The Paris Wife by Paula McLain

Paula McLain’s novel, The Paris Wife, is the minimally fictionalized story of Ernest Hemingway’s marriage to Hadley Richardson, his first of four wives. If you’ve read it you know Hadley Richardson Hemingway was a rather boring gal, and Hemingway was the cliché of a tortured artistic soul. You also know that the setting for most of the book, Paris in the 1920s, doesn’t get much more interesting, especially when you’re hanging out with the likes of Gertrude Stein, James Joyce and F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. Woody Allen’s 2012 Oscar nominated Midnight in Paris is an entertaining glimpse into that era as well.

Despite her lackluster persona in the book, Hadley Richardson does have an interesting backstory riddled with tragedy. Her father committed suicide, her sister  died of burns sustained in a house fire, and Hadley spent her 20s caring for her ailing mother.

Out of the blue appears handsome,  and nine-years-younger Hemingway who sweeps a borderline homely Hadley off her feet. Although Hemingway swears to his adoration of Hadley, I couldn't help but imagine that he was more attracted to her trust fund than her charms. Hemingway's biographer Jeffrey Meyers apparently agrees, as he said, "With Hadley, Hemingway achieved everything he had hoped for ... a comfortable income, a life in Europe." CLICK ON READ MORE BELOW...

One Hundred Things My Mother Taught Me A Million Times - Chapter 82

That's Becky Beaver behind the sign (left).  Join the "Seeing Red" and "Don't Mess With Texas Women's" campaign to restore basic preventive healthcare and family planning for women.

#82 – “Make sure you sit out in the sun to get your vitamin D, but don’t get the sun on your face.”

About a month ago I was in a meeting with a client, whose nonprofit serves people with intellectual/developmentally disabilities, and someone mentioned that at least one scientist studying autism thinks that mothers' vitamin D deficiency, resulting from admonitions  to stay out of the sun,  may be playing a part in the increase in children born with autism. At that moment, mom’s lesson #82 sparked into my mind.

I remember many occasions, after I was grown and married, when I would visit my mom and she would say, “Let’s go sit out in the sun. We need to get our vitamin D.” Or I would arrive at mom’s, and she would be sitting out in the sun - always the morning sun - surrounded by her beloved morning glories and reading The New York Times or The Dallas Morning News. Click on Read More Below...

There’s Jews in Texas? by Debra Weingarten - Winner of the 2011 Poetica Magazine Chapbook Contest

When I launched the Gals-Very Smart Gals, I knew Debra Weingarten would be a member by virtue of her birthright – her mother, and my friend, Ruthe, was a famous women’s historian. What I soon learned was that her membership would have less to do with her ancestry than her personal acuity. One has only to read Debra’s recently published book of poetry There’s Jews in Texas? to figure that out. You also know if you met her at my recent Gals-Very Smart Gals cocktail party. Many of the Very Smart Gals at the party commented on meeting interesting and delightful women. It is notable that many of them were talking about Debra (pictured below).

There’s Jews In Texas? is Debra's funny, fun and touching poetry about growing up Jewish in Dallas. What is possibly more important is that Debra’s poetry is about “being different,” which anyone can relate to – regardless of whether it’s religion, the color of your skin, or socio-economic status.  Nothing can tell you how poignant and endearing Debra’s poetry is better than Debra’s poetry. Here is one of my favorites:

Second Grade, Part One

In far North Dallas in the early 1960s,

At Thomas C. Gooch Elementary School

We sat in rows alphabetically by last name.

Mark Washington in front of Deborah Winegarten

And our locker assignment came in that order, too.

So when the only Jew, Me, was assigned

A locker with the only Negro, Him.

I naturally thought

They were putting the Negro

And the Jew together

Because we had to look out for one another.

And I’ve been trying to do that, ever since.

I also loved Debra’s poem about a man telling her she was going to burn in hell because she was Jewish. When Deborah ran home crying, her mother took Debra’s shoulders in her hands, looked her firmly in the eyes and said,

That’s okay, honey, don’t worry.

We’re Jewish.

We don’t believe in hell.

In the words of Rabbi Neil Blumofe, “Oy, Devoreh. A jewel in our shul…”

Click here to buy There’s Jews In Texas? or you can purchase it at BookWoman in Austin. 

You’ll re-read it again and again, as have I.

Holiday Family PJ Photos - Funny, Fun!

This year we decided to start a new family tradition. We would give all our children and grandchildren "Christmas" pajamas with their names on them, and challenge them to take a fun and clever family photo wearing their PJs. The family that took the most clever photo would win a cash prize. My husband I participated as well. I thought the kids came up with really fun photos!

Mine and Crouse's first, then the kids by order of birth.

