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.

Learning to Breathe: One Woman's Journey of Spirit and Survival By Alison Wright

Women adventurers fascinate me. Well, to be accurate, adventurers of any gender fascinate me, but women who leap beyond the boundaries of the mundane are of particular interest. Alison Wright is a photojournalist who has spent most of her life traveling all over the world, primarily in Southeast Asia, photographing for magazines. She is also known for her photographic book Faces of Hope: Children of a Changing World. Learning to Breathe, Wright’s most recent book, is about a horrific bus wreck in the tullies of Laos that Wright barely survives, and her multi-year, very difficult recovery. Although the book cover subtitle includes “journey of spirit and survival,” it is a lot less about spirit than survival. Sure the Dali Lama is in there, as is the plight of the Tibetan Buddhists and Richard Gere’s predictable recommendation, but then my sense of the paucity of “spiritual” substance may just be a reflection of my existentialist’s predisposition.

What dominates the book are Wright’s gaud-awful injuries in the bus wreck, and her struggles with medical recovery. The irony is that she barely survives for weeks in remote, medically primitive villages, but doesn't fare much better when she finally makes it back to our "advanced" American medical system. CLICK ON READ MORE BELOW.

Very DEEPak Chopra

Hearing Deepak Chopra speak Monday night at Trinity University made my brain hurt. Or at least the brain I had that night, which according to Dr. Chopra is now gone since we are in a constant state of physically and biologically replacing ourselves, including our brains. Ouch.

I bought the tickets for Deepak Chopra for three reasons:

1.  The event was a fundraiser for the Battered Women’s Shelter of San Antonio, which I like to support;

2.  My daughter JoLene is sort of into “spiritual exploration," and this was a good excuse for us to spend a little adult time together; and

3. I thought I might learn something.

The evening started off nicely as JoLene and I joined Linda Benjamin and her hubby, Butch Miles, Linda’s son from Indiana, Eric Bippen, and Linda's San Antonio friend, Hope Drake, for dinner at Cappy’s on Broadway. Linda is former VP for the Texas Council on Family Violence/National Domestic Violence Hotline, and Butch is a Jazz Studies professor at Texas University and played with The Count Basie Orchestra for 14 years.

(Pictured l-r, JoLene, Butch, Hope, Eric and Linda)

When Linda asked Hope for what type of cuisine Cappy’s was famous and she said “seafood.” I silently gasped, leaned to my daughter and whispered “Anthony Bourdain said in his book Kitchen Confidential to never order seafood on a Monday because fish aren’t delivered on Sunday or Monday, so the fish aren't fresh.” JoLene ordered a petit fillet of beef, I ordered lamb, everyone else ordered seafood, and no one died of ptomaine!

When Dr. Chopra stepped from behind the curtain (I cannot tell you how ashamed I am to admit this), all I could think was, oh my gaud, he has a potbelly! How could someone that is such an icon of “wellness” have a potbelly? Then he began talking about his medical background and how that led him to a quest for deeper answers to, as Guy Noir from Prairie Home Companion would say, “life’s perplexing questions.”

Chopra believes, as do I, that by ridding oneself of negative emotions and listening to signals from the body, health can be improved. He also has an enormous following and has written 65 books. The man is obviously an intellectual, but honestly I’m more of a Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens kind of gal - we’re born; we live as well as possible; our body gives out; we die.  If that sounds empty, I’m sorry, but my life is full, full, full, and if this is all there is, OK by me!

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve faced horrific issues, but as a therapist told me one time, your black hole of despair doesn’t help your children. Give them the gift of showing them how to rise like a phoenix from the ashes, and live a happy, healthy, full life. Click on Read More Below...

Smart Gals Sip – Libby, Nicole and Rebecca

(Pictured l-r, Libby Einhorn and Nicole Davenport)

My niece Nicole invited me and my hubby to have birthday brunch with her and her best friend, Libby Einhorn, at the Four Seasons Sunday and it was really nice, but probably not worth the $350 it cost for the four of us. Getting dressed up and mingling with the upper crust was sort of cool, and the panna cotta, eggs benedict and prime rib were delish, but the shrimp was mushy and had obviously been frozen. Bottom line, the company and setting were the best parts.

