me he gives me a cassette tape?"  He had no reason to give my brother music at the end of a long driveway, in the shadows, whispering.  Also, if my brother even wanted drugs, he didn't need Robin.  His best friends from Newberg, who he saw all the time, could give him whatever he wanted.  It didn't make sense.  I saw what looked like a small paper bag and possibly money exchanged, I thought, so when my brother had only the CD in his hands, and a backpack with him, I wondered what was in it.  Over a decade later when Robin called me up to buy prescription narcotics from me, I think it was potentially a cover for a worse crime of paying someone for a hit on my life.

pg. 70. He says He and Mary knew the CIA didn't have to go to the back door and could approach them directly if they wanted something so they waited for them to make their move.  He says he went about business as usual and would have to not let them "rattle my cage".  Here, I think of this expression and if it's anything more than plainspeak, what I would think of was at that time my Dad woke me by grabbing my bed posts and shaking the bed from side to side.  He says right after this, they planned a trip to San Francisco, and this is where Robin Bechtold's mother's side of the family is from.  He decided to first go to Seattle and then there.

Then he says he and Mary took a trip to Seattle and had a salmon dinner on the wharf.  They took a car trip and found news that Oleg Gordievsky, a KGB station chief in London, had defected to the British and thought, if it was true, "my old bosses must be having a field day".  Then they took a half-hour ferry across the bay and went to a wildlife park in Kings County.  He says there was another light plane flying low and circling for almost a half hour.  This is the second time he mentions something about "half" and "from a distance" and "light planes circling".  With "half" coming up twice, along with planes...what could he be implying?

(some thoughts after walking...the one thing that is different from my brother and the car he was driving and the other car behind me was the color and style of car looked like one I saw that was Peters or Adams and I need to see it to know for sure.  The other one I think I once saw was Aaron Bourne's parents' car and he lived up the same direction.  However, the reaction and move of the person driving was like that of a man or an experienced driver.  Not only that, the individuals who actually watched my response to being hit or pushed off the road by a car or horse were Stephanie Maiers (horse), Robin Bechtold (who was best friends with Adams and Peters) and his family; also my Mom (they don't call it the Alma for nothing), my Dad and Jim Sandberg--these are people I can think of who I remembered being physically present to observe but I might remember more).  Why my brother would then pull in later, shaking, and acting guilty and driving this car with similar headlights, could be that one, or part of the cover because many were involved, including those in my family.  My parents knew of my programming and tested it, and I had called their house from the Bechtold's house before driving that way. I would only have to see the car and the lights to be 100% positive.   Also, I saw the outline of the person in the car before they flashed their headlights or turned them on and I can go into that at a later time.  Because I did not die or crash as expected, I was able to see the next car and driver as Tony Roos.  Later, after this was done to me and I survived, someone had Judy's son out there in a similar line-up, as if to mask or confuse who it had been--Tony with Judy's son)

Basically, what I've been talking about--the 'covers' and "overlay" of something that occurs by repeating the same thing with only slightly different elements or variations in an attempt to confuse the memory, was done after this attempt against my life.  I remember the differences.  I remember right after, when a second 3-car promenade was made, with similar but different features, that I knew people were attempting to cover up what was done or suggest it was other people. 

I was supposed to be dead.  So it's very scary for assassins when their targeted prey isn't killed "by accident" as planned.  It really is like The Man Who Knew Too Little, where it's extremely serious and yet it's almost so shocking and incredible, it's thought to be a joke or where one person is the total dummy, thinking it's all a game having no idea what danger they're in.  It's like me laughing out loud and going into giggles as my mother was beating me with a spoon and then it breaks.

I loved that baseball cap, by the way.  I won't say in what order they were (the drivers that ran into me and which re-enacted this) but one wore a baseball hat.  The others following in the line of 3 were Tony Roos (for actual assassination attempt) and Todd Roark (for pretense later in a row of 3 similar cars), and then there was one other car with 2 or 3 people in it.  So the exact same line-up was made, and while I might not state more about the persons who actually ran into me or pretended later they were about to do this, anyone would know both Todd Roark and Tony Roos were involved and I'll say that much.  Even if the one wasn't involved in trying to assassinate me, he was later involved in a line-up to attempt to confuse me with other similar faces, cars/trucks, and persons.  The line-up the second time to cover for the first, involved the same kinds of vehicles, in the same order, with similar faces behind the wheel, traveling in the same direction, and imitating the same scenario (but not with the same force) in the same part of the road as was done for the actual attempted murder.  So it was not an accident, because there was an elaborate effort to cover for the actual murder attempt.  No one goes to those lengths to make a cover, hoping to confuse or distort memory when someone doesn't die, if it was just an accident in the first place.

