Julia London's Blog, page 25

Happy birthday, Julie!

May all your birthday wishes come true! (I guess you just need some candles? Anyone?)

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Friday Question: TV-Inspired by Ti

Yesterday, Ti asked a Cheers question in the comments: Rebecca or Diane. I was a Rebecca fan myself, could not stand Diane. But that’s not today’s question. Consider it a bonus question.  

Today’s question is:

Classic TV: What’s your favorite classic TV show? If you consider a current show a classic one, I suppose you could answer with a current show. But I’m thinking of all the great shows through time. I Love Lucy, Laugh-In, Cheers, Seinfeld, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, Brady Bunch, Partridge Family, M*A*S*H, and etc. Which would you choose as your absolute favorite?

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The One In Which Sherri Thinks Gaga a Hero

Lady Gaga. She rose to fame incredibly fast and she has worn some awful things for attention. Or for the sake of being Lady Gaga. Image is everything? She’s a talented woman and doesn’t need that extra frou, but whatever. What I love about Gaga this week is that she committed the horrible faux pas- in celebworld- of gaining weight! And not even trying to hide it!

These ABC news photos are from the same week, by the way. Um, wow?

And then proclaiming herself happy about it. Her comments to a radio station:

“I’m dieting right now, because I gained, like, 25 pounds. And you know I really don’t feel bad about it, not even for a second.”

“I have to be on such a strict diet constantly. It’s hard because it’s a quite vigorous show, so I tend to bulk up, get muscular, and I really don’t like that.  So I’m trying to find a new, improved balance now.”

A lovely departure from this, her earlier tweet (from April) about her own weight struggles:

Just killed back to back spin classes. Eating a salad dreaming of a cheeseburger #PopSingersDontEat#IWasBornThisWay

Which is still refreshing for the honesty. I always knew those celebrity skinnies did not eat. AHA! So now she’s eating, and enjoying, and it’s lovely. Lady Gaga is gorgeous. And she’s proving you can look a lot thinner depending on how you dress (or someone messed with that picture on the left). I vow to keep staying away from leotards, fishnets, and bikinis. You’re welcome.

Also, which one of you told me about Suri’s Burn Book? I have been on that Tumblr for hours. It’s so funny. Maybe not to Suri or her mom, but I think we can all recognize that it’s satire. And hilarious. Check it out:

Suri’s Burn Book

"Um, yes, Katie. You're supposed to wash your hair more than once a week." Suri's Burn Book

And now it’s going to be an actual book.

 

Congratulations to author/Burn-booker Allie Hagan! And why don’t I think of these things?

What do you think of Lady Gaga lately? Do you think they photoshopped one of those pictures to make her look fatter/thinner? Or can clothes make that big of a difference? Have you checked out Suri’s Burn Book? Are you amused, scandalized, or indifferent?

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Wednesday Reading: Dark of the Night

Recently, a friend of mine (Penny Watson) blogged about Fabio covers, and it made me think of the classic romances I used to sneak off my mother’s shelf when I was twelve. Johanna Lindsey was a favorite.

Today, I thought I would share  a classic romance with you, just for fun. Lo and behold, when I typed “classic romance excerpts” into my search engine, what came up but a Dee Davis novel! Oh wow, Dee, you’re a classic. The political angle makes it a timely choice, though, and it’s still available and still a great read. I’m talking about Dee Davis’s Dark of the Night from 2002!

Sometimes family isn’t enough

When she was only eight years old, Riley O’Brien survived the unimaginable: the deaths of her mother and sister. As a result she vowed never to desert her father, a brilliant young congressman whose star was on the rise. Now, twenty-one years later, after trading her dreams of a normal life for his ambitions, Riley stands by her father’s side as he makes a bid for the presidency. Growing up in the political spotlight, she has become an expert at hiding her feelings behind the surface of her regal beauty. But her defenses are about to be shattered.