Eldest son, Cuatro and his wife Lovie, and their son Quenten and daughter Khloe Noelke. They named this photo the "Ranch-Billies," and as you can see they are a gorgeous family ...  and  they're all "packin!"

Next is my daughter JoLene, her husband James, and their children Sydney, Will and Cassie. We had to put a little black-out on their booties to be able to show these! The writing on their booties says MERRY CHRISTMAS! Very clever, very funny.

Last, but far from least is my youngest son, Colt and his wife Heather, and daughters Gracie, Taylor, and baby Ember Elizabeth. Cute, cute, cute.

Moonwalking With Einstein: The Art and Science of Remembering Everything by Joshua Foer

I will never again see Claudia Schiffer’s name without instantly imagining her swimming in a vat of cottage cheese. I’ll let you ponder that while I tell you about Foer’s book Moonwalking With Einstein, which is about mnemonics (one of my favorite words).

Joshua Foer, a journalist in the process of researching “the smartest person in the world,” ends up at the US Memory Championships and discovers that people who can memorize the order of 27 decks of cards in an hour are not geniuses, but have learned and mastered a memory trick used primarily in memory competitions called “memory palaces.” Although it is very tempting to tell you how memory palaces work (believe me, they do), instead I suggest that you read Foer’s book, which is well worth the money, time and effort.

Foer ends up becoming fascinated with the memory competition world to the point that he seeks out and trains with a professional memory expert, then enters the US and International memory competition – all of which is pretty fascinating. Know what country is famous for their memory experts? Germany. Click On Read More Below...

The Night Circus by Erin Morganstern

I liked The Night Circus by Erin Morganstern, but I didn’t LOVE it. I wanted to; I really did. The cover made my eyes sparkle, and my imaginings of what a night circus might be made my heart go “bumpity bump.” In fact, my desire to love this book was so strong that hope carried me to the very end, although I was irritated and grumpy the entire trip. Why? Well, probably because I felt the story could have been, should have been, “more.”

First, the publisher’s book description, which I found entrancing:
The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. Within the black-and-white striped canvas tents is an utterly unique experience full of breathtaking amazements. It is called Le Cirque des Reves, and it is only open at night.  But behind the scenes, a fierce competition is underway-a duel between two young magicians, Celia and Marco, who have been trained since childhood expressly for this purpose by their mercurial instructors. Unbeknownst to them, this is a game in which only one can be left standing, and the circus is but the state for a remarkable battle of imagination and will. Despite themselves, however, Celia and Marco tumble headfirst into love-a deep magical love that makes the lights flicker and the room grow warm whenever they so much as brush hands.

I soon found out the publisher’s description promised more than the book would deliver.  Here’s what I liked. I liked the premise – a mysterious and very different circus that wondrously arrives in the night. I liked the promise – a battle between magical powers and star-crossed lovers. I liked the physical - the elaborate visuals woven by Morganstern. Click On Read More Below...

Very Smart Gals Cocktail Party

It was a star-studded night when 50 of the Very Smart Gals dressed in vintage cocktail congregated to eat fab food provided by Nicole Davenport Executive Chef/Owner of Sugar & Smoke Restaurant, Fredericksburg; sway to the coolest Jazz from the Jeff Lofton Trio; hear about the Nobelity Project’s Building Hope; and gawk at the Austin cityscape from the 32^nd floor of the Four Seasons Residences. Click On Read More Below To See The List of Attendees:

One Hundred Things My Mother Taught Me A Million Times – Chapter 81

#81 – “Have a good cry. That’s why women live longer than men, because they cry.”

In 1988 when I read Larry McMurtry’s pivotal novel, Lonesome Dove, it really pissed me off. “Cowboys, guns, horses and whores,” I ranted to my husband, “And all the women are a bunch of bawl-babies.”  After crying my eyes out for ten years between 1978 and 1988 (another story, another day), not only was my reservoir of tears depleted, I was also really tired of crying. Then I went into my bitter, defensive phase, and felt that when women cried it made them seem weak. Like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With The Wind who swore, “I’ll never be hungry again,” I was determined to never cry again, and let me tell you that can make you hard.

In fact, it made me so hard that I pretty much built a wall around my heart, and the only people allowed in were my children and a few close friends. It took me 10 years to let my husband in, and another 10 years to let myself feel emotionally free to cry.

Of course I had to consult my KOAT (knower-of-all-things: Wiki) to get to the bottom of this crying thing, and found some pretty interesting information. Click on Read More Below...

