Book Report: The Help by Kathryn Stockett

So, if you have read anything since Freshman literature in college, everyone is trying to get you to read this book. It is ALL THE TALK.

The story takes place in Jackson, Mississippi from the years 1961-1964. It centers around the town's women and their "help" or the black women that work for too little money as their maids. The political/ social times are changing, but are presented only peripherally in the book, which leaves the reader with the impression that Jackson, Mississippi is and enclave within a country.

The story is told from the point of view of three women: two black maids, Abilene and Minny, and one young white woman who desperately wants to be writer. The young white woman, Skeeter, is given some advice from an editor in New York that she should submit some work on a controversial topic. Thereby gaining attention and maybe changing society in some way.

Though the women she will begin to write about are her closest childhood friends, Skeeter seizes on the opportunity to secretly interview their maids and find out how The Help is treated. Much secrecy ensues and difficult lives are revealed. Pillars of the community are found to treat their maids in a less than human fashion. Jackson, Mississippi finds itself exposed.

I thought that this book was incredibly readable, and I read it almost as fast as I read One Fifth Avenue. My college roommate pointed out that Kathryn Stockett had done a a great job of writing women with poor grammar (or maybe grammar colloquial to that time and station) as both intelligent and wise. This is abundantly correct. Kathryn Stockett also wrote about Southern heat in such a way that made you feel it. I felt sticky with sweat most of the book.

Overall though, I would describe it as the best book club book I have ever read. It encourages us to think broadly and be aware of all of society's cogs. The author is from Jackson and had a close relationship with her "help" as a child. She moved to New York to become a writer, so she clearly has the authority and intimate knowledge of the subject matter. I would thoroughly recommend reading it, though I feel The Help suffered in my estimation so soon after reading Marilynne Robinson's Home.

Saturday: It has been forever since I blogged

I think that this is my longest blog hiatus since I started my blog.  It was actually pretty painful, and I missed it.  IN FACT, I was so overcome with concern at not being able to report my comings and goings that I almost had a Mac attack on Friday night and went and bought an ipad, so that I could at least tap out a bit of my travails in Spain.  I do not think that I will travel again without some way to capture my experiences.  I took a notebook and made journal notes of everything we saw and did, but it was not the same.  

Anyway, Spain was really fabulous.  My friend Melissa and I travelled together and then met her sister once we reached Madrid.  Our flight over was brutal, and I do not mean to complain or sound like the Princess and the Pea, but there is no quality sleeping to be had on an overseas flight when you are flying coach.  I sort of have in my head that the next time I go overseas, I will put all my money into one of those British Airways flights where you can sleep in the first class beds.  I will be glad to save money elsewhere by sleeping in hostels and public parks and eating Grab the Gold bars that I have brought from home.  Anything seems a worthy sacrifice.  

We began our day with an 8 hour layover in New York, where we went to see the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the MET.  The clothes were stunning, the craftsmanship was unreal and the presentation was interesting, to say the least.  We were able to have lunch at the met and to be honest, I thought that we would never get out of the MET (The Metropolitan Museum of Art) as it seemed as large as the Louvre and the more we walked the more there was of everything that you can imagine.  It is amazing that as a world population we have provided so much stuff.  Just so much stuff.  

Our overseas flight was just the worst, as above mentioned.  I staggered off the plane shellshocked that anything that miserable could last 8 hours.  It seemed cruel and unusual.  We landed finally in Barcelona, and boarded a train to Madrid.  You know the trains were so much nicer that the plane, and I took many a fabulous train nap on our trip.  I usually strolled off the train thinking that life was worth living in the world of Renfe (the train company).  

So we arrived in Madrid at around 3:45 and walked with our luggage to the Hotel Mora.  It was quite nice and in walking distance of the train station and the Prado.  We checked into our hotel and took showers and walked down to the The Prado.  The Prado is a Spanish Art museum that houses portraits of the Spanish Royal family, many Catholic depictions of various Biblical events and some portraits of various events in the lives of Greek gods and goddesses (for instance Saturn eating a baby).  We saw art by Goya, Reubens and El Boscos.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  On the way home, we stopped at a tapas bar (La Taperia) for dinner and hit the room early for a good night's sleep before hitting Madrid hard on Monday.

Monday: On Monday, we embarked on one of my all time favorite things to do in the world:  a hop on/ hop off  bus tour.  The weather was lovely.  I wore the very best of my tennis shoe chic and packed up my trip journal and my camera and we were off.  We saw the Parque de Retiro, which houses the Crystal Palace, the Rose Garden and the Boat Pond.  We stopped into the Sal Monica shopping district mostly to find a bathroom, went to see the Palacio Real and Gardens which were once home to the Spanish Royal family.  It is said to rival Versaille, but I would disagree.  It is more eclectic with a porcelin room and a China room that you would never find in France, but it lacks the scope and especially the gardens.  We had lunch outside again as the weather was lovely.  In the evening we took a   modern tour of Madrid and saw the football stadium, some of the foreign embassies, the children's hospitals and Ingles, which is a sort of Bloomingdales of Spain.

Fo dinner, we walked to Plaza El Mayor.  It took us about 20 minutes to get there from our hotel.  We went to the Mercado del la Paz and had Churros and chocolate at San Gines.  They were crazy delicious.

Tuesday: Now, this morning, I got cocky and thought that I would go for a jaunty run through the streets of Madrid, and I felt a bit fancy as I ran through gardens, around the Prado, and circled around Neptune's fountain a couple of times.  I felt great when I came in.  I stopped at Starbucks on the way back to the Hotel Mora, and I felt like my day was off to a fabulous start.  I was, however, entirely incorrect about this.  I crashed hard as we were walking the Botanical and I took a park bench nap like a vagrant with horrible jet lag.  We had hoped to visit the Reina Sophia today, but it was closed and we missed Picasso's Guernica.  We had a quick lunch after the Botanical gardens, and then grabbed a train to Pamplona.  

I slept for most of the three hour train ride to Pamplona and when we stepped off the train I felt relatively refreshed, but it was only moments before I realized that by way of a surprise cold front, the weather had stabbed us in the back.  The weather had turned brutally cold and by the time we had moved into and then headed out of the dorms where we were staying, the temperature had dropped to 45ish degrees and it threatened rain.  It was bitterly cold.  It was so cold that I could not wrap my stiff fingers around my camera to document our evening.  On the way home from dinner, where incidentally, I had some amazing lasagna, it began to rain horizontally.  So cruel of Spain to treat us thus.  