Investigative reporter Jake Mahoney resents wasting his time covering an ice princess at a presidential campaign rally. But when a car bomb throws him–literally–on top of the candidate’s daughter, Jake quickly realizes that Riley O’Brien is pure fire. No one has ever gotten under his skin like this before. Their attraction is instant, and possibly fatal, as dangerous secrets from the past explode into the present, destroying one life after another in a nightmare of blind ambition…

 Excerpt:

Atlanta, Georgia

She was one hell of a looker. A hot body encased in ice. Pure ice, if her demeanor was any indication. But that didn’t stop him from assessing the sleek line of her hair, the full curve of her breasts. Oh, she was hot all right. She just needed the right man to set her free.

Not that he was the man. Jake Mahoney shifted his large frame in the folding metal chair, wondering why in hell press conferences were always held in places without proper air-conditioning, and with seats that could easily pass as torture implements. Maybe to keep the reporters from staying too long.

He suppressed a smile and turned his attention back to the ice queen. Mary Catherine “Riley” O’Brien looked every inch the part. Slim and aristocratic, she’d give Jackie Kennedy’s memory a run for her money. Especially if Carter O’Brien managed to win the election. But that remained to be seen.

In the meantime, he was stuck temporarily on the political beat, trailing the senator’s daughter. And pretty package or no, she was the kind of woman he’d just as soon be on the opposite end of the planet from. He’d been chewed up and spit out by better. And he had no intention of making the same mistake twice. Especially not with someone like her.

“Want to meet her?”

Jake pulled his gaze from the podium and turned toward the sound of the voice. Edna Winston’s smile was crooked. “Of course I want to meet her. Why the hell do you think I’m here?” He tried to hide his embarrassment with gruffness, but he could see by the twinkle in her eye that she wasn’t buying. She’d seen his reaction to Ms. O’Brien.

“Well, actually, I’ve been sitting here wondering just that. I mean this isn’t your usual stomping ground.”

“Politicos, murderers,” he shrugged, “is there a difference?”

Edna didn’t bother to answer, just sat with one eyebrow raised, waiting.

“All right. I’m subbing for Walter. He’s indisposed or something. I didn’t ask.” Walter Finley’s affair with the bottle was a well-known fact.

“So this is a onetime shot?” She tilted her head toward Riley, and despite himself he looked.

“Oh yeah.” The words came out with more force than intended.

“Well, then I suggest you make the most of it.” Again there was a hint of amusement in the older woman’s eyes. “I have a meeting with her immediately after this. It’d be easy enough to introduce you.”

Edna Winston was a tough old bird. Been around longer than anyone could remember. She was a hell of a reporter, gutsy and tenacious. She could ferret out information when it looked as if there wasn’t any.

“And why would you want to do that, Edna?” He eyed her cautiously. She wasn’t exactly noted for her charity.

“Because I like you, Jacob.”

Nobody called him Jacob, except his gran, and she’d been gone for a long, long time now. Still, he was here to do a job, and there was no sense looking a gift horse in the mouth. Even if it was more likely a gift cobra.

Her lips curled up at the corner, sort of a half smile.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say the old broad had read his mind. “All right, Edna. I’m game. When this is finished, take me to the ice queen.”

Riley O’Brien smiled politely, watching the crowd. Cannibals, every one of them. Carnivores. Waiting for the opening. One misstep, one misspoken word, and they’d be on her, devouring her, leaving nothing but bones behind.

The general public was gone, escorted out of the tent by members of Atlanta’s finest. The risk of speaking at an abortion clinic had been calculated carefully against the gain of pushing forward her father’s pro-choice agenda. The end result being Riley’s presence as her father’s emissary.

So it was one down, one to go. She’d survived the public speech, escaped the demonstrators, and gotten her father’s platform across without incident. Which left the press. And given the choice of facing off with the protesters outside or the press corps in here, she’d take the pro-lifers any day.

She’d been in the spotlight most of her life, and she knew the drill, but that didn’t make it any easier, any more palatable. Serving oneself up for slaughter every day was not her cup of tea. It was, however, unavoidable, and like everything else in life, she accepted it as a fait accompli. Part of the game.