Rules of Civility by Amor Towles

I was immediately captivated by Amor Towles’ book Rules of Civility when in the forward, main character Katey Kontent (accent on tent), at a 1966 art show at the Manhattan Museum of Modern Art, spots a photograph of a long-ago unrequited love. In that moment a flood of memories and emotions send her heart and mind tumbling. Hasn’t that happened to you? You catch a glimpse of someone in a crowd who only vaguely resembles a paramour from your past who warped your world, or hear a song that reminds you of them, and you are momentarily transported to a parallel universe as adrenalin pops like little bubbles on the surface of your skin.

The photograph Katey saw was that of Tinker Grey, and the time was 1937. Katey and her best friend Eve Ross, both farm-grown gals from the midwest living in and on the excitement of Manhattan and little else, meet wealthy banker Tinker Grey and their lifestyles take a dramatic turn towards that of the rich and unaccountable.

Eve, unlike Katey, is from wealth that offers no allure and makes her a recklessly attractive gal who gets it all and doesn’t want it. Katey is a low-income, high-intelligence, Thoreau-ish gal torn between principal and high society. Tinker is a man of humble origins who compromises just about everything to canoodle with the upper crust. These make up the main characters of the book. But there is one more character I found intriguing, Anne Grandyn, a wealthy doyenne who helps exceptionally bright Katey get a coveted position as a reporter at Conde Nast, and who also unapologetically buys young, ambitious men, including Tinker Grey.

I found myself enamored with the way Towles portrayed the 30s women characters. They were clearly still considered intellectual subordinates by the masculine-dominated society, and yet they cleverly and covertly manipulated control. And the promiscuity! Guess what? Our generation didn’t invent it. No seriously, we didn't. Click on Read More Below

BEST AND WORST BOOKS READ IN 2011

THE BEST
(Click on the Title To See My Review)

#1     True Grit by Charles Portis

#2     The Gap Year by Sarah Bird

#3     Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand

#4     The Automatic Detective by A. Lee Martinez

#5     Half Broke Horses: A True-Life Novel by Jeannette Walls

#6     Room by Emma Donoghue

#7     Stories I Only Tell My Friends by Rob Lowe

#8     Genghis Kahn by Jack Weatherford

#9     Rules Of Civility by Amor Towles

#10   The Intentional Networker by Patti DeNucci

BEST FICTION PUBLISHED AND READ IN 2011

The Gap Year by Sarah Bird

Room by Emma Donoghue

Rules Of Civility by Amor Towles

The Paris Wife: A Novel by Paula McLain

You Know When The Men Are Gone by Siobhan Fallon

BEST NON-FICTION PUBLISHED AND READ IN 2011

Stories I Only Tell My Friends by Rob Lowe
In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror and an American Family 
in Hitler's Berlin by Eric Larson
The Intentional Networker by Patti DeNucci
Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson 
Destiny Of The Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the 
Murder of a President by Candice Millard

BEST FICTION  PUBLISHED PRIOR TO BUT READ IN  2011
True Grit by Charles Portis
The Automatic Detective by A. Lee Martinez
Half Broke Horses: A True-Life Novel by Jeannette Walls
The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith
Still Alice by Lisa Genova




BEST NON-FICTION PUBLISHED PRIOR TO BUT READ IN 2011
Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, 
Resilience and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand
Genghis Kahn And The Making Of The Modern World by Jack Weatherford
Cleopatra: A Life by Stacy Schiff
Helter Skelter by Vincent Bugliosi and Curt Gentry
Learning to Breathe by Alison Wright

PRETTY DAMN GOOD

The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson

Inside Scientology: The Story of America’s 

Most Secretive Religion by Janet Reitman

Bossypants by Tina Fey

Unfamiliar Fishes by Sarah Vowell

Area 51: An Uncensored History of America’s Top 

Secret Military Base by Annie Jacobsen

A Stolen Life: A Memoir by Jaycee Lee Dugard

The Uncoupling by Meg Wolitzer

State Of Wonder by Ann Patchett

The Best American Science Writing
The Best American Nature Writing
The Best American Medical Writing

OK

Pretty by Jillian Lauren

Some Girls: My Life In A Harem by Jillian Lauren

The Vanishing Act Of Esme Lennox by Maggie O’Farrell

Look Again by Lisa Scottoline

The Best American Travel Writing

The Best American Sports Writing

Are Men Necessary: When Sexes Collide by Maureen Dowd

The Last Days Of Ptolemy Grey by Walter Mosley

THE WORST

REALLY TRIED MY PATIENCE

Three Cups of Deceit: How Greg Mortenson

Humanitarian Hero, Lost His Way by Jon Krakauer

The Emperor Of All Maladies: A Biography of 

Cancer by Siddhartha Mukherjee

Emily And Einstein by Linda Francis Lee

Wine & War: The French, the Nazis, and the 

Battle for France's Greatest Treasure 

by Donald Kladstrup and Petie Kladstrup
The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