With the description of "hovering above and circling very low" by E.H. of "light plane" I could also think of my brother Levi, who I woke up to, a couple of times, finding him inches away from my face watching me while I slept and with something in his hand.  It scared me because I thought why is he that close to my face and then looking at me with hate when I wake up?  I didn't know what the point was.

With E.H.'s description of the green sedan, the gold GM, and the light plane (GS, GM, LP) the next thing he talks about is the wildlife park.  He says they took a train to see the animals and that 2 young men in their early twenties with baseball caps stood when they walked to the train station.  He says they were not with a group, didn't have girlfriends or children and stood out like sore thumbs.  He says he couldn't shake the sight of the small plane, the men, and why.  He says, it wasn't subtle, so why?

I remember going to a wildlife park and being on the train in Seattle.  I remember there were some people there who were not friendly at all and I noticed we were followed and watched wherever we went.  Of course I remember this, because how could I forget?  My personal experience of that place was exactly as he describes it.  I even asked my Dad, "Who are these people watching us?"  I sensed other people possibly watching but the two I noticed seemed to be employees or something but then they didn't have park badges so I wondered who they were.  I had a very bad and down feeling at that place. I was really excited about the train ride and remember someone smiling at me and I smiled, but I sensed a depression and sadness.  I remember the people smiling at me as sitting somewhere behind me because I turned around and saw them.

Another thing I remembered, which has more to do with bridges than trains, is something with my Dad.  I remember when we went to church there was a huge hole filled with water and it was a mud puddle and I couldn't reach from the driveway over it to the car seat.  So my Dad first had this rolled out thing and told me to walk over it, and I did, and then he was putting out a plywood "bridge" for me to walk over so I didn't get my shoes and socks wet, and then one day he said he didn't have the bridge, so he put his suit jacket down, and said something about "your highness" or some joke and said walk over it and I did and felt my Dad really cared about me to spend so much time and make such a big deal about making a bridge for me to walk over.  After I walked on his coat, when he asked me to, he got this look of hatred in his eyes, towards me.  I remember it frightened me because I noticed the incredible shift in his expression.  It was a tan or light brown or caramel colored suit jacket.  I almost think he did this more than once, but I remember that time and he looked like he was suddenly passive-aggressive and biting his lip with rage.  He looked at me with hatred and I thought "What did I do wrong?" and then he made some snotty comment and never put out anything to go over the mud puddle again.  He told me, "Oh, there's a mud puddle?  Jump."  My feelings were crushed.  He didn't stand next to me, pay any attention to me, and sat in the car and said, "Jump over it."  So I did and I got my socks and shoes dirty because I couldn't make it all the way.  So then they were telling me to "jump" over the mud puddle and he'd never move the car, and I would ask someone to open the door for me at least so they'd open the door where I could see the seat and expect me to "jump".  This is the kind of horrific thing they did along with sudden beatings and verbal abuse.  One minute they "loved me" and acted like it, and did small things out of what I had thought was affection and the next minute, it was like they hated my guts.  So when I went to church after that, my shoes were always dirty.  I even remember my white ones, with tiny daisy shaped flower cut-outs and little dots and a strap over the middle.  They were always dirty and I had to clean them off in the car and I believe they were size 9.  I remember something about 9 at that time.  I remember one time they were small limes and possibly later they were some kind of small bouncy ball or ping pong balls.  I remember it was a big accomplishment for me to be able to persuade my Mom I would do it myself.  It's possible the reason I hated the green dot and white dress was because of the limes in my mouth and being gagged.  I don't know.  It was done to me if I "lied" I remember that was one form of punishment.  Sometimes in addition I was spanked with a hairbrush.

pg. 71.  E.H. then says they caught the flight to San Francisco and went to Chinatown for dinner.  He says he considered standing in front of "the devil's den" (Soviet consulate) to punish the "surveillance".  He says he didn't know where it was located but mentioned it.  I guess when I think of a "den" I think of a lion's den, but he indicates the baseball-capped friends reactions would have been priceless if he did.  He says they fly back to Santa Fe and then Fred Johnson called him and told him the FBI had been snooping around and was saying they wanted to do a background investigation.  He says Fred had worked in Bolivia prior to his resignation from the CIA and was planning to return there for business opportunites.  He says Fred figured they didn't want him going to La Paz without permission and he agreed the CIA would not welcome an ex-operations person in the same city with active agents.  He says he drove from his office to have a sandwich with Mary who was working as a dental assistant and noticed the driver of a man behind him at a stop light.  He says it was the same man on their plane during their west coast trip.  Here, Bolivia makes me think of "balls" and then La Paz (pronounced la paws, la pause, la pa's and sort of like topaz.  Also, I had cousins with the last name "Ball".    E.H. says he reflected on all the surveillance over the past 3 weeks (pg. 73) and Fred's phone call.  He was sure it was all connected and that things would come to a head, and he was right, it did.


