From the author of the bestselling true-crime classic 'Fred & Rose', comes the astonishing inside story of the world's biggest cash robbery: the Tonbridge Securitas heist.

    By her own candid admission, though, this fit, glamorous, but down-to-earth star was not always health-conscious. Learning about the inseparable link between nutrition and the body was just one of the life-changing lessons that has fed Cameron’s hunger to educate herself about the best ways to feed, move, and care for her body. In The Body Book, she shares what she has learned and continues to discover about nutrition, exercise, and the mind/body connection.Grounded in science and informed by real life, The Body Book offers a comprehensive overview of the human body and mind, from the cellular level up. From demystifying and debunking the hype around food groups to explaining the value of vitamins and minerals, readers will discover why it’s so important to embrace the instinct of hunger and to satisfy it with whole, nutrient-dense foods. Cameron also explains the essential role of movement, the importance of muscle and bone strength and why we need to sweat a little every day.The Body Book does not set goals to reach in seven days or thirty days or a year. It offers a holistic, long-term approach to making consistent choices and reaching the ultimate goal: a long, strong, happy, healthy life.

    

    Author Mike Glenn's mom didn’t want to be sick, and while she couldn’t overcome the devastation of disease, she wasn’t going down without a fight.   She fought the illness, denying its presence. She fought the doctors, “Who were these idiots anyway?” And she fought him, “How come you think you’re in charge now?”  Coffee with Mom is a book about a mom's fight with dementia and the struggle of a son who wanted to help but didn’t always know how. Most of their conversations—and sometimes battles—happened during morning coffee.   This book isn’t about knowing all of the answers. It is one son’s journey with his mom—a mom with Alzheimer’s and a son who did the best he could, and who wrote this story in hopes that you’ll find a few laughs for your journey, realize you’re not alone, and find the courage to do the best you can.   So, pour yourself a cup of coffee, and join us on the journey. You’ll find yourself in the laughter and tears of not knowing what to do next and making a decision that you hope works out, knowing it’s the best you can do in the moment.   In the end, that’s all that matters. “Do the best you can” is all love requires.

    With over a million subscribers to her cult-hit video series “You Deserve a Drink,” Hart has been entertaining viewers with a combination of tasty libations and raunchy puns since 2011. Hart also co-wrote/co-starred in Dirty Thirty and Camp Takota with Grace Helbig and Hannah Hart.Finally, Hart has compiled her best drinking stories—and worst hangovers—into one hilarious volume. From the spring break where she and her girlfriends avoided tan lines by staying at an all-male gay nudist resort, to the bachelorette party where she accidentally hired a sixty-year-old meth head to teach the group pole dancing (not to mention the time she lit herself on fire during a Flaming Lips concert), Hart accompanies each story with an original cocktail recipe, ensuring that You Deserve a Drink is as educational as it is entertaining.

    This thorough revision provides a survey by groups, emphasizing adaptive morphology and physiology, while covering anatomical ground plans and basic developmental patterns. New co-author Richard Fox brings to the revision his expertise as an ecologist, offering a good balance to Ruppert's background as a functional morphologist. Rich illustrations and extensive citations make the book extremely valuable as a teaching tool and reference source.

     As a child, I was known as "Jessica Pelley." When I was nine, I went to a sleepover at a friend's house for the weekend. While I was away, my entire family was murdered. I would spend the next 30 years fighting, crawling, and clawing my way through the darkness. This wasn't just a national news headline, a cold case, or a true crime show. It was my family. And my life. I was the broken little girl left behind to tell this story. I am now "Jessi," in the pages of this unapologetic memoir, set free. *** JESSI - APRIL 29, 2016 April 29, 1989. A date I cannot forget. Numbers forever seared deep into my soul. It was 27 years ago, today. Jesus. Get a grip, Jessi. They’re just numbers. They don’t mean anything. You’re giving them power over you, again. That’s what I tell myself. But the numbers—those damn numbers—they haunt me. They always will. I cannot escape them. Not now. Not ever. For most people, dates are just numbers on a calendar. No big deal. Random markers of time affixed to the top left corner of small, white squares on a page to depict days filled with choices, chances, and opportunities. At least that’s what they are for the normal people. But I’m no longer one of them. For me, they serve as numeric reminders of the girl I used to be. A tragedy that would irrevocably and mercilessly alter the life of a little girl wearing dark blue jeans, canvas lace-up sneakers, and a white tee shirt, accessorized by prominent coke bottle glasses, her hair hanging in a messy bob. Her life would be forever dismantled. Gone. The moment they told me the words. The ones that I will never forget. At that moment, my life froze and shattered into pieces, splintering like bits of broken glass, dropping down onto the ground around me, like the remnants of a cracked windshield, falling fast before the spinning mind and broken heart of a wide-eyed little girl. Life, as I knew it, was over in that moment. What happened on April 29, 1989, has scarred me forever. A day that started out normally, before it became ensnared in marred memories, tucked between folds of tragedy and darkness. The lingering memories cut straight to the core of the hollow girl left behind. The darkness delivers itself to me, every year, on schedule. Steadily. Greedily. On the 29th day of April. Relentless. Haunting. It taunts the pieces of me that remain. Every single year. I try to lift myself out of the darkness. I tell myself the numbers shouldn’t matter. Not after 27 years have passed. Jessi, It’s just another day. You can do anything you want with it. Don’t slip into the darkness. But not even the voice in my head believes those lies I tell myself. Year after year, my happiness recoils, my thoughts run to a dark place filled with foggy memories and a void that swallows me whole. The door of despair opens and I’m trapped: alone, numb to the bone, emotionally deplete, void of all reality, space, and time. I hate the helplessness as I slip further into that dark place. A place that, long ago, was filled with light. A place where three little girls would sing happy songs, pick flowers, hold hands while skipping through tall blades of grass, and sit down at the dining room table, where they would bow their heads to pray before plates filled with food, in a home filled with laughter. Then it hits me—the life-defining, self-inflicted images of horror—of their final moments—dragging me deep into the darkness.