MADE ME WANT TO HURT SOMEONE

On Writing by Stephen King

I’m Dancing As Fast As I Can by Barbara Gordon

The Disappearing Spoon: And Other True Tales of Madness, Love, and the History of the World from the Periodic Table of the Elements by Sam Kean

All The Time In The World: New and Selected Stories by E. L. Doctorow

Alas Babylon by Pat Frank

BOOKS I WANTED TO READ IN 2011 BUT DIDN’T, YET

The Pale King by David Foster Wallace

Information: A History, A Theory, A Flood by James Gleick

The Tiger’s Wife by Tia Obreht

Boomerang by Michael Lewis

Fatal Invention: How Science, Politics and Big Business 

Re-Create Race In The Twenty-First Century by Dorothy Roberts

Life Itself by Roger Ebert

Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward

Lost in Shangri-La by Mitchell Zuckoff

One Hundred Things My Mother Taught Me A Million Times – Chapter 80

Photos are of our very loved family pets, 
Velcro and Little Red.

#80 – “Never buy anything until it goes on sale.”

This one of one hundred things my mom taught me a million times absolutely did not stick. I am simply horrible when it comes to shopping and buying. Mom wasn’t a shopper, but she was extremely frugal, so I have no idea where my penchant for overspending came from. Well, I guess it could have come from my dad. I vaguely recall that right after dad died, mom had to sell practically everything we owned to pay off all of the bulldozers and graters that my dad “owned” for his road construction company. And then there was dad’s gold mine in New Mexico and the racehorses. Anyway, I obviously didn’t get mom’s money/good judgment gene.

Here’s another dirty little secret. When I was very young, probably 8-10 years old, I read somewhere that the Queen of England never wore any piece of clothing twice and I was entranced. Isn’t it crazy the things that stick in your psyche? Well, this is something I’ve struggled with my entire life. I hate wearing any piece of clothing more than once. I don’t know if it's a laundry-loathing thing or what, but I have always, always wanted to wear each piece of clothing one time then throw it away (underwear) or give it to Goodwill (everything else). It would be an exaggeration to say that I only wear things once; it’s not too far from the truth to say that I wear them only a couple of times.  I found myself at Steinmart yesterday looking for something to wear out to dinner tonight. I have numerous beautiful outfits, but I’ve worn them before, once or twice. Click on Read More Below...

I’m Dancing As Fast As I Can by Barbara Gordon

I was raised in a culture that says we are responsible for our feelings and can therefore fix them ourselves. Mom wouldn’t even let me say “nervous.”  If you were nervous, you settled down. If you were sad, you cried and got it out of your system. I’ve refused for decades to acknowledge or address my own borderline claustrophobia, and it wasn’t until very recently that I even acknowledged mental illness. So, finishing Barbara Gordon’s I’m Dancing As Fast As I Can felt like two weeks of torture.

When Barbara Gordon wrote this book, she was an Emmy Award winning documentary filmmaker for CBS. She had been taking Valium for years for anxiety, the source of which I never clearly understood, but “goes off the deep end” when she stops taking the drug “cold turkey.” She almost immediately becomes incapable of doing anything normal, cries constantly, and quits working. Then her live-in boyfriend, who is obviously equally psychotic, begins to beat her and hold her captive, and she ends up in a mental institution. Click On More Below...

HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM OUR FAMILY TO YOURS (Click on Arrow Below)

Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson

Steve Jobs was an asshole, knew it, and really didn’t much care. He was also an envisioning and marketing genius. You’ll note that I didn’t say technology genius. He wasn’t, but he was uncompromising when it came to what he wanted, and he was hard-core focused on merging technology and art. He envisioned instruments of technology designed for the masses (simple to use), and he wanted them to be elegant. He psychologically bludgeoned his employees and contractors until they came up with what he wanted, gave credit to no one but himself, and gave us the iPad, iPhone, iPod, iTunes, the Apple computers, Toy Story, Finding Nemo and Monster’s Inc., which is why even his tortured minions and wrathful competitors worshiped him and why he is an icon, even more so, in death.

When Jobs found out that he had pancreatic cancer, he went to author, Walter Isaacson, a former executive at CNN and Time who had written best-selling biographies about Benjamin Franklin and Albert Einstein, and asked him to write Jobs' biography. He then, very atypically, gave Isaacson unprecedented access to his life, family, and friends and declined any control over the book (except the cover).  Jobs never read what Isaacson wrote about him.