“Miss O’Brien.” The voice was decidedly male, deceptively soft and silky, southern steel encased in velvet. She shivered despite the warmth of the room, and her gaze collided with the deep indigo of his. Blue on black. His smile was slow, insolent, the hunter moving in for the kill. “You’re a Catholic. And yet you’re standing here at an abortion clinic, supporting reproductive rights. Don’t you find that a little hypocritical?”

Daily.

Never.

There wasn’t a simple answer. And even if there was, she wasn’t about to share it with a room full of vipers who didn’t give a damn about what she really felt. They were looking for headlines. Something to titillate the public, to make a name, to garner ratings.

She held tight to her guarded facade. There was no sense in letting them smell blood. With a deep breath, she smiled, keeping all her emotion safely locked away. He waited, his dark eyes knowing. The son of a bitch was baiting her. But she’d played this game with far more worthy opponents–and won.

With a glacial smile, she broke eye contact, her gaze encompassing everyone there. “I am a practicing Catholic, yes. And as a Catholic, I try to hold to the tenets of my faith. . . .” She paused, trying to order her thoughts, her eyes drawn unbidden back to the stranger.

“However, I also believe that life is about choices, Mister–” she glanced down at the seating chart and then back at the reporter. “–Mahoney. And I cherish a person’s right to make their own. And that includes all people. Women as well as men.

“My father also supports a woman’s right to choose. And in so doing, he is not considering the definition of life, he is, rather, considering the definition of freedom. Intellectual as well as physical. And that, Mr. Mahoney, is what America is all about.”

There was a smattering of applause, and although she couldn’t be certain, she thought she saw a flash of amusement in the murky depths of his eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid we’re all out of time. . . .” Maudeen Drake, her father’s press liaison stepped up to the podium, and, with an almost imperceptible sigh, Riley stepped away, Maudeen’s words fading to a hum. She’d survived one more round unscathed.

Her father would be pleased.

“Well that was a classic nonanswer.” Jake watched as the lithe blonde exited through the curtained proscenium.

“You were expecting what–a heartfelt confession? Riley O’Brien has been successfully dealing with the press since she was old enough to stand behind a podium.” He followed Edna as they wound their way among the emptying chairs.

“That’s just the point, isn’t it? She’s been programmed. There’s probably not an original thought in her body. Daddy’s little girl through and through.”

“Spoken like a true cynic.” Edna’s voice reflected her amusement.

“And you’re not? Christ, Edna, I don’t see how you deal with these people day in and day out. They’re one hundred percent plastic.”

Edna shrugged. “It beats your predilection for the dead.”

“Homicide is a puzzle, Edna. You have to put the pieces together. But once you do, the motivations involved are pretty straightforward. Give me a corpse over a politician any day.”

“As usual, Jacob, you’re oversimplifying. Politicians aren’t all bad, you know. And I wouldn’t classify Riley O’Brien as a politician anyway.”

“Politician’s offspring, even worse.”

Edna turned to face him, her look turning serious. “She’s not Lacey.”

His ex-wife was a real piece of work, and the fact that her father had been a career brown-noser hadn’t helped anything. “There’s only one Lacey, thank God. But it’s pretty obvious Riley O’Brien is cut from the same cloth.”

“I’d be careful about jumping to conclusions, if I were you.” Edna’s gaze was smug. “You never know when they’re going to jump up and bite you in the butt.”

Riley resisted the urge to run a hand through her hair. It wouldn’t do a thing for her image and, frankly, probably nothing for her peace of mind either. The press conference had been over for an hour, and this was her last interview.

They’d abandoned the tent for the clinic conference room, its subdued pastels at odds with the muted sound of the protestors outside. She’d be grateful to get out of here, away from prying eyes and intense scrutiny.

“You ready?” Maudeen Drake was a beautiful woman; even the fading of youth couldn’t change that fact. She was a valuable asset to their political team, and, at least as far as Riley’s father was concerned, a valued personal one as well. It was the latter that led Riley to keep the woman at arm’s length.

