"The Secretary, A Journey with Hillary Clinton from Beirut to the Heart of American Power" by Kim Ghattas Time Books 345 pages $27
Ghattas' back blurb states that she has been the radio and TV correspondent for the BBC's State Department coverage sice 2008. Her articles have been published in Time, Boston Globe, Washington Post.
Born and largely raised in Beirut, she is the daughter of a Dutch woman and a Lebanese father. She makes a point of her heritage all through the book which is is a kind of joining of "My Life" and "Hillary's Doings" which can prove difficult for the average reader. Anytime an author inserts him/herself into a story as opposed to a biography, it can get confusing.
I am not a Clinton fan, so I picked up the book to see if it was a pre-Presidential campaign puff pece and, if so, to try to determine the am9unt of spin given recent events.
About all I learned of substance is that the Clintons - Bill or Hillary - are alwas one hour late for scheduled appearances. Ghattas says that Hillary wants to spread cheer and US good will via her personal style which is talkative. Ghattas remarks often on how Hillary will laser in on the person she's talking to as if there were no others in the room. She has a good memory (and a thick briefing book) and remembers people and events around them including how many children.
Ghattas Beirut background intrudes often and, indeed, the book (I'm on page 207) seems to concern itself the most with Arabic affairs. Clinton is praised for telling it (like she) think it is to the Chinese as well as presumably well-intentoned visits to such outposts as Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan.
It would be a great read for someone with a great deal more political interest than I have. I've only survived by skimming over a lot of the descriptions of situations, reasons for situations, conferences to fix situations and details about political leaders wity (to me) unpronounceable, long names.
The computer is acting up so
1st graf since, not sice but since
2nd graf Dutch mother, not Dutch woman and delete one "is" in is is
3rd graf piece, not pece amount, not am9ount
4th graf always, not alwas
last graf - with, not wity
Monday, July 8, 2013
Sunday, July 7, 2013
This'n That
Confetti Salad
1/2 chopped red onion
1 red Bell pepper, chopped
1 yellow Bell pepper, chopped
1 green Bell pepper, chopped
1 cucumber, chopped
1 Serrano pepper, de-seeded and ribbed and chopped
pinch of garlic salt
Mix it all together, give it a good shot of lime juice (fresh or bottled) and toss well
Dust with red chili powder.
The LA Times Travel section runs a column they call "Your Tips" which consists of letters from readers. Every now and then they have some good ones and then there are some that are not-so-good.
Oceanside, CA: Car trips with kids - put slip-on shoes on them and you won't have tiresome waits at stops for them to find the shoes, untie the laces, put the shoes on and re-tie the laces.
I'd counsel slip-ons (loafers) at airport security, too. Richie used to fly in cowboy boots; when that ruling came in he went out and bought a pair Bass Weejuns.
Manhattan Beach, CA suggests that on group tours just before the tour begins, set up a meeting place at a prominent location within the tour. Everyone will then know where to go to hook back up with the group.
But I say that it's easier, faster and avoids any walking at all, to just stop dead in your tracks and hold one arm up in the air. Yes, of course people will look at you! The responder should also hold up his/her arm so everyone is on the same page and you can start walking towards each other.
Porter Ranch, CA: Take a plastic, sealable bag to the airport for your watch, coins, cell phone, pens and let it go through security like that. At the end of the beltway, grab and go.
This would also speed up security lines if everyone did it. Ahem, Richie.
Ontario, CA urges us to hang onto the plastic zip bags bed linens come in. She says to pack your clothes in them, sit on them to get the air out and zip them shut because they are easily seen through and that she has never had one opened by Transportation Security Administration.