Wednesday, June 1: So today, we were up early to catch the 7 AM bus to Bilbao so that we could tour the Guggenheim Museum of Modern Art.  I slept most of the way there, and the museum was stunning, but I was struck over and over with why they would have built it in Bilbao.  It was a three hour bus ride, and while the town of Bilbao was charming with medieval squares and a great little tram system, I couldn't, for the life of me, understand the choice of location.  I should read more about it, but it seemed that it should have been in a higher traffic location.  It seemed a bit like overlooking New York as a place for a center of modern art and turning instead to Paducah, Kentucky.  Also rather damning was the fact that the weather forced me to wear a sun dress with leggings and my dansko clogs, a cashmere sweater, a rain coat and a scarf. It was painfully frumpy.  

That aside, the museum was just stunning.  It was rife with works by Jeff Koons, a huge flower puppy and balloon like steel art.  There was a Port-a-jon with microphones over the toilet seat and megaphone speakers coming from the top of the port-a-jon that told just how much of our privacy has become public with the internet.  There was a screen  replaying the 1966 world cup while on another screen a 21st century crown cheered the game.  There was barbed wire art left over from apartheid, and pickled cow innards from Damien Hist that was supposed to help me come to terms with my own mortality.  A room of feminist art focused on fecal matter, which was rather unfortunate and actually did not resonate with me.  

After the museum, we toured the small city of Bilbao and then boarded our bus back to Pamplona (I slept the whole way home) where we got into bed early in anticipation of our early morning train ride to Barcelona.  

Thursday: I slept the whole way to Barcelona, we arrived about 11:00, and took a cab to the Hotel Condestable.  The Hotel Condestable had an amazing bathroom, but was otherwise rather sad and shabby with graffiti on the doors and paper thin walls that made it sound as if the man in the next room was actually snoring in my bed.  

ANYWAY, we took another Hop on/ Hop off tour and saw pretty much all Barcelona could offer us in two days.  We visited the Sagrada  Familia, which is the magnificent and unfinished cathedral by Gaudi.  It is over 100 years in the making and only halfway finished.  We also visited Gaudi's Parque Guell, the Palau Reial and Paellons Guell and Barcelona's futbol club.  All of these sights were amazing, we were near the ocean, and it was a great tour, but the weather somehow made Barcelona a lot less glamorous than Madrid had seemed to be.  I was still stuck in tacky, makeshift cold weather clothes and shivering about town in sad, sad tennis shoes.  I snacked on a grocery store dinner.

Friday: Somehow, today I slept until 10:30 AM, and it was completely lovely.  We started out hop on/ hop off tour rather late, but the weather was rather better and everything seemed a bit more positive.  We saw the Olympic ampi-theatre, and rode the Teleferic (air trolly) to the top of Montjuic so that we could see all of Barcelona and the ocean from this medieval fort of protection.  Of course, it was raining and cold at the top with even a bit of fog to block the view.  We visited the Barrio Gotic, went to the flea market and then toured the Catedral of Barcelona, which is their oldest church built close to the sea so that sailors could visit upon disembarking.  It was beyond medieval ornate and the church is still very much in use with people coming in and out for confession as we were touring.  We got in early, packed our bags and prepared ourselves for a 6 AM flight to Munich.

Saturday: We cut our connection from Munich to New York rather too close, the overseas films were just awful, I slept a  bit and made it home at 4 PM on Saturday.  

 No jet lag so far!!!

Sunday: The Rev 3 Knoxville and My Second Mother's Day

So, today My husband and I were up at 6:00 AM Knoxville time with Ivan (which is 5:00 AM for us) and headed out the door to get to the Rev 3 before they closed down the transition area. Now, this triathlon required that you check in your bike to transition the night before the race. This is both a worry and a relief, as it just great to leave it transition so that there is less hassle in the morning. The downside to this is that I spend the rest of the day slightly concerned about who is babysitting my bike and what if I get there tomorrow morning and the cold had changed the air compression in my tires and I have to pump them up when I am trying to worry about everything else. Confession: I am terrible at pumping up tires. It is a frustrating effort that often ends up with a completely flat tire or two.

Now, when I arrived at transition, my bike was fine, and I sat out the rest of my stuff. I had a momentary glitch where I couldn't find my goggles, and I think that my blood pressure shot up to dangerous levels. They were located, I got on my wetsuit and made my way to the dock to wait for the swim start.

Here is what I realized when I got to the dock: my wetsuit is horrible. It is too thick, it has a rip at the neck, the shoulders don't have enough give (so when I swim in it, it makes my shoulders sore), and the crotch is full on embarrassing. The crotch comes down too low, so it looks like I could carry my luggage in the gap between my wetsuit and my crotch. It is definitely sort of shameful to have crotch issues anywhere. Also, the gap makes my legs look short and this is the most intolerable injustice of all. I am, however, too frugal to spend money on a better wet suit that I will only use twice a year. I definitely want a pair of white jeans more than I want a new wetsuit. I talked to Jase Durard (in my swim group and coached by Richard Baker) at the start of the race, and he told me that he rents a wetsuit before races. This way, he can try whatever wetsuit he likes for whatever the circumstances of the race. Also, his wetsuit looked fantastic on him. So, renting a wetsuit will be my new plan of action.

SO, onto the race. I got in the water for my wave start, and I had no water panic issues. I swam easily, it got a bit crowded at the end, but the water was not too cold. My only real complaint with the swim was that they had no ladder to get out of the water and I had to hoist myself out with the help of a rather rough neck volunteer, who grabbed me by my arm and jerked me most ungracefully by my arm onto the dock, where I was laid out like a fish for a few seconds. Also, the swim was downstream in the beginning and you finished upstream. It took my 5 minutes to get downstream and like 19 to get back up. I ran to transition, struggled out of my wetsuit (9 minute transition time) and headed out on the bike.

Now, I was wet from the water, the temp in Knoxville was in the 50's, and there was a cold wind, combined with the wind you feel riding a bike. It was freezing. I could not feel my toes at all the whole time I was on the bike, and my bike posture was rigid from the cold. It was a hard bike course (lots of uphills and twisty downhills) , but I feel that it was one of my better bikes and my Todd Nordmeyer and Spinervals practice is helping me. Now, I am gauging this "better bikes" by the fact that I passed about 3 or 4 people on the bike. This is a first. I ONLY GET PASSED ON THE BIKE. To wit, according to the Rev 3 Results Page, I was in 55th place when I got out of the water, had fallen to 82nd place when I finished the bike, and moved up to 71st place by the time I finished my run. Interesting right; my bike sabotages me every time.