Her father had a right to his own life. And as women went, Maudeen was a good one. But Riley couldn’t seem to get past the feeling that her father was somehow being disloyal to her mother. Ridiculous thought–considering her mother had been dead for almost nineteen years–but still one she couldn’t seem to shake. With a lift of her chin, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. “Let’s get it over with. It’s Edna, right?”

As if in answer, the reporter walked into the room, looking ready for battle, but Riley knew that underneath the razor edges there was a softness. She’d seen it once, a long time ago, at a cemetery in the rain. And she’d never forgotten. Edna was her friend. And Riley knew she couldn’t claim many of those.

She relaxed, her smile genuine as she rose to greet the woman.

“Riley, I’ve brought someone to meet you.” No by-your-leave or apology, but then, that was Edna.

Riley’s smile froze as the man in the doorway stepped into the room, blue-black eyes mocking her. It was the stranger from the press conference. She struggled to remember his name. It came in a flash. Mahoney. Jake Mahoney.

He wasn’t handsome in the classical sense. The lines of his face were too harsh, his jaw already dark with the shadow of his beard. His inky hair was curly, a little too long, and not cut in any discernible fashion. His shirt was expensive and perfectly creased, at odds with the faded softness of his jeans. She had the feeling the contradiction reflected the man himself. And despite herself, she was intrigued. There was an undeniable sense of authority about him. As if he’d been there already and done it all.

She told herself that he was just a man. A journalist at that. But there was no denying the effect he had on her. She felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Blood pounded through her veins and Riley fought to hold on to her forced calm. She wasn’t a child, and she didn’t have a crush. She didn’t even know this man.

Maudeen reacted instantly, her face tightening into a polite mask of determination, her eyes meeting Riley’s, waiting for a signal. Riley started to nod, to evict the man, to let him know who was really in charge, but somewhere along the way the message missed a nerve ending and she shook her head, holding her hands out to Edna. “Any friend of yours is welcome here.”

The woman smiled, taking both of Riley’s hands. “Well, I don’t know that I’d call him a friend exactly. But I like the boy.” She shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a sucker for a pretty face.”

Riley didn’t believe a word of it. The woman was listed in the dictionary under shrewd, but there was nothing to be gained in arguing the point. And besides, Mr. Mahoney was already in the room, his presence filling it, his strength of will almost palpable.

She met his eyes, keeping hers purposefully cool. “Mr. Mahoney.” Her smile slid into candidate’s daughter position. No sense in letting him see how much he unsettled her. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“We don’t exactly move in the same circles.” He took her offered hand, and it was everything she could do not to jerk it away. Hot sparks danced along her skin. She blinked, trying to stay focused, confused by the intensity of her reaction to him.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t have much time for the hollow platitudes of politicians.” He was dismissive. Almost scornful.

“I see.” She frowned. “I’m sorry, then, that you’re stuck here with me.”

“Don’t be.” His smile was slow, sultry, his eyes raking over her, his hand tightening on hers. “There are benefits to everything, Ms. O’Brien. One simply has to find them.”

“And I’m sure you’re very good at that.” She narrowed her eyes, her voice one degree colder than frigid.

“I haven’t had any complaints.”

She swallowed, trying to wrench her gaze away from his, to find a way to gain the upper hand against this man. Which was probably laughable considering the fact that he’d managed to charm Edna Winston into introducing him. Edna was anything but an easy mark.

“I’d volunteer to leave,” Edna interjected with a wry smile, “but I have an article to write.”

Riley pulled herself together, embarrassed at the turn of her thoughts. She never let anyone get to her. Not romantically, not sexually, not any way. Ever. And certainly not a reporter. Heavens, she might as well commit political suicide, and take her father right along with her. She was made of sterner stuff.

“Do sit down.” Waving at the sofa, she settled herself into an overstuffed chair, keeping her face pleasant, noncommittal. “I’ve only got a few minutes, so why don’t we get right to it.”

She sat back, firmly in control again, feeling regal in the wing back. It had been purposefully arranged at just the right angle, the soft light accentuating her to perfection. Sometimes she wondered what the world would think if they could see the real Riley, without the makeup, lighting, and scripted words. Fortunately, it was an idle thought. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t.