*****************************
UPDATED 9/7/13 at 5:24 p.m.

My mother was not just "napping" with this man named "Mike" during the day, on the private plane I was on, she was sleeping with him at night. If you looked at a map, birds-eye view, the bed was N, the table I drew and painted on was in the center, the couch I slept on was S and the "guard" they had stationed at the door later, was to the W (left side). I would say SW approximately.

I caught my Mom in the bedroom with Mike many times. When I asked her what she was doing, she'd say taking a "nap". So I asked her how come her face was all red? And she'd say, "It's hot". I was wondering why my Mom's face was bright red and sweaty during her "naps" with Mike but never any other time. The other thing I asked her was why was she naked? They brought a fan into the room as if to make it seem that was really what was happening.

I had been sleeping in that bed at night and they told me I had to move to the couch so then my Mom and Mike slept in the bed and I was on the couch across from them. In the center of this room, as I've described, there was a table where I would draw and color and make watercolor paintings. The woman who had shown me the crown came in a picked up my drawings to look at them, as did the "Queen/Anne" and this other mean woman saw them too. I had more drawings of Mommy and Mike than Mommy and my Dad. I also made a drawing for a man who told me he was my Dad, who said he was a cattle rancher, and then one for Mike who didn't seem to care that much. I was drawing every day and then something bothered them about what I was drawing and when I was asked about it, I started chattering on and on to explain. They all looked nervous and uncomfortable. The cattle rancher who told me he was my Dad asked me about myself, what I liked to do, and wanted to know my favorite colors and foods. We talked mostly about horses and cows because I was interested in it. The other man who was a cattle rancher said his name was George Bush (Jr) and I think it might have been him because his Dad was director of the CIA and he had access to any kind of "site" he wanted to go to. The other reason for thinking it's possible is that later when his face became public because of the presidency, I made a picture for him and mailed it to him at the White House, and I am thinking that since I never did this with anyone as an adult, the only reason I did with him was an automatic triggered response to doing something I did as a kid for him and recognizing him. I do also remember he was one of few that gave his full name. I'll have to look at photos from the 80s at another time. Another person I saw visiting my Mom in the room once was a blond man who was supposed to be a "royal" or connected to them, but I had the impression he was one of them.

The woman who brought my juice to me began bringing me poisoned drinks after I talked about my pictures I had made when they asked. I started throwing up. It was bad enough that every single time she brought my juice I threw up and was so sick I started to refuse to drink and got dehydrated. And then it was just water.

When I was then sleeping on the couch, after this other man wasn't coming in to stroke my hair or sit by my bed or talk to me, I used to call out for Mike if I needed something at night.

I know Chris Dabney, from Washington D.C. was never a friend and has been friends with those who have tried to murder me. I know this is true because I realized that when his government employee friend had me stay the night, it was set up like the private plane with my sleeping on a couch and then a low table in the center and Chris sleeping on the other side across from me but sort of SW. I hadn't known why I said, "Mike!" when I was half-asleep but I know now that was why. It also explains why I had someone by the name of "Michael" come to mind in 1997 when I didn't really know anyone by that name. Chris stared at me, like he'd seen the Grim Reaper, when I said "Mike", because he already had information about me.

It was me, Mike, my Mom, and a "guard" who was put by the door inside the room and I was beat up whenever I called out for "Mike". He came over and would pull me out of bed, punch me in the stomach, and kick me and beat on me, including blows to the head, until I was unconscious. I wasn't given any drugs to go unconscious--I was beaten up until I blacked out. It happened at least 5-6 times. I remember one time I didn't black out and I was hog-tied after being punched in the stomach and then I blacked out and I don't know what happened next.

I remembered I was being electrocuted at my house, in my bedroom in Moses Lake, WA during the time I took some of these flights. I was tied up with metal chains, handcuffs, and bungee cords, to my bed. What looked like a little girl's room was turned into a torture chamber. They would go in and take the mattress off of the bed and put it against a wall, and I was forced to lie down on a hard surface. There was some kind of wooden brace for my legs but I don't remember what they had for my arms. The brace ran along the outside of my shins or calves, from the ankle to the knee. Mormon Alan Springer and my neighbor Herm Danielson were all involved and worked together on this. It was Herm, my Dad, Alan, my Mom, and possibly one other neighbor came over just briefly. After they chained me down, they got out a wooden box with metal knobs and wires coming out of it. If the box was metal, it had a wooden frame of some kind, around the bottom, like a tray with a lip. They all wore gloves and no one would operate it without gloves on. They used it for some kind of a polygraph test and electrocution of me to find out what I knew and to shut me up. If I gave them the wrong answer, I got electrocuted. Alan would sometimes stand at the end of the bed and watch it all--he was the Mormon psychologist from next-door. They sometimes got furious and so mad, Herm was standing over me with his face bright red with rage, and then Alan. They asked me questions about what I'd discovered about my Mom and things from the planes. Then one time someone came to the door unexpectedly and Alan panicked. They didn't know what to do so they were trying to cover for it and Herm and Alan started arguing over who was going to take the box out of the house. None of them wanted to have it caught on them, and at different times it went different places but it went with Alan that day. Alan was the one I remember bringing it over a lot, and then Herm coming over after but I think my Dad also had it for awhile.