The run was easy. I averaged sub-8 minute miles, there was some slight confusion when you intersected with the bike course, but nothing huge. I finished at the REV 3 arch, and my husband got a picture. Thrilling. They gave me a tasty boxed lunch and a finishers technical tee. Also, I received the heftiest race medal of all time. It feels like an anvil. All in all, I am completely pleased with the whole race, and I think I will do it again next year. When you have done a race once, it makes doing it again easy, as you sort of know the drill. I might shoot for the half-iron next year, but this year Richard Baker said it best when he said "Right now, there is nothing I want to be doing for 5 hours".

The race was also fun, because it was relatively local. Jill Mongene, Jim Day, Jase Durard, Richard Baker, Scott (who use to swim with me), Judy Daggett, and lots of other fun people were there. That part is always fun as well.

We made it home with one blissful stop at Starbucks.

Pics from race are posted above. Also, embedded my Garmin bike. Run did not download.

Book Report: Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln by Doris Kearns Goodwin

Since sometime in the summer, July I think, I have been pretty immersed in Team of Rivals.  It was my first read by Doris Kearns Goodwin, and it was just a phenomenal read about a phenomenal man.  The crux of the book is how Lincoln put together a cabinet of men who had run against him in the Presidential elections or been unkind to him in his early professional life and used them to power through a terrible war and inspire the respect and love not only of those close to him but of a nation.

Lincoln's ability to delay his reactions, to think before he spoke, to relinquish the personal pain inflicted by others and to speak and act with a complete absence of pride and always the presence of humility made him seemingly a divine choice to be our 16th president.  On page 174 Goodwin states that Lincoln revealed "a singular ability to transcend personal vendetta, humiliation, or bitterness."  That statement sums up Lincoln's behavior with everyone in his life: his wife, his children, his colleagues and his enemies. He could let it all go and do the right thing EVERY TIME.  He did not look to satisfy or avenge.  He truly lived a life of forgiveness and putting others first in every situation.

In fact, the only criticism that I would have of Lincoln is that he should sometimes have acted faster.  He should have moved McClellan out as Major General earlier.  McClellan accomplished nothing for too long, but Lincoln gave him the benefit of the doubt.  He should have allowed Salmon Chase, the Secretary of the Treasury, to resign the first time he turned in a resignation letter, but he continued to be kind to him over and over even after he attempted to undermine Lincoln's reelection campaign which would have been devastating to a country at war.

When the South surrendered, Lincoln encouraged Grant to let Jefferson Davis (the president of the Confederate States) know that if he disappeared out of the country it would be best.  Lincoln had no desire to punish he and the other Confederate officers. Goodwin wrote well about how the South lost its greatest ally when Lincoln was assassinated; there was no one else who would have been as lenient.

I learned to really love and respect Ulysses S. Grant and and William T. Sherman.  They saw their jobs through to the end, forging ahead where McClellan had cowered. They had the great foresight to see that without decisive action they could not get to the end of the war and thus the end of the massive loss of life.  Also, they were not divas, they were low-key and worked hard.

I have so many favorite stories from Team of Rivals, but one that best illustrates Lincoln might be the time when he visited the front and there was not a horse his size, but he was determined to ride out and express his gratitude to the troops, so he climbed on the tiny horse that was available (maybe it was a mule) and his legs were too long for the stirrups so his legs just hung.  This made his pants ride up to his knees and his socks and legs were exposed and the soldiers all laughed, and he laughed with them.  He had no personal vanity that would have stopped him from making sure that every soldier felt appreciated.

I liked Mary Todd better than I thought.  She was horrible and made a hard life harder for Lincoln, but she put in a lot of hours working at the military hospitals and she lost three dear children and the remaining child committed her to an asylum later in life.  She did not have an easy time of it.

I think what most strikes me is that there was no one who should have had a leisurely retirement surrounded by his children more than Lincoln.  The tragedy of his loss for our country and just for the dear man that he was is so senseless that it hurts.  Doris Kearns Goodwin paints a picture of a man that you cannot help but love and feel drawn to. His death was incredibly emotional as there are quotes from his devastated cabinet members and the people who knew him best.

Having read American Lion earlier this year about Andrew Jackson, I cannot help but compare the trajectories of the two men.  It is ironic that Andrew Jackson, who spent most of his life alternately chasing and deserving death, lived to old age and died at home in his bed, while Lincoln who spent his life doing the opposite, should be taken from a family and country that needed him when he was quite young really.

I feel that this book is a must read, but it is a big commitment.

Book Report: American Lion: Andrew Jackson in the White House by Jon Meacham

Before I report on this book, I feel like I should tell you that I grew up in Nashville, specifically Old Hickory. We lived practically next door to Andrew Jackson elementary, and I have been to the Andrew Jackson's home The Hermitage more times than I can count. I have taken a walking tour of downtown Nashville, and sat in his pew in the Downtown Presbyterian Church. My parents eat Sunday lunch from time to time in the gift shop on the grounds of The Hermitage, and my husband mountain bikes on Saturdays with Rachel Donelson's (Jackson's wife) great great great great nephew. It is all rather incestuous, but I find that to be typically the case with all things Nashville. When Meacham described the wall paper in the main hall at the Hermitage, I could see it as clearly as I can see most familiar things from my childhood in my mind's eye. It is all I can say by way of explanation.

There are things about Andrew Jackson that I find highly attractive. I love it that he adopted Lincoya after a battle with the Creek nation, sending him home to the Hermitage to be raised as his own. I love it that he refused to clean the boots of a British officer during the revolution, which earned him a saber scar across the face. I love it that when at odds of 125,000 to one BOTH of his assassin's pistols misfired, he attacked (at the age of 68) before anyone else. I am proud of him for disregarding the moral complications of his friend Eaton's wife and keeping his as a friend and an advisor. My favorite is that Andrew Jackson gave Abraham Lincoln his first government job as postmaster.

I cannot disregard that he was the first President to come from outside the Washington circle. He was our seventh president, and he booted out John Quincy Adams for his office. He opened up the White House for his inauguration in an attempt to appear egalitarian, but it was embarrassment and a disaster with drunks galore. He did not have one living blood relative by the time he moved into the White House, and as much as he tried to arrange his wife's family about him, he was often very much alone.