Not the world. Not Jake Mahoney.

No one.

Not if her father was going to be the next President of the United States.

Jake fought for breath, wondering what it was about her he found so compelling. She was a gorgeous woman, but beautiful had stopped doing it for him a long time ago. It was something more, something there in her eyes. Something that called to him.

Excerpted from Dark of the Night by Dee Davis. Copyright © 2001 by Dee Davis. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Buy the book and read on! 

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God Save the Queen

Julia and Dee in Portobello Road looking marvelous!

So as you can probably imagine, I am exhausted.  But happily so!  I arrived last night from England only to find a 2 and a half hour wait at customs.  Man o man was that a room full of unhappy people.  But once through to the other side it was home and bed and goodbye to tea and crumpets.

We had an absolutely marvelous time.  The weather was gorgeous (no rain at all if you can believe it!).  And the museums, castles, parks and walks were to die for.  We ate bangers and mash, and fish and chips, and really amazing Moroccan food.  We shopped until we dropped.  Harrods, High Marleybone, Knightsbridge, Oxford and Portobello Road.  We rarely got lost.  Which was a miracle a couple of times.  We rode the tube and the trains like professionals.  And walked our rear-ends off.

We strolled through the gardens at Hampton Court, and the wilds of Hyde Park.  Julia London ran along the canal (not for her life but actually for fun

Hampton Court looking in from the Gardens.

–which I simply can’t fathom).   We watched telly with a glass of wine.  The show about the groom planning the wedding was absolutely wonderful.  Not to mention the one about choosing a manor house.  And we watched a comic that had us in stitches. And several game shows that were beyond anything we have here.  (Although sadly we missed episode one of Season three of Downton Abbey–it was the night we arrived and we weren’t clued in.)

We had drinks at the Savoy.  And went to Covent Garden.  We saw London from the top of the Gherkin.  Traipsed through Bath and Mayfair, dreaming of gorgeous dresses and men in top hats and tails.  We saw Stonehenge and Windsor Castle.  We went to Lacock where they filmed Cranford, parts of Harry Potter, Emma, and scenes from Pride and Prejudice.  Also we saw the Victoria and Albert museum (complete with a period clothing exhibition).

Building used for the first meet between Darcy and Elizabeth (in Lacock)

We drank loads of tea, a little bitter and learned the difference between light and dark beer in Britain.  And of course we some great Malbac (from our own local wine store on the corner).  We shopped for our own supper.  And salivated over the fabulous offerings in the various Food Halls.  I had scones at the V&A,  and Julia had chocolate confections and we were in heaven.  We also can report that Stinky Bishop’s cheese lives up to it’s name.

All in all it was a magical trip, and I’ve included some photos just so that you all can come along for the fun!

Walking through Mayfair

Outside the walls at Windsor Castle

A really amazing bookstore on High Marleybone

Any thoughts on where we Whiners should go next?

 

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TEA TIME, CHEERIO!

In honor of Whiners Dee and Julia being in jolly old England, I thought I’d share my recent adventures at a local tea house! Four times a year the ladies in my neighborhood get together for our quarterly Ladies Lunch. It’s always a good time, but last week’s luncheon was especially fun. It was held at a tea house and we had a blast. Now, usually a sedate tea house wouldn’t make one think of having a blast, but this is a very special tea house. One of the owners is a hat maker, so there are dozens of gorgeous hats decorating the beautifully appointed space. And the best part is you can wear them while taking tea! There were forty of us, and we all wore a hat, sipped tea (black current flavor–YUM!), nibbled on perfect finger sandwiches, scones, and the lightest, most delicious desserts ever (cream puff, anyone?). We laughed and clinked cups and had a grand old time. Here’s me and one of my neighbors wearing our elegant hats.

Cheerio, dahling!

Have you ever been to a tea house? Tell us about it! If not, what did you do this weekend? I hope you had a great one!