I think the reason I preferred to be in my walk-in closet rather than my larger bedroom was because I was tortured in the larger bedroom and I didn't want to be there with the memories. I was locked in my closet sometimes as well, in the dark, but it wasn't like the other things they did.

I remembered finding out at least one of the times, the man beating me up, wearing the baseball hat inside the plane, over my calling out for "Mike" was my Dad. He was picking me up one day and grabbed my arm and I realized it had been him at least once. So then with Chris Dabney's Department of "Justice" group, they had me forced to stay with some baseball person named "Mike" and then at our house my Dad started keeping a baseball bat by the door. It was all like some sick joke to this country. I mean, now my Dad, a "slugger", who punched me in the stomach, had a bat by the door? I was shocked because my Dad and Mike both got up to beat me at the same time once. My Dad said something like "Hey Mike" and then Mike jumped up and both of them thrashed on me. On one occasion I remembered some man who had tears in his eyes when he saw me and being face-down on the bed but it wasn't Mike. I walked over and said, "Mike" and then I said, "You're not Mike" and it was some other man but that was a time I think they were lying on top of the covers, clothed, and face down. I thought maybe one time, I thought the people on the bed were drugged unconscious because they didn't move while I was getting beat up. I got beat up after I thought the other guy was Mike and it wasn't and I was told not to call for him again and when I did, I was punched. I was throwing up after I woke up sometimes, being hog-tied and then they'd untie me in the morning. I might have even partly slept curled in the fetal position later in my life, out of a fear if I didn't, I'd be punched.

With the electrocution and getting ironed, that came back to me one time while my Mom was refinishing furniture. It was either the smell of the paint thinner or varnish remover or the tools in her hand that triggered my memory. And Granny reminded me by accident when she was getting out Crisco because I had Crisco or shortening rubbed over my back before I was burned. My Mom and Dad kept handcuffs in a drawer in the kitchen. They had them as long as I was being chained up in my bedroom. I thought it was normal. I would distance myself from thinking about being chained up and the handcuffs so that I could look at them in another way as normal and play pretend with them. So I used to play with my brother and then they disappeared and it was fake ones, and then none and then it was denied anyone had ever had handcuffs. I practiced handcuffing in the kitchen like it was no big deal. When I tried to tie my brother up, I didn't know where the chains were so I looked for rope and sheets and then my Mom came in and said no, we couldn't play that, but we did a few times anyway and when she said it would hurt his wrists I said, "No it won't. I'll use something soft". How I went from being an electrocuted torture victim to pretending it was a game with my brother I don't know but that is how mixed up the United States (American dream "hope"; and civil rights "promises)wanted us to be.

So let me ask you, the reader, something. Did the U.S. break any promises? Aside from that, did the U.S. conspire to act on committing crimes against kids?

Do I deserve 'something' from the U.S. for my and my son's damages? and do you think there is possibly "MOTIVE" for raping me, defaming me, and torturing me later? I mean, just a little to hide, because George Bush Jr., for one thing, is only a spot on the map. He and his advisors must have freaked out when I sent him a "picture I made" because he was in office at the time and might have wondered if I was sending a blackmail message or something like "Do you remember when?..."

And what about finding out my parents corresponded with the Middletons? Isn't it true Bush is friends with some of the English royalty? They're related and intermarried to a degree, and his Dad was CIA director.

Aside from being kidnapped by primarily strangers on several U.S. government planes, and this is not to include what occurred after we crossed over to Canada by ferry or over the border, because some of the flights were from there...I think it's called "kidnapping" if you're a kid that is chained up to a bed, even if it's by your parents. It wasn't just my parents however. The U.S. had forced me to be surrounded by neighbors who were all involved. The Coombs had a son who was military, and he saw me chained to the bed being electrocuted; Herm Danielson (military) knew; and the Springers (psychologist for FBI) were involved. We only had 3 neighbors nearby that surrounded the house, and they were the ones, although earlier I was at other houses too. The Coombs guy came to the doorway, looked slightly scared, and turned around. It was either him or Scott Sandberg actually. Jim Sandberg saw me chained up too.