Also, however, it is important to address the Trail of Tears, which was more than terrible. (It was admirably addressed in Charles Frazier's 13 Moons.) If I were to judge, I would say that Jackson's serious antipathy for the American Indians nations began at Fort Mims, where Jackson was sent to quell an attack by the Creek Indians (pgs 30-31). The atrocities committed were almost unreadable for me. Jackson responded to the Fort Mims situation, after others had refused. Jackson, unlike the other that had refused, felt obligated to respond, though he was seriously injured (absolutely his own fault, however, I'll tell you all about it later). Respond he did, and though the uprising was generally over when he arrived, he retaliated. His retaliation ended a year later with the cessation of 23 MILLION acres of Creek land (most of Alabama and some of Georgia), and the famous Battle of Horseshoe Bend and New Orleans. But in a rather bizarre twist of fate, he found and adopted the infant Lincoya whom he raised as his own.

Though you hear much of the love story between he and Rachel and the scandal that followed, the scandal was apparently a rather common thing at a time when information was only available by post and the post was not always that often in what was then the frontier. Next, Andrew was rarely at home with Rachel, as he rarely said no to a call for help or to defend a friend. He wrote great letters, and I do think that he thought of Rachel as his rock and considered her family his own. He just wasn't around very much; he was a fighter and an adventurer, not so much a husband.

Finally, the serious injury that I mentioned above was the result of a RIDICULOUS loss of temper. He had a heard a rumor that the Benton brothers were speaking ill of a friend of Jackson's (no one remembers who the "friend" was) and Jackson decided to attack. He ran into the Benton brothers at a hotel downtown in Nashville, Jesse and Thomas, brandished a whip, then pulled a gun. Jesse shot Jackson first and then John Coffee (friend of Jackson's) pushed Thomas down the stairs. Then one of Rachel's nephews (who just happened to be there) tried to kill Jesse (probably the sharpest tool in that shed) with a knife, just because he thought he should probably be on Jackson's side.

Jackson (quite his own fault) sustained the worst injury and bled through two mattresses. When told his arm would have to be amputated, he said "I'll keep my arm". Jackson kept his arm, was delivered back home to Rachel at the Hermitage, and stayed there for only a month before getting the call to Fort Mims and responding immediately. He refused to allow Thomas Benton to hate him over the whole affair, and in later years, Benton was one of his closest friends. Meacham says this of Jackson, "He knew how to make amends when he had to and possessed enough charm to turn longtime enemies into new friends."

You know, when I read John Adams by David McCullough, I wasn't conflicted when I finished. John Adams lived his life in such a way that there is not one element that you couldn't respect. Adams was well educated, his temper was only lost to righteous causes and never violently, he had the same friends his whole life.

Jackson is different; his flaws are myriad and just terrible. His kindnesses are equally overwhelming. His resolve is unparalled, he would have resigned his post as president rather than allow a bank that he thought took advantage of working men or allow cessation of any part of our country. He was the least educated president to that point, John Quincy Adams was appalled at his election. Jackson never even attempted to follow the establishment. He followed Jackson. When his niece and nephew tried to socially cut the wife of his friend, Jackson sent them home to Nashville and lived in Washington alone rather than give in to their judgement. When Abraham Lincoln was writing his inaugural address, he first asked for everything written by Jackson.

So, I don't know what to say other than that you have to read this book. If you can have an idea of this man, Meacham gives that. But, I wonder if anyone really knew Jackson. I wonder if everyone tiptoed around knowing that while he was quite charming, and his feats were rather amazing, he might decide to whip you or pull a gun no matter how close a friend or family you thought you were. A Nashville legend goes that a visitor after the death of Jackson asked a slave on the property if Jackson had gone to heaven to which the slave replied, "If the General wants to go, who's going to stop him". Everyone must have thought that about him. He didn't free any slaves, by the way. He did say on his death bed, that he would see them all in heaven regardless of color. Nice, but hardly adequate.

Pics are of the cover of the book and John Quincy Adams at his most disgusted. It is my favorite picture of him. Who has the best Bio of John Quincy by the way? He spoke Russian in the 1700's, for the Love of Mike.

Book Report: The Times We Had by Marion Davies

So, I have a Hearst thing, and if you have ever been to San Simeon you also have a Hearst thing.  The magnitude, the weirdness, the Davies/Hearst relationship; it is all just too fascinating for words.  The night that I ran the Huntsville marathon, I watched a film about William Randolph Hearst and Orson Welles and the whole Citizen Kane thing.  Then, the following night, I watched a documentary about Marion Davies.  The film about Hearst and Welles was all about the desperate stab that William Randolph Hearst took at stopping the release of Citizen Kane. Hearst could not stop it, because he filed for bankruptcy and could not free up funds to pay a lawyer for a seemingly frivolous law suit.  The Susan Alexander character in Citizen Kane was of course supposed to be modeled after Marion Davies with the only difference being that Marion was a stage and film actress, not an opera singer and Marion never left Hearst.

Now, the documentary, was narrated by Charlize Theron and produced by Hugh Hefner.  It sort of makes sense that Hugh Hefner would feel that it was his personal responsibility to take up for all the sixteen-year-olds in the world who take up with married 60 year old men.  So that kind of cracked me up, but it was an interesting documentary.  The whole thing talked about Marion Davies' intelligence and talent as an actress, and I guess as a silent film star she was not afraid to do slapstick comedy.

SO, watching these two films inspired me to purchase Marion Davies autobiography, The Times We Had. Let me just tell you, it just about Hearsted me out.  Now, Orson Welles wrote the introduction to the book, which seemed like a bit of a kick in the pants to old William Randoph Hearst who was deceased at the time of the writing and publication.  I can only fathom that Welles agreed to write it out of some deep personal guilt he felt out of portraying Marion Davies so accurately on film after trespassing on her kindness for several weeks at San Simeon.  Welles alludes to this much in his intro, blaming himself for the public perception of Marion Davies. (I am not EVEN going to tell you what I found out that "Rosebud" was purported to mean. It is just too much.) Welles may have had something to do with it, BUT he was right on the money.  He did not represent her falsely right down to the jigsaw puzzles that were her primary source of solitary amusement.  Reading and playing cards were not within her realm of ability.

The Times We Had was a deep deep disappointment.  It is the epitome of what happens when someone is famous for the wrong reasons, and someone convinces her to write a book about it.  As far as I could tell, she was so low and unable to manage her own life that the best thing that ever happened to her was having someone who was reasonably smart and well seated like Hearst scoop her up, silence her and keep her out of as much trouble as he could.  The trouble he could not keep her out of, he could at least keep out of the papers.

Now the book was probably written in her alcoholic heyday, but even accommodating that misfortune, it is poorly written.  It appears to be the work of someone who is trying to cover up/ explain what she wants you to hear, but she does not realize that you kind of know the real story. For instance, she explains the mysterious death or Thomas Ince at San Simeon by saying "I was really furious about the Thomas Ince story. Tom was sick for two days and then died. It (the idea that W.R. Hearst had killed Ince in a fit of jealousy) was the most ridiculous story I ever heard in my life, but when you have an association with a very well known man like W.R. (Hearst) you are bound to get it."