Years ago when these first came out, I bought a set of these bags and found that stuffing clothes into a bag, sitting on the bag and trying to zip it shut did work for more inside the bag room, but: these bundles were stiff as boards and I couldn't pack other things in and around them. Today I just roll my clothes, stick them in the suitcase and go.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
"Right Wine; Wrong Bottle"
That's a quote from Jennifer Finney Boylan, famously the first transgender person to write a best-selling memoir on that life. (What? The world forgot Christine Jorgenson? 1926 - 1989)
"Stuck In The Middle With You, A Memoir of Parenting in Three Genders" by Jennifer Finney Boylan Crown Publishers 280 pages $24
She seems to be making something of a cottage industry of her sex change from male (two sons) to female. This is her second book on the subject and she also writes columns and gives lectures.
Briefly: As a male, she met a woman named Deirdre Finney. They fell in love, married, had two sons and he was a father for six years and then a mother for the next 10. While the boys were still young, approximately six and four, Boylan finally told his wife that he wanted to transition from male to female. For the 10 years of their married life, he'd never mentioned it. Spanner in the works!
Enter: stress, emotions, her sister dying, his mother dying and the traumas of major surgery. Through it all, Boylan says that their sons never got upset as Daddy Becomes Mommy and bases that statement on the fact that they were to young to understand the nuances and that as they were continually loved, the change didn't threaten their well being. Boylan is 55, Dierdre is a bit younger and the boys are in college. According to Boylan, all are thriving.
His book raised more questions for me than it gave me answers. I can grasp the "right wine; wrong bottle" description of a female thinking in a man's body or vice versa, but why couldn't the individual just roll with it? New York-based writer Fran Leibowitz clearly thinks she's living in Oscar Wilde's body. She writes as she thinks he did and she dresses in what might very well be his old clothes. Everyone in New York society (and all of the Post's Page Six readers) know she's a woman, acting and dressing like a man.
I'd like to think that personality and intelligence are much more important than whatever mantle of sex we are wearing.
Boyland writes well and it amused me that he takes umbrage at the transgender who will say, "Oh, I always knew I was a woman - I liked to play with dolls and bake cookies." Boylan says he tells them to go ahead and bake cookies because you don't need a vagina for that! Which rather begs the question of why he went out and got one, you ask me. I am not imaginative enough (sadly) to imagine "me" being a man in a three piece suit, lace-up shoes and a Homberg.
"Stuck In The Middle With You, A Memoir of Parenting in Three Genders" by Jennifer Finney Boylan Crown Publishers 280 pages $24
She seems to be making something of a cottage industry of her sex change from male (two sons) to female. This is her second book on the subject and she also writes columns and gives lectures.
Briefly: As a male, she met a woman named Deirdre Finney. They fell in love, married, had two sons and he was a father for six years and then a mother for the next 10. While the boys were still young, approximately six and four, Boylan finally told his wife that he wanted to transition from male to female. For the 10 years of their married life, he'd never mentioned it. Spanner in the works!
Enter: stress, emotions, her sister dying, his mother dying and the traumas of major surgery. Through it all, Boylan says that their sons never got upset as Daddy Becomes Mommy and bases that statement on the fact that they were to young to understand the nuances and that as they were continually loved, the change didn't threaten their well being. Boylan is 55, Dierdre is a bit younger and the boys are in college. According to Boylan, all are thriving.
His book raised more questions for me than it gave me answers. I can grasp the "right wine; wrong bottle" description of a female thinking in a man's body or vice versa, but why couldn't the individual just roll with it? New York-based writer Fran Leibowitz clearly thinks she's living in Oscar Wilde's body. She writes as she thinks he did and she dresses in what might very well be his old clothes. Everyone in New York society (and all of the Post's Page Six readers) know she's a woman, acting and dressing like a man.
I'd like to think that personality and intelligence are much more important than whatever mantle of sex we are wearing.
Boyland writes well and it amused me that he takes umbrage at the transgender who will say, "Oh, I always knew I was a woman - I liked to play with dolls and bake cookies." Boylan says he tells them to go ahead and bake cookies because you don't need a vagina for that! Which rather begs the question of why he went out and got one, you ask me. I am not imaginative enough (sadly) to imagine "me" being a man in a three piece suit, lace-up shoes and a Homberg.