I was not just chained to my bed. At one point, before just being chained there, I had an IV hooked up while I was chained to bed. I remember being in a hospital before this, but at my house, in my bedroom, Alan Springer knew about the IV. Then he used to stand at that side of the bed where the IV had been, when I was turned around to the other side of the bed to be chained and tortured later. I also had weights placed on my body, and was asked if I wanted my "punishment" lying right-side up or face-down. One time they brought in a saw-horse from outside, into the living room and then tied me up using the saw-horse as a brace to hold me.

In addition to this, my Dad would lie down on top of me with all of his weight while I was chained up and mock me and say "push". Everything that Jew Josh Gatov did to me, was taken from the practice book my Dad and the U.S. military gave him. Robin Bechtold got the same manual. I used to scream "Get off of me!" and he'd get right up to my face, while lying on me, and say calmly, "push". After this they were putting huge concrete blocks on my body while I was chained down. Then, when I pushed my Dad's face away from me one time, as he was lying on top of me, he hit me and cut up my belly button with a knife.

So believe me, Jew Josh Gatov took everything he was premeditating from other Jews involved in hate crime against me. And THIS country, has encouraged it and paid them for it while making it impossible for me to even have a career in this country. All that this country has done, is pay criminals for crimes committed by federal employees with taxpayer money. Your grocery tax goes to pay for torture of little kids, chaining people up, electrocuting them, and defamation so that the general public has a hard time figuring out what the truth is.

The truth is, Josh is guilty of rape. And so is Robin Bechtold, and it really doesn't matter how many there are, because when you realize how this government used even my Dad to facilitate future rapes of me, and my mother was showing me photos of penises and asking which one I liked best, it's pretty obvious the FBI has been "raping me". Most people are not targeted by a gang of government rapists who look like professionals, but then again, most people were not premeditated against since they were kids and tortured on U.S. federal property and Canadian property either.

When a hate criminal Jew like Josh Gatov commits a violent crime of assault against me, with two knives on him, and using pressure to force me down, it's very clear he was taking after a government role model and using history of assault and what would scare me, to his advantage. He deserves death. He does not just deserve death for his crimes, he deserves death for premeditated violence using a child's background and torture against them, and then winning government approval to "flee" and hide out until they told him, "Come on back Rape Hero, and we'll give you bonus pay". The consequence fitting for that kind of display by the Jews and U.S. government is death and there is no substitute.

My Uncle Valentin also beat me when I pushed his face back when he was trying to French-kiss me when I was a little kid. He is recovering from Hepatitis C and I am actually very glad for him that he's doing better, despite this. If I knew more, maybe I shouldn't, but I am and I hope that some people will come forth with information that will assist both me and my son in having a better life than we've had.

As for Josh Gatov and Robin Bechtold, I have no compassion. They were not family that happened to be in proximity for whatever reason (though that can be a greater betrayal)--they're entire aim was to bring me down and violently assault me and degrade me.

The difference between me and Katie Middleton is she has Jews raping people for her. She's a Jew; I'm not. The CIA has supported her because she is a Jew just like the U.S. supports Israel for being Jewish. I had more going for me than she ever had--sorry, but it's very true and those in the know, know. I, unfortunately, had even my own "parents" and family trying to kill me. She didn't. You could take someone like Katie Middleton and myself, and find a contrast between a dumb Jew that gets welfare and a smart Arab that gets torture. Who do you think will achieve the American dream and retain the right to raising their own child?

The dumb Jew that gets welfare.

I could try for false modesty or humility but it's not befitting when it is NOT the truth. The CIA takes on losers and nothing better.

pg. 93. E.H. says just one hour out of Texas, I began reading The Hunt for Red October. He says Lee Marvin eyed the paperback. He is quoted as saying, "It is a pretty authentic piece of writing. Look up front and check out all the places he got his information."

I was last talking about the man who pushed a bowl of cherries at me on one of the private plane trips, the man who looks almost exactly like Louis Freeh, former FBI director. I think it's slightly odd since E.H. says people were expected to follow him to the places he'd been before and I believe he had visited me on one of those plane trips. One of the men told me, to my face, he was my Dad, and it was a man who said he was a cattle rancher or that his family had had cattle and a ranch. He said that was what he'd really like to do but he was a businessman.