That is sort of how most of the book runs.  Marion explaining that people thought Hearst had done one thing or another, but he really had not; everyone was happy; everything was perfect.  BUT, there are countless instances of Hearst going back to New York to visit his wife and family for however long he felt like being away and leaving Marion with a sitter who made sure that she did not get too drunk or sleep with anyone else.  They had a child, but Hearst insisted she stay a secret, so the child (Patricia Van Cleve Lake) was sent to live with Marion's sister and Marion went on living the way that Hearst insisted that she live.

I guess it was the story of this sort of lost and wayward life that was swept into the overpowering trajectory that was life with William Randolph Hearst and absorbed by it.  To let go of a life, a child, and sublimate any desire that you might have to do anything of your own accord, to have no expectations of your life partner but that he take care of you materially is rather stunning and the fact that her life devolved into alcoholism after Hearst's death is not at all surprising.  She was not allowed at the funeral, and she was largely ignored by his estate.

Rather amazing though, Hearst's money troubles, which stemmed from failing magazines, the upkeep of San Simeon and purchase upon foolish purchase of European art that he could not even store, were pulling him under financially.  Marion went of her own accord, so she says, to Hollywood from San Simeon and sold much of the jewelry that Hearst had given her, coming up with one million dollars to help pull his finances to a manageable state. (The receipt for it is published in the book.) Hearst could not bear to part with any of his collections, and Marion took things into her own hands.  It was pretty amazing and maybe the greatest example of Marion's total submission to Hearst's selfishness.  She was not a partner really, she was a pet in the worst sense of the word.

It was a rather depressing read, but in true Betsy Sloan form I insisted on trudging through to the end.  OH, and the other interesting thing was that the book's editors ended up writing lengthy notes on most every page to try to explain and decipher Marion's stories and personal history and bad grammar and incomplete tellings of various things.

Yeah, so do not read this book.  Read something else.

Hood to Coast: Team Yazoo runs 24:05 hotrollers included

Hello Friends

I have been gone for four days whole days. I have not seen a television, though I have had minimal access to a computer. In my absence we have lost DJ AM, and had some lovely weather has come through Tennessee. I have run Hood to Coast and had a really lovely time.

If I may refresh you, Hood to Coast is a race where you run three legs of a 197 mile relay race, which you are trying to complete in more or less 24ish hours to be competitive. It involves 12 runners, each runner running three legs. The runners are divided into two 6 person vans. Runner one starts at the top of Mount Hood and runs until they meet the second runner at a relay exchange, and then to the third runner and so on until you meet the sixth runner. During all runs the van is following along picking up the runner who is finishing and dropping the runner who is starting. Now, when the 6th van runner (me!!!) finishes, she hands off the baton to the first runner in van two (leg 7) and they start their legs in the same manner as van one, while van one gets some rest time. When van 2 finishes their runs, they must be met at the right time by van 1 to start the whole process over and so on until the last runner on van two crosses the finish line on the beach 197 miles later.

I ran legs 6, 18, and 30. Leg 6 was an almost eight mile leg that involved a good bit of uphill. I began running it at approximately 9:30ish at night and ran-sub seven minute miles (thank you very much). At about 1:00ish AM, my turn came around again for leg 18 and I ran a little over four miles through a particularly smelly patch of the Portland area. The course was quite hilly and uneven. My time dropped to slightly less than eight minute miles and it was not my most favored athletic moment. Following this run, I slept in the van until I woke up (several blissful hours later) to take a shift at keeping our heroic driver awake as we drove. I ran my final downhill leg 30 of 5 miles at around 12:00ish PM in the afternoon. I maintained 7:15 miles and was pretty proud of this considering the degree of my soreness.

After this, we packed up the van and headed to the beach to check into our beach houses and shower up before we met van 2 on the beach for the dramatic finish of the last of our runners. Our final time was 24:05, which is quite fast. We had group pictures made, and then moved on to let everyone else get ready for an amazing dinner at our beach house.

OK, all that explaining behind, let me tell you some quirks (to state it kindly) about traveling in a cheap rental minivan with me for 24 hours:

1. OH, honey, I OVERPACK. It is like a disease. I swear I showed up for a three evening excursion looking like Mariah Cary about to head out on a world tour. Make up, hot rollers, 6 sports bras, two pairs of running shoes, three possible jacket options, I don't even want to know how many bathing suits, swim caps, goggles, cowboy pajamas. Athletic options, casual options, my peeper sleepers, my monogramed fleece blanket, a towel dress, a sleeping bag, two novels, the September issue of Vogue, a book of New York Times cross word puzzles, and the kitchen sink. You name it, I brought it, just in case. It is a sickness. I arrived to live in a minivan for 24 hours with 5 other people and that much luggage. I need an intervention and a lesson in basic human consideration. That's all there is to it. If you invite me on a trip, you sit me down and monitor my packing, lest you have to ride on the roof of our rented car like a teen wolf to accommodate my luggage.
2. I am a sleeper. I like myself a good eight to nine hours each night. At Hood to Coast the idea is that you man up and stay up. You cheer on your teammates while they run at off hours of the night and you offer everyone the back seat to stretch out and catch some zzzzzs in shifts. You take turns, unless you are like me and you crawl into the back seat with your peeper sleepers and your monogrammed fleece blanket and your sleeping bag with the intention of a one hour cat nap only to wake up approximately 6 hours later as fresh as a daisy. I got better sleep in the back seat of that mini van than I did before I had a baby and my husband was out of town, and I had the whole king-sized bed to myself. I met the red rimmed eyes of my fellow team mates with guilt, yes, but also the realization that for me, it was officially the best Hood to Coast ever.
3. Nerd Alert: I have a love affair with crossword puzzle books. I have a vision of myself winning the New York Times Crossword Puzzle contest. I can get sucked into a Will Shortz crossword puzzle and lose myself in a word like "curmudgeon" that has fallen out of vogue, or looking up obscure actors that are desperately placed when there is a need for low-frequency letters. Beware of me on a trip; I am the girl who will try to interest you in helping me with all the sports clues and try to entertain you with anecdotes from Wordplay, the brilliant documentary about New York Times crossword puzzling. I might hound you about finding out the monetary currency of Saudi Arabia (the Riyal!!!!). Back slowly away, when I begin speaking of my frustration with clues that do not specify one or two word answers, because at this point I have lost all social reference points.