Although I’m tempted to skip over these factoids, I’ll add that Jobs was also a huge fan of LSD psychedelic acid, claiming it was “one of the best things I’ve done in my life”; lived most of his life eating just carrots or apples; had serious hygiene issues; went barefoot most of his life – even to important meetings; only wore Issey Miyake black turtleneck shirts and Levi 501 jeans; never bothered to put furniture in his house; never used focus groups or market studies when designing his products (only what he wanted); never had a license plate on his car; was obsessed with Bob Dylan; never took responsibility; used people, including making them scapegoats; and he was a stingy-gut (eschewed philanthropy). Some want to say that Steve was just too busy for philanthropy, donated anonymously, and found public philanthropy “distasteful,” but it would be more consistent with his egomaniacal character that he just really didn’t see how it benefited him. CLICK ON READ MORE BELOW...

Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the Murder of a President by Candice Millard

Before reading Destiny of the Republic, all I really remembered about James A. Garfield was that he was one of the US Presidents, and that he was assassinated while in office. After reading Destiny of the Republic, I knew that Garfield was a man of extraordinary but not perfect character, a strong believer in the equality of Blacks,  never really wanted to be President of the United States, and died not from his assassin’s gunshot, but rather from medical ineptitude.

Funny, because the entire time I was reading this book, I kept thinking about how well it was written, how beautifully the various parts of the story were entwined, and how author Candice Millard (pictured) kept my attention even though she was conveying history, which can be very boring at the hands of the wrong person. Then when I started work on this review, I realized for the first time that Millard also wrote another of my favorite books, The River of Doubt: Theodore Roosevelt's Darkest Journey.

Destiny of the Republic also gives us such an in-depth tour through the insanity of Charles Guiteau (pictured), Garfield’s assassin, that I actually felt visceral anger and sympathy for him.  Although clearly insane, he was never properly cared for by society and thusly left to commit a senseless act that rocked a nation.

And then there was Dr. Doctor Bliss (no, that is not a typo nor redundant.) Dr. Bliss, whose first name was Doctor, swooped in at the train station just after Guiteau shot Garfield (pre-security for Presidents), and dictatorially and disastrously took command of Garfield’s medical care, seemingly for the fame it would bring him.  So forceful was Bliss’s dominance over Garfield’s medical care that, although other doctors including Garfield’s family doctor protested Bliss’s treatment decisions, he continued to treat Garfield literally to death. CLICK ON READ MORE BELOW...

One Hundred Things My Mother Taught Me A Million Times – Chapter 79

#79 – “Always wipe around plates to get the food dribbles off before you serve.”

(Making holiday ornaments with some of the grandkids!)

As you’ve heard me say many times, Mom was an enigma. She was a recluse and an extrovert; quiet and chatty; obsessed with her looks and a dedicated slob. And, as the saying goes, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Let’s just say we’re eclectic. 

So what does this have to do with dribbles on plates? Well, mom would take a cake to a church social covered in a discarded plastic potato bag then (minus the bag) insist that the cake be carved into perfectly uniform pieces and served without a stray crumb on the plate. She would also boil borderline rancid meat in salt water to “purify” it and then prepare and serve it on china with the good silver. She was into food presentation before I ever even saw the word presentation used in proximity to food.

In these days of micro-portions and zero-fat dishes, I guess dribbles are a thing of the past, but when I was growing up it was all about creamy, drippy food and filling the plate to the rim. What is interesting is that although my generation was raised on lots of meat, potatoes, gravy, whole milk, sugar, real butter, eggs, and bread, and very few fresh vegetables, our parents weren’t obese and didn’t seem to die off prematurely. Furthermore, most everyone I grew up with is still alive and in reasonably good condition! In fact our lifespan has continued almost to the point of being ridiculous. After watching my mother turn into a zombie in a nursing home with 200 other zombies, I just do not want to live that long. Unfortunately, longevity is in my genes.

But back to wiping around plates to get the dribbles off--I still make gravy in our house, and beans, and stew, and soup, so dribbles happen, but I always wipe around the plate or bowl, just like mom taught me. After all, eclectic and cultured are not antonyms, and I do want to carry on the heritage of consistent inconsistency! 

The Gap Year by Sarah Bird

As I read Austinite Sarah Bird’s most recent novel The Gap Year, I  felt such a strong connection to her writing style and humor, and the setting, theme and characters of the book, I couldn’t help but wonder if she and I are twins separated at birth.  The two main characters of The Gap Year are Camille (Cam) Lightsey and her daughter Aubrey. Cam is a single mom who has given up on men, but has never gotten over her one true love, ex-husband Martin, the bohemian philosopher she fell in love with on a European backpacking trip. Unfortunately, Martin eventually became more interested in seeking his ultimate “being” then the “being” he sprouted in Cam's uterus, so he deserted her and the babe to hide in a cult for 16 years.