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Weekend Question: Travel

Let’s say you won a free trip (you didn’t, not from us, we’re just asking) to anywhere in the world. Anywhere. Where would you go right now? 

This question motivated by Dee and Julia’s recent travels. Dee sent me this picture yesterday: 

It’s the Disney Store in Bath! She knows I love Disney. And of course, I wish I were in Bath with Dee and Julia. I love my friends dearly and I welcome any chance to spend time with them anywhere.

Today is Kathleen Givens’s birthday, and I think of her often and what I wouldn’t do to say “I love you, man” one more time. She really loved to travel. To all my friends, I love you, man. In case I don’t say it often enough. Group hug!

Kathleen, Whine Sister, in Belgium.

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I just read Graceling!

I’m in a neighborhood bookclub, and tonight we’re hosting at my house. The book was one I admit I hadn’t heard of, though I believe it got a lot of advance buzz (yes, I do sometimes move into my cave and roll the boulder in front of the door!). It’s Graceling, by Kristin Cashore, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Although technically a YA book, the book has the heft and the feel of an adult market volume, while still being action-packed and fun enough to appeal even to high-reading level tweens (I’m going to put it on my 5th grader’s Kindle, for example. She enjoyed Divergent, so I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t like Graceling, too.)

I’m not going to give away the story other than to say that it takes place in an alternate world that is familiar in the same way that Game of Thrones is familiar. Seven kingdoms, low tech, very middle ages feeling. The primary premise is that certain persons in this world are “graced” and our heroine in this book, Katsa, is among those graced and, therefore, put in the service of the king. After that, it settles into an epic adventure.

I finished it last night, and I loved it.

My only complaint, if it can even be considered a complaint, is that the next book, Bitterblue, takes place eight years later and focuses on a different character. I’m the gal who likes to spend time with the same people over and over and over (yes, I read and re-read all 8 billion of the In Death books and am not tired of Kinsey Milhone….). But that’s hardly a criticism, more of a disappointment, as I doubt Katsa plays much of a role in that book (I could be wrong!).

Have you read Graceling? What fun new books have you discovered recently? Are you in a bookclub, and have you enjoyed or regretted the choices?

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Wednesday Reads: Pride and Prejudice

In honor of Julia and Dee’s trip to London, let’s have a look at a work that has inspired us all. If you haven’t read Pride and Prejudice, wow, what’s kept you from it? And if you have, it’s worth reading again. And again.

Pride and Prejudice

Chapter One

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

“Do you not want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife impatiently.

“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

This was invitation enough.

“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.”

“What is his name?”

“Bingley.”

“Is he married or single?”

“Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!”

“How so? How can it affect them?”

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.”

“Is that his design in settling here?”

“Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes.”

“I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley may like you the best of the party.”

“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.”

“In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.”

“But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood.”

“It is more than I engage for, I assure you.”

“But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know, they visit no newcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him if you do not.”

“You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.”

“I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving her the preference.”

“They have none of them much to recommend them,” replied he; “they are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters.”

“Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these last twenty years at least.”

“Ah, you do not know what I suffer.”

“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.”

“It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them.”

“Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all.”

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.

* * * 

What’s your favorite Jane Austen book?


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Pip Pip Cheerio!

Hopefully, I’ve got WiFi here in Merry Old England and I’ll be able to replace this post with a girl on the go report.  But just in case, I wanted to be prepared.  (There’s that old girl scout thing–old being the operative word these days–or is that the boy scouts?)  Anyway, I digress.  If you’re reading this, I’m in the UK with our very own Julia London, and we can’t post a damn thing because we haven’t been able to figure out how to find a place to upload lots of pictures.  So you’ll have to make do of the one of us in hats, (taken while on a trip to  NOLA), and we promise to fill you in when we get home–IF we come home that is.  I promise we’re having a fabulous time.

So…since we’re talking in absentia…what is your favorite vacation memory whilst traveling with a friend? (note my attempt to sound English)  And no Dee/Julia embarassing stories (Sherri/Julie that means you guys) just because we’re not present…remember the internet is forever…

Cheers!

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