These three things are pretty damning, friends. Do you want me to go on your next vacation? Think about it long and hard. I would encourage you to help me pack, think about the sleep situation, and hide the crossword puzzle books. I am out there and I am vain, selfish, and nerdy, oh so nerdy. Think about it now, once you have asked me, there is no turning back.

Book Report: The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson

So this was the last book in The Girl Who.... series about Lisbeth Salander and Mikael Blomkvist, the strangely matched crime fighting/ mystery solving duo from Sweden. It was a very fast read, with many interesting twists and turns and I was quite sad when I read the last page. I had this odd sort of "I can't wait to read the next one" kind of feeling, and then, I remembered that there were no more of them, because of Stieg Larrson's untimely passing. This is a bummer and has left me no alternative but to begin reading Team of Rivals which is good and I am learning and loving the strength and intellect of Abraham Lincoln, but it lacks the page turning nature of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.

Anyway, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest begins with Lisbeth Salander being admitted to the hospital with a bullet in her head. She is then placed only a few rooms down the hall from her father, who is responsible for the bullet. It turns out that he is a spy and Mikael Blomkvist and Lisbeth Salander (once she recovers from brain surgery and Mikael has smuggled her palm computer into the hospital room) must work together to find out the particulars.

Their investigation leads them into the heart of the Swedish government, where there is clearly corruption involved. Once she recovers enough to go to trial, Lisbeth must also defend herself against her classification as a mentally disabled person, so that she can live free and have charge of her own affairs and money. With the help of her creepy internet friends, Mikael Blomkvist, Mikael's sister (who is pulled in as Lisbeth's lawyer), and a whole host of police officers fighting for right, Lisbeth, of course, triumphs.

These books have been undeniably fascinating, but I have a few criticisms. For one, there were SO MANY new characters that I was constantly forgetting who they were and why they were there. I just couldn't bring myself to make a notebook page of characters so that I could keep everyone straight. It is a novel, for the love of Mike; a summer read!!!!

Another issue, is that I just can't get into the whole publishing world aspect of the novels that Larrson seems to push. The ups and downs of editors, people leaving newspapers to work for other newspapers, sideline plots about drama of higher-ups at newspapers. Honestly, there was a whole side plot about overpriced toilets that were made in Thailand or some such, that I only wanted to stop.

Also, I began to find the whole weird relationship between Mikael Blomkvist and Erica Berger a little too something; maybe too Swedish, too unbelievable, or just too unnecessary. They have this 25 year relationship, where they have ruined each other's relationships, prevented each other from moving on, and everyone is supposed to be comfortable with the fact that they have this magnetic relationship that keeps drawing them together, even though Erica is married to someone else and Mikael tries to date other people, but his relationships are generally ruined by his relationship with Berger. It was beginning to wear on me. Larrson should have wrapped that aspect of the trilogy in the first novel. OR, maybe I am not Swedish enough and that aspect of the the culture is lost on me, Betsy Sloan, quite possibly least Swedish person I know.

Finally, I thought that this Norah Ephron article in The New Yorker was hilarious, because is also made the very good point that Lisbeth Salander is almost needlessly terse and irritable all the time. Ehpron also makes the very good point THAT whenever Stieg Larrson is writing about street names or cities or buildings, we have no idea what he is talking about because those names are so incredibly foreign.

Book Report: The Life of the Party: The Biography of Pamela Digby Churchill Hayward Harriman By Christopher Ogden

Now, back in the days when I was breastfeeding, and Ivan had just been born and I was spending hours at a time in the rocker in Ivan's room, I was watching a copious amount of movies and miniseries and such. I watched John Adams (life-changing) , Rome (scandalous) , Mad Men (really good), and The History Channel Presents: Winston Churchill. Now, the Winston Churchill footage was amazing. It was all of his speeches, and the German propaganda songs (The Man with the Big Cigar), and interviews with his daughter-in-law and his grandson (Young Winston). I thoroughly enjoyed all of it, and now that I am reminiscing about it, may have to watch it again. It was inspirational, and I might have shed a few tears.

Anyway, the woman that was interviewed the most about Winston Churchill was Pamela Digby Churchill Hayard Harriman. "Who is that??" I continually asked myself. She was older, yet attractive and spoke about Winston Churchill as if she knew him best of all, better than his daughter (who was also interviewed and was rather dull). Pamela was vivacious and warm and quite pleasant. SO, I decided to look her up. She has a Wikipedia page, and it is completely enticing. For this reason, I needed to read a book about her. SHE WAS A MYSTERY TO ME, AND I HAD TO KNOW MORE. I found one book that is now out of print, but I ferreted it out of the used books on Amazon. It is called The Life of the Party: the Biography of Pamela Digby Churchill Hayward Harriman. It is written by Christopher Ogden. Ogden has also written a book about Margaret Thatcher. He doesn't have a Wikipedia page or any page at all, and I would really like to know more about him.

The whole story behind the book is remarkable. He and Pamela entered into a legal agreement whereby Ogden would write her biography. As he began to dig up dirt, she balked at the agreement and they had a legal/financial squabble that ended in another agreement which was that he would write the book with no help from her. He interviewed 200 people that had known her when and learned much more than anyone wanted him to. Overall, everyone he talked to seemed to genuinely dislike her very much. Ogden himself seemed to hate her as well. Maybe the only biography that I have ever read where the author was absolutely hateful about his subject.

Anyway, to sum up. Pamela Digby was an English country aristocrat with no title and only a small annuity who moved to London and had a random date with Winston Churchill's son Randolph. Randolph was a well-known drunk and abuser and deeply in debt like the rest of the Churchills. He had proposed to several women before (all who said no), as he was desperate to procreate before going off to war (though Winston Sr. would never really let him go anywhere dangerous as he was the only son).

He proposed to Pamela and based on the importance of his father, she said yes. She married Randolph, became pregnant, and left Randolph and sent their son (Young Winston) off to be raised in the country until he was 5ish, at which time she passed him off to relatives, until he was old enough to go to boarding school where he stayed until he graduated. The neglect was the most disturbing aspect of the book.

Anyway, Pamela parlayed her new Churchill last name and the neglected son into meetings and relationships with famous and wealthy men. Among them were:

• Averell Harriman
• Edward R. Murrow (amazing broadcast journalist)
• Jock Whitney
• Aly Khan (later married Rita Hayworth)
• Baron Elie de Rothschild
• An Agnelli Heir (Fiat)
• Stavros Niarchos
• Leland Hayward (who became her second husband)
• Averell Harriman again (who became her third husband)

All of these men were married and Pamela was so desperate to be married and spending so wildly that she converted to Catholicism in a failed attempt to convince the Agnelle heir to marry her. She seemed to spend most of her life alone between relationships and hiding from wives, she developed cancer from an STD and a myriad of other tragic health issues related to what you would think.