Cam raises Aubrey alone struggling to get her into the best schools, the cutest clothes and with the right kids. Absurdly, she’s also a hippy snob who thinks that people who send their kids to the best schools, dress them in designer labels and push them into cheerleading and football are poseurs. Cam is a Lactation Consultant living in a part of town where the word ‘lactation’ is never uttered, but she longs to live where dreadlocked, Birkenstocked, patchouli-reeking women gather in pocket parks, openly breast-feed their four-year olds, and share their hopes for world peace.

Surprise, surprise! Cam raises a daughter who is a conflicted rebel, which terrifies Cam because she sees herself in her daughter. Teen Aubrey is clueless about what she believes, but certain about what she doesn’t believe: anything that her mom does. She despises the popular-kid clicks and then falls in love with the captain of the football team. She resents her abandoning dad but lets him in her life via Facebook. The classic life-and-family struggles ensue and we see ourselves and find comfort in knowing that we’re not alone in the universe of family craziness. Click On Read More Below...

The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O'Farrell

Iris, a young Scottish woman, is living a somewhat compromised and colorless life in Edinburgh, running a dress shop and in a relationship with a married man, when she receives news that she must now care for great-aunt Esme Lennox who has been hospitalized in a psychiatric hospital for 61 years – an aunt she didn’t even know existed! Now that’s a storyline that can make you snuggle down into a soft blanket and not want to surface until the mystery unravels!  Toss in a couple of other family twists, and you’ve got a page-turner.

Why was Esme committed to a mental institution when she was 16? Why is Iris just now finding out that her Alzheimer-afflicted (and pathologically cranky) grandmother, Kitty Lockhart, has a sister? What is Iris to do with Esme? What will Esme have to say about her life? What will happen when Esme and Kitty are reunited?

In the process of uncovering Esme’s story, Iris discovers much more than she could have imagined, and a heritage that brings new perspective to her life. The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox reminded me of that Bible verse that goes something along the lines of, “The sins of the parents are visited upon the children.” 

In spite of the titillating storyline, I’m glad that I listened to this book rather than read it. I saw many reviews in which readers complained that the back-and-forth timeframe made the story difficult to follow and that the writing was not great. O'Farrell (pictured) is the author of a number of recognizable books, including, After You'd Gone," and The Hand That First Held Mine.

Although this book won’t make my list of “2011 Best Books” (stay tuned), it also won’t make the “worst of” list either. It was well worth the time.  Oh, and one more thing: When Esme and Kitty are reunited, what happens is, shall we say, chilling!

PlayBingo Darling!

I was tremendously honored to be invited to sit at Center for Child Protection Founding CEO Sandra Martin’s table on October 29^th at the 8^th Annual PlayBingo fundraiser at Hilton Austin.  It was also my honor to be seated with such a prestigious group of Very Smart Gals. Pictured left to right: Patti Summerville, Senior Council at Hahn, Texas (formerly Tate Austin).  She is also a well know and well-connected private consultant and facilitator in areas of strategic planning, branding, public relations, etc. Yours Truly is next, then Sandra Martin and Loralee Martin (both of who are profiled below in “My Friends.” Next is Dr. Bettie Meachum, Sandra’s childhood friend. Bettie is a Professor of Psychology and Human Growth And Development at Cedar Valley College, a community college of the Dallas County Community College District, located in Lancaster, in southern Dallas County. Standing behind Bettie is Nancy Hagan, the founding Executive Director of Alliance For Children, the Tarrant County Children’s Advocacy Center program.  She, along with Sandra Martin and Cathy Crabtree, is a founding member of Children’s Advocacy Centers of Texas, Inc., the statewide membership organization of 65 Children’s Advocacy Centers. Next is Cathy Crabtree, who is the Director of State Chapter Development at National Children's Alliance, the national membership and accrediting body for the more than 750 children's advocacy centers and 47 State Chapters throughout the country. Cathy was also the Executive Director of Children's Advocacy Center's of Texas. Next to Cathy is Abby Lentz, the owner and instructor at Heartfelt Yoga.  Abby has appeared on Better, the nationally syndicated lifestyle show from Better Homes and Gardens, and is known for her “Heavyweight Yoga” classes.  And finally, Bobbie Mae Matthews is enjoying her retirement as the long-time Executive Director of The Settlement Club, which owns and operates The SettlementHome for Children, a residential treatment center for girls.  She is now in charge of reservations at Red Corral Ranch in Wimberley, a beautiful B & B and magnificent site for weddings.  Bobbie Mae serves on The Advisory Council of the UT School of Social Work, and is a recipient of The Sheffield Award for Executive Directors from The Austin Community Foundation.