Libby is a super cool Petroleum Engineer for Eagle Rock, a small, local oil company in Midland, Texas. She also volunteers at the YWCA four nights a week teaching Aerobics, Spinning and Kickboxing.  I can totally picture Libby bossing West Texas redneck roughnecks around out on a rig location. We’ve come a long way, baby! She was lots of fun and what is funny is that although Libby’s been to Austin four times, this is the first time she’s ever really stayed in Austin. She explained that she always flies into Austin to go to Lake Austin Spa, catching the shuttle at the airport, going straight out to the spa, and reversing the process to go home. I never cease to be amazed at how many Very Smart Gals there are out there!

My niece by marriage/divorce, Nicole Davenport is my x-sister-in-law Freida Kay Noelke Davenport's daughter (see her profile under “My Friends”). Nicole worked for years in television production in NYC, but decided about 5 years ago that being a chef was her true calling, and has spend the past few years sweating in a kitchen and loving it. Her most recent claim to fame is an appearance on TLC’s B-B-Q Pit Masters, a TV reality show that pits BBQ cooks against each other.  I’ll never forget Nicole’s line in the show (sitting in her Marathon "White Buffalo Bar "cowgirl shirt and big-brimmed cowgirl hat), “I didn’t come all the way from Texas to get my ass kicked by a bunch of hippies.” When I told her I thought that was hilarious, she said, “Oh, that was in the script. They told me to say that.” So much for “reality” TV!

Monday night she and Rebecca Rather (pictured), of Rather Sweet Bakery and cookbook fame, came over for happy hour and dinner, and ended up spending the night. Can you believe I had the cajones to feed two chefs?  Rebecca began her career as a private caterer in Houston, before moving on to become pastry chef for Houston restaurateur Tony Vallone and his group of restaurants. After apprenticing with Daniel Leader, she worked as executive pastry chef for research and development for Schlotzsky's Bread Alone cafés. In 1999, she started her own business, Rather Sweet Bakery, in Austin. In 2001, she moved the bakery to Fredericksburg. She has been featured in Texas Monthly, Gourmet, Ladies' Home Journal, Food & Wine, Southern Living, Chocolatier, and Saveur, where she was among Saveur's 100 favorites for 2003.

 

Rebecca and Nicole are cooking up a new restaurant in Fredericksburg and want to throw a party for the Very Smart Gals, so you may be getting an invite soon!  Wouldn't it be fun for all the Very Smart Gals to finally meet!

We insisted that Rebecca try out my outdoor shower, so I snapped this photo (right). I may put up a sign that says “Rebecca Rather Bathed Here. “ We had fun talking about horses and food and men and food and men.

Alas Babylon By Pat Frank

Written in 1959 by Pat Frank, Alas Babylon is a “classic” post-apocalyptic tale set in Florida that came highly recommended by Audible.com and Amazon.com and received “5 stars” by 46% of reader ratings. So, I read the whole damn thing trying to find something good about it.  I never did.

It is sexist, racist and boring. Oh yes, and required reading in most American high school literature classes, which is truly depressing. When Pat Frank wrote at the end of the book that the surviving women would need strong men to lead them I sort of threw up in my mouth.

The End.

Smart Gals Sip – Nan, Marci, Shannon and Tosca

Pictured, l-r, Nan McRaven, Marci Roberts, Shannon Sedwick and Tosca Gruber.

Who has happy hour on a Tuesday? Anyone who wants to have a happy hour with Shannon Sedwick, that’s who. Just about any other night of the week Shannon’s channeling Patsy Cline singing, “I’ve got these little things, she’s got you,” and pulling a saw out the top of her strapless formal. If you haven’t been to Esther’s Follies on 6th Street, you have no idea what I’m talking about, and cannot officially consider yourself an Austinite. Shannon and her hubby have been producing Esther’s Follies, a fabulous satirical musical comedy revue, since 1977. We always take Austin visitors to Esther’s Follies, and you should too, but be aware that the show is packed every performance, so purchasing tickets in advance is imperative.  Shannon is also famous for Patsy's Cafe on East Ben White (Hwy 71). The food is fab, they have great entertainment and, if you’re lucky, you might even run into Shannon. My favorite memory of Shannon is at the Capital in 1989 for the presentation of Austin Women – 150 Years of Trial and Triumph, a freestanding exhibit of photographs and captions of Austin women's history, presented to the City of Austin as a 150-birthday gift. I was the chair of that project; Ruthe Weingarten and Janet Humphrey wrote the history; and Shannon and her troupe performed vignettes. 