Friday, July 5, 2013
4th of July Block Party
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| Cupcakes |
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| There's a small dog on the other end of the leash |
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| The best-dressed guest of them all |
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| A small sample of the foods available |
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Happy 4th of July!
We've been invited to a friend's neighborhood block party and we're excited about that as we've never been to a block party. We understand that a section of the street is blocked off - no vehicular traffic - and that the Redondo Beach Fire Department will make a visit to allow the kids to climb all over the equipment and use the water hoses.
Everyone was asked to bring a potluck dish so I'm making a jalapeno potato salad and "Green Peppers" and Richie is making guacamole with chips. I printed labels of the contents of each dish to stick on their containers. It's the price of living in a world full of people with food allergies or gluten fears or whatever is the latest food fad avoidance.
Full story and photos tomorrow!
Warnings... the fines for drunken behavior in Hermosa Beach will be tripled today. Fireworks of any kind are illegal here. Nevertheless, some idiots won't get the memo or will ignore it, so make sure your pets have a safe haven away from the noise.
This is a recipe from the South of France and is good in the summer time.
GREEN PEPPERS
1 green pepper, cut in slices
1 garlic clove, diced and rubbed into a pinch of sea salt.
Olive oil into the garlic/salt and stir
Add the green pepper slices, mix and serve cold.
Everyone was asked to bring a potluck dish so I'm making a jalapeno potato salad and "Green Peppers" and Richie is making guacamole with chips. I printed labels of the contents of each dish to stick on their containers. It's the price of living in a world full of people with food allergies or gluten fears or whatever is the latest food fad avoidance.
Full story and photos tomorrow!
Warnings... the fines for drunken behavior in Hermosa Beach will be tripled today. Fireworks of any kind are illegal here. Nevertheless, some idiots won't get the memo or will ignore it, so make sure your pets have a safe haven away from the noise.
This is a recipe from the South of France and is good in the summer time.
GREEN PEPPERS
1 green pepper, cut in slices
1 garlic clove, diced and rubbed into a pinch of sea salt.
Olive oil into the garlic/salt and stir
Add the green pepper slices, mix and serve cold.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Famous Writer/Cruel Man
"Great Expectations - The Sons and Daughters of Charles Dickens by Robert Gottlieb Farrar, Straus and Giroux 239 pages $25
Charles Dickens, 24, married Catherine Hogarth, 20, on April 2, 1836. Nine months later, their first son was born and he would be followed by nine more siblings (and at least two miscarriages) during a 15 year stretch. Clearly amusements in London during those years were few and far between.
Catherine's younger sister, Mary, came to help with the children. She didn't last long as a mother's helper; after a night at the theatre, she suffered a fatal heart attack and died the next day. She was 17 years old. Dickens then insisted that when he himself died, he must be buried with her. He wore her ring for the rest of his life to the probable dismay of his wife.
Catherine, one of nine in her family, was not at a loss for more help; she recruited her sister Georgina to take Mary's place.
And then in 1857 disaster struck again. Dickens fell wildly in love with an actress named Ellen Terman. Shortly after they met, she retired from the stage and was supported by Dickens.
In 1858, he ruthlessly kicked his wife out of their home after having given her a nice settlement and a new home. As a sort of final thrust, he refused to let her take the children. The oldest son, Charley, was 21 and he elected to disregard his father's orders and visit his mother.
Dickens made nearly a career of welcoming each new baby with enthusiasm and joy; never hesitated to prefer one child over the others, proclaiming said child, "My favorite." As they grew to adulthood, each child, one by one disappointed him and he was not shy about expressing his bad impressions of every one of them in private and in public.
As a result, only one (a son) turned out to be a success. So much for Dickens' great expectations.
Charles Dickens, 24, married Catherine Hogarth, 20, on April 2, 1836. Nine months later, their first son was born and he would be followed by nine more siblings (and at least two miscarriages) during a 15 year stretch. Clearly amusements in London during those years were few and far between.