My thinking is, if E.H. is slightly alluding to a few things here and there, what about this? I was confronted with some man who looked exactly like Louis Freeh, except I sort of remember maybe his eyes were brown, but maybe not. I know he was about the same age and had the exact same kind of expression. He was slightly more cocky though, which doesn't seem as much Freeh's outward style. From photos alone, Freeh can have an aloof expression or possibly cocky I guess, but not exactly mean or mocking. Cocky and mocking are different things. But anyway, it's possible that E.H. mentions the flight first class from Tuscon to St. Louis, because it WAS Louis and he somehow knew what was going to happen. He describes this person Lee Marvin as "silver-haired" which makes me think of the Sterling family, which is Jewish, and which may have had something to do with some of the flights. I wrote about that but it was deleted so I have to write it again. I mention this because every time something about "Jews" has come up, it seems I've been targeted for either rape or assassination and some of the Catholics colluded with Jews on this, but it almost seems to me that it's been more Jews and Mormons all along, and atheists/agnostics until my run-in with Catholics later, which I didn't expect. I think the Jews used Catholics to cover for their decade-old plots. So E.H. says they chatted about the book and he was bound for Israel to make a movie, and he said he was flying to Copenhagen. He says he'll never forget meeting his hero from The Dirty Dozen and he asked him for his autograph and he signed a blank postcard. I notice he brings this up and he says he was making a movie for Israel which makes me think yeah, and what have I been doing all these years for seriously messed up Jews. They've obviously tried to surveil and videotape me and photograph me and kill me.

The other thing I thought about, which is really my own thought and a tangent is he says check all the places he got his information so I might do that myself on that book, and before a whole section of my blog was deleted, so that only the part about my Dad and parents is here but not the parts that implicate all of these military and british people, and government, the facts I was adding about flights is something others should check on. It should be discoverable information. Not all of it perhaps, but a lot of it.

He says the FBI confiscated the postcard to his wife as a memento and I'm sure they did. They confiscated my fingerprints for the same reason and then made me pay the fee for my NCIC records twice. Because they're not the problem of course. I mean, they really needed that extra $18.

He says, pg. 94, that arriving at Kennedy Airport in New York, he realized the NY could already know. His boss called the FBI and by 9 p.m. Sunday, as E.H. was halfway to London, the FBI knew he'd resigned so they knocked on the door and found he was gone. He says they arrived at London's Heathrow Airport before sunrise and then they were in Copenhagen. He says he decided it wasn't good to stay in Copenhagen so he went to Helsinki. He says he didn't go through customs in Denmark and stayed in the international area, getting an S.A.S. ticket. I notice S.A.S. is the same as R.S.A. It's the same airline before the Swedish line dropped the Royal from their title. He also mentions getting into London before the sunset. I remember many, many, sunsets from the planes I took. Can I tell you, do you have ANY idea how much I was flying when I was young? I think few know. I colored in sunsets in 1st grade for main pictures because of it. I always wanted to see them. I don't remember as many sunrises and I do sunsets from the cockpit. I went back and forth from looking out ahead to being in the main area, if I wasn't being tied up or locked in a closet or beat up.

It's not like I was in some trailer with everyone pretending we were on a plane. Contrary to what some would have others believe, the flying was actual, as was the attempt to assassinate me by having me open the emergency door to get sucked out into the sky to my death. I was inconvenient or "dangerous" for some reason. I don't know if first they thought to kill me and photograph the evidence, of that and my torture, to distress someone who loved me (?) or if they decided it was just as good to them to hold me hostage and keep sending distressing reminders of my fate as a torture and government pedophilia victim. And then, just attempt assassinations again whenever it seemed least likely to draw attention or they thought they'd trained me enough. By the time they got ahold of me for 'surgery' in 1995 and then again in 2009, this country figured now they could just torture me at will, without needing to access or use any of the programming they did of me to kill myself, not that they wouldn't still, but this is what they did. They used more government grunts to hold me hostage and then implanted more technology into my body to facilitate torture and for some reason they have been extremely paranoid at the idea of my having another child.

Why should the U.S. be paranoid? They desperately want my eggs, if they didn't already steal some in 2009 during my surgery. They also want me to raise their kids and give THEIR kids great opportunities and starts. But this country is paranoid at the idea of my raising my own child because it's more than a triple threat to them.

pg. 95. E.H. says in Helsinki, a customs agent eyed his Levis and hiking boots and asked how long he planned to stay in Finland and he said "Ten days".   He got coffee to recover from jet lag.   He says "Paranoia had been setting in since I awoke in London."

Well I don't know. I remember the London clock. No one liked that I suddenly noticed one day.

They Dance Alone: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLYwqG6L9wc (at 20:28)

I don't know if I ended up in Copenhagen sometimes for a CIA stint but I'm sure I was often in, or touching down at London.

E.H. says he felt there was one group that would help him but he was afraid of them, and they were the Soviets. If he thought the Soviets were the same thing as the "so-be-its" like my family, E.H. wouldn't have much help. If he is in hiding, that's great. If he's dead, it's because of the U.S. and it makes one sort of nervous about going to the Soviets. I want to hear the KGB side of the story because they say it's different from what the media gives them.