She seemed to think that each man would divorce his wife for her but it never worked out until she met the recently widowed Leland Hayward when she was in her forties. To her surprise, Hayward was in an unfortunate way financially and when he died, she had nothing but a house, which could not maintain her lifestyle. In a strange turn of events, she stayed with Frank Sinatra (though not romantically) for a while after she was widowed and then contacted Averell Harriman after his wife died. This time, he married her within months. She was fifty-ish, and he was eighty-ish.

This marriage made her HUGELY wealthy. Averell left everything to Pamela, something close to a net of a billion dollars. This included several homes, a jet, an art collection that was just stunning. He pretty much left his children cold. It was an amazing coup, though she didn't really get her hands on any of it until Averell died when Pamela was 65 or 70.

For whatever reason, though she was a British citizen and typically a quite conservative one, in the vein of Winston Churchill, she became a HUGE supporter of the democratic party. She was influential in getting Bill Clinton elected, and he rewarded her with an ambassadorship to France. Which is where she lived, in the embassy, until she died after swimming laps at the Paris Ritz-Carlton.

To sum up, a fascinating but really terrible person. A quote from a "friend" is as follows: "She is totally self-centered and narcissistic." So, WOW. WOW. Nobody likes her, but she got what she wanted in the end. COMPLETELY. It was a quick read, some of the Democratic party minutia got a little dull in the end, but just really interesting and I felt I learned a lot about the culture of London during World War II.

On to a fiction book: The Elegance of the Hedgehog.

Friday Workout: Swim, Gilad, Yoga, and Chocolate Cake

Ooooh, I got a fabulous night's sleep last night, and I missed my run. So worth it, however. SO WORTH IT. I am so thrilled over a great night's sleep. It was almost as good as the back seat of the Hood to Coast van!!!

Anyway, I did get to swim and had a great workout. I tried to keep up with Jaimie and Annie. Jaime and Annie are master's level swimmers and they swam in high school and maybe college. Long time age group swimmers are way out of my league. They have Phelps-like grace in the water. They can dolphin swim off the wall, they can dive off the blocks like champs, and you should see their butterfly. It took everything I had to make their intervals, let alone get to the wall at the same time they did.

Here is Dennis' workout for today:

• 200 swim/ 200 drill
• 3 x 200 swim (no interval)
• 12 x 100 (odds IM/ evens swim) 2:00
• 400 pull 7:00
• 6 x 100 swim descend 1:50

3200 hundred meters in all!! Water was cold, but it was a great swim. My dive is not improving at all, I think I panic and look up at the last minute. My summer goal was to dive off the blocks, but the summer is over, sports fans, and I have not reached my goal. Maybe I will get there by Christmas.

By the way, is everyone familiar with IM. IM stands for Individual Medley, and it means that you start out with the butterfly stroke for the first 25 yards, then go on to 25 backstroke, then go to 25 breast stroke and finish with 25 free style. The butterfly stroke is really hard for me and I have no fluidity. It sends my heart racing out of my chest and I am always so relieved to get to the backstroke so that I can breathe easily.

I do the IM with fins on, because I pretty much can't make three yards of the butterfly without fins. Fins also help with the backstroke and the freestyle. Fins DO NOT help the breaststroke. You have to dolphin kick with fins instead of breaststroke kick, and it is like a train wreck in the middle of your IM sequence, or mine anyway.

So, I picked up Ivan from the nursery, and he was in baby time out. BABY TIME OUT. He apparently turned over the baby snack table, was told "no", then ran to the baby snack table and turned it over again, was told "no", then turned over the baby snack table for the third time and had to sit in Ms. Glenda's lap, which apparently constitutes baby time out.

Got home, and did Gilad and Yoga. Yoga was a lot of balancing and upward facing dog. Felt great. Headed out to my parents' home for dinner. Fabulous chocolate cake for dessert. Two pieces!!

Book Report: Superfoods Rx: Fourteen Foods That Will Change Your Life

OK, Allan Horner told me I had to read this book, and I bought it immediately. The Superfoods are surprisingly easy to get into your diet, except for the wily pumpkin. I mean, you can only make so much pumpkin pudding and it is very difficult to cut up a regular pumpkin. I have had to substitute it (most of the time) with one of its easier to prepare cousins, the sweet potato.

Anyway, the Superfoods are:

• Beans - reduce obesity
• Blueberries - lower the risk for cardiovascular disease
• Broccoli - lower the incidence of cataracts and fights birth defects
• Oats - reduces the risk of type II diabetes
• Oranges - help prevent strokes
• Pumpkin - lowers the risk of various cancers
• Wild salmon - lessens the risk of heart disease
• Soy - lowers cholesterol
• Spinach - decreases the chance of cardiovascular disease and age-related macular degeneration
• Tea - helps prevent osteoporosis
• Tomatoes - rase the skin's sun protection factor
• Turkey - helps build a strong immune system
• Walnuts - reduces the risk of developing coronary heart disease, diabetes, and cancer
• Yogurt - promotes strong bones and a healthy heart

So the book starts out with this chilling comparison epiteth about old age:

"You are making decisions right now, at your very next meal, that will affect how you spend the rest of your life, whether you are 22 year old or 62. See this book as the fork in the road:

One way lead to a handicapped space in front of the mega drugstore. You're 68 years old .... you take 9 prescription medications and on a good day you can walk around the block with your grandson. On a bad day, you log a lot of TV time.

There's another choice..... You're 68 years old and you've just finished a tennis game with your pals. You duck out of line (at the farmer's market) to grab a small red cabbage and smile when the cashier says, "I don't know where you get your energy!".

It's a simple choice, really: the right foods or prescription drugs."

Oh, My Gosh!!! I have to be that 68 year old at the farmer's market. I HAVE TO BE. I HAVE TO BE.

So, I have incorporated several aspects of Superfoods into my life.