Catherine's younger sister, Mary, came to help with the children. She didn't last long as a mother's helper; after a night at the theatre, she suffered a fatal heart attack and died the next day. She was 17 years old. Dickens then insisted that when he himself died, he must be buried with her. He wore her ring for the rest of his life to the probable dismay of his wife.
Catherine, one of nine in her family, was not at a loss for more help; she recruited her sister Georgina to take Mary's place.
And then in 1857 disaster struck again. Dickens fell wildly in love with an actress named Ellen Terman. Shortly after they met, she retired from the stage and was supported by Dickens.
In 1858, he ruthlessly kicked his wife out of their home after having given her a nice settlement and a new home. As a sort of final thrust, he refused to let her take the children. The oldest son, Charley, was 21 and he elected to disregard his father's orders and visit his mother.
Dickens made nearly a career of welcoming each new baby with enthusiasm and joy; never hesitated to prefer one child over the others, proclaiming said child, "My favorite." As they grew to adulthood, each child, one by one disappointed him and he was not shy about expressing his bad impressions of every one of them in private and in public.
As a result, only one (a son) turned out to be a success. So much for Dickens' great expectations.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
"Just Another Day," A Self-fulfilling Prophecy
Today, Richie and I take note of the fact that 30 years ago we were married, having dated for two years before marrying. (Thank you.)
But for 30 years of birthdays, Richie has always replied to my question about what he wanted to do/celebrate his with "Nothing, It's Just Another Day." So I did it back to him re the anniversary. Many of you may be nodding to yourselves and thinking, "There won't be a 31st..."
The funny thing about this is, it IS just another day. Richie and I often go out for dinner; we occasionaly go out for breakfast as we did this morning and our lives are, generally speaking, quite peaceful. We don't even fight that often and when we do exchange heated words, it's the type of situation that is an irritant, not a major death blow to the relationship.
Today is the monthly meeting at noon, which lasts until 1 or 1:30 p.m. Normally I would go visit a friend on Tuesday afternoons from 2 to 3 p.m. but her husband is in the hospital after a stroke last Wednesday. Richie's got the dishwasher running right now. A very normal day.
I also resent the fact that Hallmark expects me to buy a card to tell my husband that I love him. God gave me a mouth; I can use it for a great deal less than $3.50. In fact, after breakfast we did hit the card store for a bereavement card and I slipped in an anniversary card (because he gave me one with coffee and the newspapers this morning.)
When I pulled out my money to pay for these items, he said, "No, I've got it" and I said, "You're not going to pay for your own anniversary card!" and he said, indignantly, "You don't have to buy me a card!" So I said, "Okay, read it and I'll put it back!" He did, I did and that was that.
He was happy, I was happy and the hell with Hallmark!
But for 30 years of birthdays, Richie has always replied to my question about what he wanted to do/celebrate his with "Nothing, It's Just Another Day." So I did it back to him re the anniversary. Many of you may be nodding to yourselves and thinking, "There won't be a 31st..."
The funny thing about this is, it IS just another day. Richie and I often go out for dinner; we occasionaly go out for breakfast as we did this morning and our lives are, generally speaking, quite peaceful. We don't even fight that often and when we do exchange heated words, it's the type of situation that is an irritant, not a major death blow to the relationship.
Today is the monthly meeting at noon, which lasts until 1 or 1:30 p.m. Normally I would go visit a friend on Tuesday afternoons from 2 to 3 p.m. but her husband is in the hospital after a stroke last Wednesday. Richie's got the dishwasher running right now. A very normal day.
I also resent the fact that Hallmark expects me to buy a card to tell my husband that I love him. God gave me a mouth; I can use it for a great deal less than $3.50. In fact, after breakfast we did hit the card store for a bereavement card and I slipped in an anniversary card (because he gave me one with coffee and the newspapers this morning.)
When I pulled out my money to pay for these items, he said, "No, I've got it" and I said, "You're not going to pay for your own anniversary card!" and he said, indignantly, "You don't have to buy me a card!" So I said, "Okay, read it and I'll put it back!" He did, I did and that was that.
He was happy, I was happy and the hell with Hallmark!
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