It also makes me feel creeped out, now that I know Edward Lee Victor Howard is supposedly my Dad and I have a 'mouse' design on my back like the Victor rat trap design, and at the same time my mother was sleeping around with some British man named "Mike", while then going to the house to make "mickey mouse" pancakes for me with ears and everything. I don't think that's a big deal, too much but it also creeps me out how he says "they made a meal out of me" when my parents were literally cooking me, and the U.S. government has done the same. I mean who puts Crisco on their kid's back and then fries it? or a number of other things I can think of.

E.H. says he didn't know if he could get a hiding place with the Soviets in Finland or the Soviet Union but he decided to try. He says he was worried they might not let him go.

I would say I'd have the same thoughts. My worry would be "what if someone thinks I really did come over here to spy so they don't let me visit other places?" or "What if one of the officials would take a bribe from a U.S. official, for the right amount, to lock me up in one of their mental hospitals?" that kind of thing.

He says he decided to take the chance. He asked them to take him to the embassy and he paid the fare after stopping at a phone booth. To me this sounds sort of like Canada. Of course, I'm just thinking, but it reminds me of stopping at the border check to Canada or how we went across to Canada by ferry (not fare). This sort of makes me think there is possibly something about Canada implied because he would know about me, but then again, Canada and Russia are 2 different things. Possibly, without saying so, it might suggest he attempted to seek help in a place like Canada, with people who were sort of like Russians, or he could be saying some of those Canadians are Russians. He's going there from within Finland.

My other thought is that this "friend" of mine who was never a friend, Geoff Rasmussen, took his Mormon mission there in Finland. It bothers me now that I know about E.H. and also that his wife would make some snide comment about "Maybe you should just move to England" when she was the one who went to England with Geoff, not me. I first started having serious apprehensions, aside from some doubt in high school, when I saw a blog of photos of kids that was clearly suggestive of pedophilia and it was Mormon and then I found out they were friends of the Rasmussens. So having a son of my own, and knowing what a variety of "religious" and non-religious have done to me as a kid, and what my son talked about, I feel my son is endangered in this country and has zero support. I am also concerned about some of the orchard owners around my son, because I think some of them are Jewish and knowing how they've targeted me, E.H. (to kill him), and my son, I feel extremely cautious about who my son is near. The cops there are in on everything. Going to a cop or FBI in Wenatchee, about my son Oliver, or to Canadians, only a couple of hours to the border, is like what I remember of thinking the Queen (or Anne) or Diana is the highest person and about to be killed out the window; or the principal is, and he's beating me with a belt; or my Dad is and he's punching me in the stomach with "Mike" who was my mother's lover (a lover and my Dad are ganging up on ME???); or my nice neighbors, nice Mormon ho-hum psychologist who comes over to watch me suffer, chained up without my shirt on, tortured. The U.S. made it their highest priority to have me think there is no one in the entire world that I can trust. Wait...that would be maybe 9th highest priority because their first priority was to kill me off.

So when I think about Finland, I feel nervous about it because there has been so much made about Geoff going there, and then E.H. was there and then later dated or went out with Finnish women, and then this whole thing, a sick U.S. joke about "finish" that I'll get into later. And my Mom, refinishing furniture as I have flashbacks with that smell and the tools in her hand, of HER torturing me. I mean, if there is one decent twin or triplet with the Dicksies, taking all the slack from the bad one, that is crazy.


pg. 96. E.H. realized it wasn't the Russian embassy but a kind of trade mission and was told the consulate was down the street. I would think it sounds like, transitioning from the airplane trip, and mentioning not being in Denmark customs specifically but an international zone, the idea of trade or a trade mission makes me wonder. Granny, my Granny, always went to this store called "the mission house". I guess I wonder what was going on aside from kidnapping me on those planes. Did they haul people onto them and have babies and trade and steal people? Or did they just traffic people for sex? or were people disappearing, nowhere to be found, as I would have had I gone head-over into the wild white yonder? "Does having a crown above your head mean you're an angel?" Uh, yeah, thanks for the warning. Nothing like a halo-ghost-trust-buster. "You guys are looking at penises? and you didn't even want to hear me sing anymore or want any of my drawings and pictures?" Pardon me. Penises and a baby photo and a stop watch.

E.H. says an officer came up immediately and was 50, gray hair, and took his passport. He was worried they'd think he was nuts and would throw him out. He gave them JB's FBI business card. Then he says another man, 50, gray hair, and with glasses showed up. He says he repeated his story. This might refer to 2 men who looked alike, twins, or doubles in a symbolic way. He says he thought it didn't go well at first because he thought they would have the information to know right away he was really in a bad position, but he was worried they'd think he was a "crank". Here I think about my Crystal doll with her arm you had to crank (sort of) to have her walk with you. A worser crank was my Jack-in-the-Box singing "pop goes the weisel".

He was, pg. 97, a weary traveler with jet lag, and took a taxi to the first hotel the Soviets suggested.