I’ve known Nan McRaven since 1983 when I went to work for County Commissioner Bob Honts and Nan was the Travis County Personnel and Budget Director. Ann Richards was a County Commissioner, as was Richard Moya (those were crazy days!). Nan went on to become a congressional staff member, a vice president for communications and public affairs for a number of high-tech firms (including Motorola), and has more recently become a business development consultant at Strategic Partners, Inc. working with Mary Scott Nabers. When Nan charged into Jeffrey’s Tuesday night, she was so excited I thought she was going to explode! She’d just bought an Armani suit to wear to a very special event honoring her brother, William McRaven, Nan’s Navy SEAL “Rambo,” UT grad brother, and the mastermind behind the discovery and killing of Osama Bin Laden! Shut Up! Seriously! I told Nan that I was going to buy her a bumper sticker that says, “My brother kicked Osama Bin Laden’s Ass.” I never do one of the Very Smart Gals get togethers that doesn’t produce something magnificent.

On Monday I got a text from my niece by marriage/divorce, Nicole, saying that she and Rebecca Rather (of Rather Sweet Bakery fame) would be in Austin Thursday to work with my hubby on a logo for their new Fredericksburg restaurant Sugar and Smoke. I said she should come in early and go to the Tuesday happy hour. She replied that she couldn’t, but that I should invite their restaurant architect, Marci Roberts, who was in town from Marathon. Turns out, Marci is fiancé  to famous Marathon photographer James Evans. I’ve been an Evans fan for years and often go by his studio in Marathon to say hello and buy his fabulous photography books to give as wedding gifts. Marci, owner of meo design, moved to Marathon after working for 14 years in New York City, Barcelona, Connecticut and Austin where she worked for Graber, Simmons and Cowen (GCS Architects). AND, she owns my favorite grocery store of all times, and an icon of fabulous Marathon, 111-year-old The French Grocer (which by the way is for sale if you’re looking for an interesting second-life). Marci is cool, gorgeous, and an incredibly talented architect and designer. I made a new Very Smart Gal-friend!

Last, but far from least, is Tosca Gruber, who once and for all cleared up my misconception that you can’t look like Barbie and also be a uber-smart business woman! I met Tosca in the 1990’s when I was the Director of Development for The Center For Child Protection, and her then husband, famous 1992 World Series-winning Toronto Blue Jay baseball player, Kelly Gruber, was playing in a celebrity/charity golf tournament. I remember thinking how cool it would be to meet Kelly, but then I met his wife, Tosca, and realized rather quickly that she was waayyyyy cooler. Tosca is a Coldwell Banker realtor with what looks like the alphabet after her name - ABR, GRI, CRS, CNMS, CNRS – which I believe spell “Very $uccessful.” And she owns several businesses in town, including a famous music club, which she just bought from a famous local singer (all hush hush at this point so I can’t name names), Steiner Ranch Steakhouse and Walton Florist and Nursery. But, the thing that impresses me the most about Tosca is that she is all of the above, AND the mother of four children, including a college-age son, a special needs daughter, and a freshman and junior playing football at Westlake High School. The day after our Jeffrey’s happy hour Tosca sent us all an email saying, “I want to reciprocate with an evening of fun at Steiner Steak House on me, with a driver, or a tailgate party at UT Golf Course on Friday the 14th before our home Oklahoma game. Thank you to SueAnn for including me! I so needed a night of Crazy. Please know you all can call me for anything, even non-related real estate stuff. I have done many things, but being a friend I love most.”

What a great bunch of Very Smart Gals!

One Hundred Things My Mother Taught Me a Million Times - Chapter #76

#76 - "Stand up straight, pull your shoulders back, chin up."

Just to give you some idea of how engrained in my psyche #76 is, I caught myself pulling my shoulders back, and pushing my boobs and chin out at 5:30 this morning as I stumbled back toward my bed to wait for the coffee to brew. I literally stopped myself halfway down the hall, my inner voice asking, “What the hell are you doing, SueAnn?”