The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey by Walter Mosley

What is it about writers who unapologetically romanticize pedophilia? Vladimir Nabokov ( Lolita), Gabriel Garcia Marquez (just about every book he wrote), and now Walter Mosley’s The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey. I "get" the literary nuances of ageless, innocent love, but when it is set in the context of lechery, it is illicit, immoral, and icky.

OK, OK. Mosley’s book isn’t about pedophilia, but he is 91-years old and openly lusting after a 17-year-old girl. Because Penguin Books sent The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey to me, supposedly in hopes that I would read and promote it on my blog, I felt compelled to see past my personal disgust with that very small piece of the story line.

Ptolemy Grey has outlived his friends, is infirmed by his age, deep into dementia, pretty much deserted by his family, and living (if you want to call it that) in a filthy, bug-and-rat infested apartment in the inner city. Enter the 17-year-old orphan, Robyn, who is asked by Ptolemy’s niece to check on Ptolemy. She cleans his house, then moves in with him, cooks his meals, and eventually pushes him into taking part in an experimental anti-dementia drug test. Guess what, the drug makes him regain some of his mental and physical vigor.

Then there’s the stolen gold coins passed down to Ptolemy by his childhood friend, Coy-Dog, the most colorful and interesting character in the book. Ptolemy, recently "smarter," decides he wants to leave his considerable wealth (gold coins) to the 17-year-old, and he also wants to kill a guy that he suspects offed his favorite nephew in a drive-by shooting. (Apparently no one walks up and shoots anyone anymore.) And he has to do it all soon because the medication is wearing off and he’s starting to feel his age again.

Yes, The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey is more poetic and well written than I’ve made it sound. Walter Mosley can spin a yarn, and there were parts of  the book that I really loved, including the sweet and innocent parts of the relationship between Ptolemy and Robyn. But there were also some shallow characters and dead-end plot lines, and I really, really had a hard time getting past the ickiness of Ptolemy lusting after the young girl.  It felt like Mosley was acting out some impotency redemption fantasy, or perhaps he figured if it worked for Vladimir Nabokov and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, it would work for him and, in fact, it just might.

One Hundred Things My Mother Taught Me A Million Times – Chapter 78

#78 – “Never throw anything away. You never know when you might need it.”

Despite the above mom-maxim, she wasn’t a hoarder. I am sure of this because we could walk through our house without standing on garbage and we slept in beds.  Until I watched a few episodes of the TV series Hoarders I thought that a hoarder was someone (mom) who kept 3 rubber bands on their wrist, a small pile of twisty ties in a drawer, 10 empty (clean) milk jugs on the back porch, and a 2-foot pile of Dallas Morning News and New York Times on the bedroom floor.  Apparently mom was an amateur hoarder.

As it turns out, my first real experience with hoarding was when a friend told me about a house they were buying that was so full of stuff that when they went to look at the house they could barely walk through it. She said that there were only small trails throughout the house. I couldn’t quite picture what she was describing and thought that she must surely be exaggerating. Then I, along with millions of other mesmerized Americans, watched Hoarders. It is not just the stunning visual of homes stacked to the ceiling with stuff, and people living in unbelievably unlivable conditions that make it all so intriguing, but also the impact on the people and families involved:  isolation, shame, anger, fear, sorrow, families torn apart by a seemingly uncontrollable need to keep things. Click on Read More Below...

Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders by Vincent Bugliosi and Curt Gentry

I’m not entirely sure why I chose to re-read Helter Skelter (published in 1995) other than the fact that the sensational 1969 “Tate-LaBianca” murders left such an indelible mark on my memory. Having read my share of true crime, I have a peculiar curiosity about how and why people seem to get away with murder. For every person convicted, there are many more never caught.  And, if you believe those convicted, they didn’t do it either, which means that lots of people are getting away with murder. I find this extremely annoying since I can’t even get away with driving five miles over the speed limit.

At seven hundred pages, Helter Skelter is not a beach read, and the story is so disturbing as to have retained its fascination for forty-two years.  Here’s the 50-cent tour of this true-life murder mystery:  Sharon Tate is a beautiful but talentless actress in her 20’s who is eight months pregnant by famous movie director Roman Polanski. One night, while Polanski is in Europe, Tate and a number of friends congregate at the Tate/Polanski Los Angeles home, including coffee heiress Abigail Folger, her boyfriend Wojciech Frykowski, and hair stylist to the stars Jay Sebring (Tate and Sebring are pictured above). The next morning, the Tate/Polanski housekeeper arrives to find the four of them, and a young guy who made an ill-timed stop at the house, all murdered in horribly macabre ways. That same night an older Los Angeles couple, the LaBiancas, are similarly slaughtered and I do mean slaughtered – Rosemary LaBianca was stabbed 41 times. Click on Read More Below...