The receptionist said it was full and he was back on the street he didn't know where the second one was but he found a pleasant-looking one and they had a room and he fell asleep.

He says he woke in the evening and walked to a Greek resterauant.

I'm not sure what I think here. This guy named Matt Christian took me to the "church of elvis" and then a Greek restaurant for my first date and I thought he was weird. However, I am not sure what happened to him or why. He clearly had a government contact and yet so did many of the kids I went to high school with. If he was on E.H.'s side, he was possibly murdered. It was said he died in a "car accident" by "falling asleep at the wheel". ? How does a coroner know someone was asleep before they make impact? I hadn't liked him, thinking he was belittling me with the date, but then I noticed how all these people who claimed to be best friends weren't really that sad and just saying how terrible it was he fell asleep at the wheel. He was far smarter than most of the people I knew. I was told he was a genius. I think he was much more of a "genius" than Mike Smith, some guy who had encyclopedia knowledge.

I looked at the song playing now as I think of him and it's "Russians" (live). (at 2:06:54) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLYwqG6L9wc. Before that, "Never Coming Home".   I thought of him bc of the Greek restaurant E.H. went to and then tonight, I was squeezing out red gel from a pastry tube to eat as I did as a kid, to bring back memories and it made me think of some people there licking ketchup off of the table.







Anyway, I got this red gel that is for pastry designs because we had it in the kitchen and I used to squeeze it out onto a finger and then I realized one day, "This looks like blood" and my Mom didn't like what I associated with blood next so she got rid of the red kind, got green, and then switched to frosting tubes that didn't squeeze out in thin lines.

I didn't arrange anything for these photos.  My table is disorganized but I was getting a drink and noticed some inadvertent symmetry and photographed what was there already.

E.H. says he thought about his future and his situation was ironic--3 years earlier he'd been planning to go to Moscow as an enemy and now he was praying they would help him.  He says from some deep recess of his mind he recalled the Arabic saying, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend".   He wanted to explore his options and satisfy his curiosity.

I think, just a tangent, one of my favorite Sting songs is "Why Should I Cry For You?"  This is the only song I remember Matt Christian playing for me in the car on our only date.  He played a lot of different kinds of songs, all over the place, but I remember this one.  Anyway, I have no idea whose side he was on.  A lot of people who tried to kill me were friends with him but I can't say he was involved because I don't know.  He was supposedly madly in love with me, and I saw him watching me all the time at school.  He liked theater and acting and creative things and was called "brilliant".  He also wrote some poetry which he showed me in the van.  I always wondered if he was part of planning my assassination in my car, and many of his friends had something to do with trying to harm me but I don't know.   It would horrible to find out the U.S. is plotting assassinations and then hiding out the people who tried to kill me, I mean, imagine Matt was one, and then imagine Mike is alive and in hiding, and they sent Josh to another country to be safe from prosecution for rape and then return, and just imagine the things this country could do.

So when I think of this saying, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend" I first pondered it and thought it was good.  The problem is knowing who the real enemy is to begin with.

I just noticed what time it is:  3:45 a.m. and I have to go to bed so I'll write tomorrow. I got sidetracked tonight.

Well, I'll do a little more...He says, pg. 98, his funds were dwindling so he checked out of the hotel, toured Helsinki, had lunch by the waterfront and when he went back the consulate man gave him a soft drink, and was told Moscow sent Helsinki a blistering cable, chewing them out and later learned they had turned Helsinki upside down looking for him.  He says they told him Moscow would be glad to receive him and that he was told to get out and that they thought Helsinki was unsafe for him and to leave that night for the Soviet Union.  He was asked if he'd sign a statement that showed he was going to Russia voluntarily  and for protection and he agreed, adding in his own hand he could leave whenever he wanted.

I wonder why Helsinki was through unsafe?  They had him get into the trunk of a car to take him over the border, and 2 people got out while one stayed in. I suppose I wonder if I was taken across that way sometimes.  I remember some kind of a weird triangle topped wood case, like a tool box, but it has to do with a grate.  Like going into a man-hole or under a grate and some kind of wood frame but I don't know why...I will think of it later.  I started to remember when I began thinking about a grate and possibly going under some kind of grate or something about one.

Pg. 99, he says he gave them his passport, and they stamped it but had a mistake on it so stamped it again, and the visas were for the Finnish border.  He says they travelled on a highway that paralleled the Gulf of Finland, a finger of water that is part of the Baltic Sea.  It took 2 hours to drive 100 miles.

Umm...I just remembered being in the trunk of a car but I am not sure why.  I need to sleep and think about it tomorrow.  I think it was more than a few times because I just had a flashback to remembering the feeling while reading about "when we let I expected them to immediately pull over and let me out.  But they drove for about five minutes before stopping."  That part had me remembering something.



























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