1. I drink a glass of V-8 everyday
2. My Grab the Gold bars are chocked full of oats
3. I eat blueberries in a smoothie or my cereal everyday
4. I have changed to soy milk in my cereal. Easy switch, by the way
5. I put soy powder into my smoothie
6. I have a yogurt smoothie every other day
7. I put walnuts on all my salad for lunch everyday
8. On every salad I make at home, I put a bunch of chopped spinach on top
9. I drink two green teas for breakfast and two whites throughout the day
10. Lots of hummus
11. Lots of high vitamin C juice sips through out the day
12. I am pretty much down to turkey and salmon for meat
13. Again, the pumpkin thing is hard, I am dependent on the sweet potato
14. I am kind of lazy about broccoli

So, Superfoods has changed my life. I mean, I have read the Perricone Prescription and The Zone, both are good. The Zone is the book that Jennifer Anniston supposedly followed it and it is about protein and portion sizes. The Perricone Prescription is about protein and portion sizes, but it talks about getting high quality proteins and emphasizes salmon and speaks more about complexion. Superfoods is my favorite for talking about an all around livable healthy lifestyle. I encourage you to pick up a copy today!!!

Friday: Christmas Marathon

Oh yes friends, today was the day that I wore two Christmas outfits and Ivan wore two Christmas smocks, and we went hardcore holiday.  First on the roster was Ivan and I's attendance at a Christmas tea.  Now, this was insane of me to even attempt, but sometimes I have a terrible memory lapse of how bad the last event was and I try to take Ivan.  Today, I knew it was time to leave when I thought Ivan was standing beside me while a woman in a beautiful pair of quilted Chanel pumps was telling me about potty training her children.  Now, she had not really potty trained her children, it appeared to me that the "help" had potty trained when I heard the full story.  AND, can we just talk about how why is it that your child always does something horrible when you are standing beside a woman wearing Chanel pumps who has perfect children.

Anyway, of course, Ivan was not standing right beside me and when I found him, he was in the hostess' bathroom at the vanity mirror with her tub of moisturizer that is WAY out of my price range, just moisturizing away.  His cheeks, legs, arms and coat were well moisturized, and I, Betsy Sloan, was forced to clean up her bathroom and my child as if I were the "help" and then apologize to everyone and vacate the premises like a common vagrant.




From the tea, Ivan and I went for a visit with friends, which went reasonably well.  He did spill his bottle in the bathroom, but they were good friends, and they probably knew that was coming. After a great nap at home, Ivan and I headed in to have a picture made with Santa Claus.  While we did have the usual mall shenanigans, and yes, Ivan did manage to hop into someone else's picture with Santa Claus.  We made a reasonable picture and headed home where potty training began.

Now, I will say that when your child is asking you to put on their diaper so that they can go to the bathroom, they have some idea of how to control the emissions.  So, I felt that was a good part of Ivan's training.  During the two hours that I potty trained this afternoon, Ivan asked for his diaper repeatedly before looking at me with GREAT resentment and heading to the potty.  I, meanwhile, cheered harder than any Spartan cheerleader ever did for everything that hit the toilet bowl.  No accidents so far though.

After two hours of cheering, encouraging, checking the corners and behind all the doors to make sure that all of Ivan's potty entries had indeed gone into the potty, my nerves were rather frayed.  It had been a long day and a woman in Chanel pumps had told me that she had perfect children.  SO, I met my friend Missy out for the most fun holiday drinks of all time and when asked, I might have said, "Why yes, I will have another!!"

All day potty training tomorrow.  See you there,

Saturday: I Flaked, but Pulled It Out in the End

So this morning, I hit snooze and then slept through the alarm the second time. I saw the clock at 7:00 AM when Ivan woke up, and realized that my whole running group was leaving out for the second round of their run. I flaked, and I don't usually flake on Saturday morning runs.

It has only happened maybe a couple of times, and usually when it does, I sit around on the couch all day feeling guilty and accomplishing nothing. Today, however, was different. Very different. I got up at 7ish and had breakfast (steel cut oats from the crock pot) while Ivan watched The Wiggles, and I read Andrew Jackson. I read Andrew Jackson for three episodes of The Wiggles, and then Ivan and I played around the house until it was time for his nap.

When it was time for Ivan's nap, I placed him in the crib and then I crawled onto the trainer for one hour and 45 minutes. I did the entire Spinervals Endurance Boost. It was not completely pleasant, but I was thrilled with myself that I made it the whole way through. Coach Troy had many intervals set up. As best I can remember it went like this:

• 5 minute warm-up
• 15 minute big chain ring interval with the back chain at 15
• 15 x one minute interval with 15 minutes rest in between each interval
• 10 x 90 second interval with 20 second rest in between
• 7 x 3 minute interval with 30 second rest in between
• 3 x 5 minute interval with 2 minutes rest in between
• 15 minute interval in the big chain with alternating cadence and postures
• 5 minute cooldown

It was a hardcore workout, and by the end I was hurting and really having to push to maintain Coach Troy's instruction. Also, Ivan woke up one hour and 15 minutes into the workout, and the final 30 minutes of the workout were somewhat compromised. I was forced to stop the bike on three occasions to chase down Ivan and firmly encourage him not to stand on the dining room table, dump Mommy's purse upside down, or terrorize the cat. I let him sit (bounce from knee to knee) in my lap while I rode my 5 minute cool down.

The second time I got back on the bike, I forgot to restart my Garmin and I cut off 15 minutes of my ride. So frustrating. All in all, I would say I rode 27 or 28 miles, which is really impressive right? It is the most I have ever ridden on the trainer, even in one of Todd's classes. I do have to say that I almost cannot fathom riding the 2 and a half hour Spinerval DVD. Good grief! Maybe I can recruit someone to ride with, because it would certainly help to have company so that we could gripe at Coach Troy and make up funny life stories about the people riding in class. Hhhmmm, must think hard about possible recruits.

After my ride, I loaded Ivan into the jog stroller and ran an easy three miles. It was really just to show my legs that I could run after a significant bike ride, and I could. Though I have to say, running with a jog stroller after a pretty hard bike ride does not see like an easy three miles.

Now, at home, my husband had brought home a Betty Crocker Brownie Mix, because a Publix grocery employee informed him that "if you like chocolate, you will like this". I have been trying to think of an analogy that I think is similar to this statement, and here it is: "If you like alcoholic beverages, then you will love Pabst Blue Ribbon". Pabst Blue Ribbon may be fine, but there are many alcoholic beverages that you may want to enjoy, and, truth be told, many that are better than Pabst Blue Ribbon. So I felt that the Publix employee statement was some sort of sarcastic oversimplification of the love of chocolate. Not that this stopped me from making the brownies and eating so many of them that I think there is a good chance that I will have to destroy the ones that remain, lest I eat them all. My husband has not eaten one, just so you know.

As for my goal of getting in some yoga, I achieved it. I am not yet finished with Andrew Jackson, but it is only 10:00 PM and I only have 35 pages left!!

Pics are of my leash walk with Ivan yesterday!!!