At 5 feet 2 inches, mom was all about being as tall as possible which included exceptional posture, and she was determined to make me stand tall too. I suspect that she sent me to twirling camp when I was a teen because she knew they would beat exaggerated posture into me, and they did! Anyone out there that was a twirler in high school or college knows exactly what I’m talking about.

I also suspect that mom knew that a posture of shoulders out and chin up would give me a look of confidence, an invaluable quality. At a recent party, I saw one of my granddaughters standing slumped shouldered so I rushed over to pull her shoulders back and to lift her chin. “Stand up straight,” I said, feeling eerily like my mother. I suspect she was feeling a little self-conscious about her low-cut dress and was trying to hide her budding breasts. I remember being her age and trying desperately to sink what to me felt like horrifyingly gigantic basketballs sitting on my chest. I felt like a freak and that everyone was staring at me. However, after three or four twirling lessons, and a few admiring boys, I was sticking them out there so far it’s a wonder they didn’t trip someone.

When I was pregnant with my children, my posture nearly went to hell as I tended to slump everything onto the beach ball on my stomach. Then post pregnancy, I began to pull it all up again, trying unsuccessfully to disappear my persistent baby-belly. Now that I’m 60-something, I’ve convinced myself that if I don’t maintain my posture, I’ll start looking like one of those (gaud forbid) slumped over old people, and get one of those humps behind my neck, then comes the walker! Eeewwwwhhhh!

So mom was right! Stand up straight, pull your shoulders back, chin up.

Inside Scientology: The Story of America's Most Secretive Religion by Janet Reitman

About every 50 pages of the 400-page Inside Scientology, I found myself thinking, “Has Tom Cruise lost his freaking mind?” You could write on the back of a matchbook what I knew about Scientology before I read this book, so I didn’t go into it with the burden of prejudice but I sure as hell came out of it with one. Can you say CULT?  

 

Most religions have an element of crazy and cult (i.e., zealotry, exclusivity, the inevitable whacko splinter groups) so I’m not prejudiced against Scientology as much as I’m prejudiced against extremism. With the founder, L. Ron Hubbard’s very weird history (pictured), the code language, military-like uniforms worn by the officers of the organization, extreme secrecy and sketchy methodologies, Scientology takes the cuckoo cake.  

I don’t know if L. Ron was pissed because his therapist told him something he didn’t like or what, but the man had (he's dead) a serious hard-on against psychiatry and that seems to be the basis for Scientology, which is pretty ridiculous. Hubbard goes really sci-fi saying that we are all reincarnated and have lived on other planets. These are secrets revealed only to church members willing to pay for them, and gal howdy do they! The Church of Scientology charges the hound dog out of their members for just about every service provided, and coerces their members relentlessly to recruit other paying members, milking them for every penny they can and, as a result, the Church is mega-rich with incredible real estate holdings.

Pretty by Jillian Lauren

As I lie here in a Best Western motel in Sonora Texas with the faux luxury bedspread of polyester chaffing my arms, I feel emotional and vulnerable and incredibly fortunate. I don’t know if these high-pitched feelings are because I just read on Facebook that a friend loves my youngest son too (a son that needs lots of love) or if it is because Jillian Lauren just slayed the shit out of me with her book Pretty, but tears are pouring down my face and it’s all good.

Shortly after receiving Pretty from the Penguin Group (they occasionally send me free books), I received an email from Milena Brown, Associate Publicist at Penguin, asking if I planned on reviewing the book and letting me know that Pretty author Jillian Lauren would be at the October Texas Book Festival. I emailed her back saying that I knew I was loving Pretty because I kept looking at the photo of author Jillian Lauren in the back of the book, as if there were a code hidden in the contours of her face .

Pretty is the story of Bebe, a 20-something wreck of a girl who survives a drug-fueled car wreck that kills her looser, yet pretty jazz musician boyfriend, Aaron. She is cleverly described on the book’s cover as an ex-everything: Ex-stripper, ex-Christian, ex-drug addict, ex-pretty girl, so I was primed right off the bat to dislike her. And I was pretty successful at disliking her for about the first 100 pages, but Bebe (or should I say Jillian Lauren with her relentless humanity) wore me down. Dang, I hate it when people burst my superiority illusion.