Some Girls – My Life in a Harem by Jillian Lauren

As I sit here overthinking how to review Some Girls – My Life in a Harem by Jillian Lauren, I feel a curious sense of anxiety. Why? Because although not a dominate theme of the book, the issue of women being mean to women is in there; a topic that is already hovering in my consciousness because of the movie The Help, which is so much about women being mean to each other.

Let’s back up and get some context. First, Some Girls is not about life in a harem, it is about Jillian Lauren’s trek from rebellious New Jersey teen-dom to becoming a successful author and mother with an MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University; all viewed through the universally blurry lens of hindsight. During said trek, she does a lot of drugs, drops out of NYU, dabbles in experimental theater, becomes a stripper and prostitute, is hired to join a stable of women at the disposal of the brother of the Sultan of Bruni in Borneo, and reunites with her birth mother.

Here’s a snapshot of Lauren’s harem life. Thirty to fifty handpicked women from all over the world are paid to come to Bruni for undisclosed purposes (duh). They are told that they will be paid approximately $20,000 for each 2-week period and, although they can choose to go home at any time, they cannot otherwise leave the lush royal compound that becomes their home. During the day they lie around and watch TV or workout. Then each and every night, they get very dressed up for “the party,” at which they sip Champagne, gossip and perform Karaoke. The “prince” comes into the party most nights, chats with a lucky few, and then chooses one girl to take back to his room for sex. If you are chosen to sit close to or sing for the prince, or to go on a rare and unbelievable shopping spree, you have status. Inevitably, they all want status, which is the dynamic by design, resulting in clicks, backstabbing and conniving.  During the 18-months that Jillian spends in the “harem” the competition for the supposedly “charming and handsome” prince is nauseatingly fierce. Click on read more below...

SARAH PALIN & HILLARY CLINTON ON SNL

Tina Fey almost didn't do the Sarah Pain impression on Saturday Night Live because she felt, as I do, that women are hard on each other. On the other hand, regardless of your gender, a sense of humor is key to survival. Enjoy!
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One Hundred Things My Mother Taught Me A Million Times – Chapter 77

Photo is of grandbaby #8, Ember Elizabeth Noelke. Welcome to the world soon-to-be very smart little gal!

#77 – “Don't drive with your shoes on; you'll scuff up the heels.”

The memory that comes rushing back to me as I consider #77 originated in 1983. A well known and well-liked Austin philanthropist, who at the time was a struggling attorney, is walking away from me after a meeting. The backs of her high heels are scuffed, and I'm  thinking to myself, she shouldn’t have been driving in those shoes. My memories are riddled with such flashes of validation of mother’s lessons. I never know when they’ll come, but they all eventually do.

Just recently when trying to decide if a pair of shoes should stay for another season or go to Goodwill, I looked at the backs of the heels and sure enough they were scuffed, which was a little perplexing because I always take my heels off when I drive. Actually, I take off whatever shoes I’m wearing when I drive, be it Cole Haan or Croc, not because of mom’s #77 but because my feet are always hot.

This “hot feet” thing has haunted me for years. I can’t sleep with my feet under the covers. I can’t tolerate a sheet covering my feet when I get a massage. I take a fan with me wherever I travel to blow on my feet. I’m not kidding. It’s a problem.

After years of fruitless research, I’ve come up with my own theory about why my feet are so hot. Since I work from home, I go barefoot about 90% of the time, and as a result my feet are very calloused. Callouses prevent heat from escaping from my feet, and therefore they overheat. I should have been a doctor.

But back to scuffed heels and driving. Mom also said that cheap shoes were classifying, and since us Wades are all about looking classier then we are, not wearing scuffed shoes is important. Driving to a meeting? Take off your heels or you might get de-classified!

Smart Gals Sip – Drinks With Jan Goss

New Mexico best gal-friend Deborah Fondren and I had drinks Thursday with Patti DeNucci and Jan Goss (pictured l-r). Yes, another riveting saga of Very Smart Gals! Since I’ve previously profiled both Patti and Deborah, I want to talk about Jan Gross, the principal and founder of an extraordinarily interesting company, Civility Consulting, which specializes in “Impression Management.” How important is that? Well, how many times have you pledged to never again do business with a company because their receptionist was snippy, or because their salesperson ignored you or said something offensive? It matters, and Jan helps companies train their representatives to put their best foot forward.  Fascinating! Which describes both Civility Consulting and Jan Goss. Here, see for yourself.