Jean Sasson's Blog, page 6

Changing plans: writing my latest book

Sometimes carefully laid out plans made are meant to be changed.

Life’s straight lines are too often blurred by situations we didn’t plan to confront.

Let me explain.

A few months ago I was happily writing “Squirrel on my Head and Puppy in my Pocket.”  This animal memoir details the many thrilling adventures I have experienced while rescuing abused animals as well as being the “mother” of 40 animal babies.  (A baby I rescued last year just happened to be a tiny baby squirrel.  I raised her to be self-reliant and she is now living in the trees, as squirrels should, although I would prefer that she be living in my house!) You can see a cute photo below of Princess playing with one of her little toys.  She was very pampered, and followed my every step, thinking I was her mommy.  I miss her still and everytime it storms, I think about my little squirrel baby and hope that she remains safe.

Princess Sasson, baby squirrel

Animals bring such joy to our lives, but there were lots of stresses too, for along the way I met some unsavory characters who used animals for profit, resulting in the most horrific abuses upon those animals.  Such situations tear away at my heart and soul, for I have the kind of attachment to animals that puts me directly into their world.  I feel that I’m in their little furry bodies, seeing what they are seeing and feeling what they are feeling.  When animals suffer, I suffer.  I feel myself to be that animal.  That’s why I can’t turn away from animal suffering, because I FEEL what they are feeling.

 

 

Paris Sasson — abandoned and mistreated kitty kat being treated by doctor

 

I know that sounds a bit bizarre, but that’s just the way it is.

In the middle of writing this animal memoir about my life of loving animals, I sat down on the morning of May 25th to pick up the story when something unexplainable occurred.  A woman took over my mind, and by that I don’t mean to imply that I had an out of body experience, but the memory of a courageous woman who had survived the most horrific ordeal imaginable came to me, and without thinking about it, I found myself opening up a new file on my computer.  I tentatively titled it “The Prison Circus” and I started to write.  It was as though my brain could no longer hold on to the story, and the memories came to me and my fingers started moving and before I knew it, I had seven pages typed.  (I consider five good pages a day to be a day of successful writing.) And those seven pages were nearly flawless.  (Like most writers, I generally sweat over every sentence, reworking them time and again, but the seven pages were just as they should be.)

From that moment, I stuck with the “The Prison Circus” writing a tension filled story about one of the most courageous women I’ve ever met–and believe me, I have met some brave women during my years of travel and writing–if you have read any of my books, then you have read about these women.

While writing this story about a woman who overcame challenges you will find hard to imagine, my heart told me that it was one of the most important books I would ever write.

And now the book is nearly finished and I wait to see if one woman’s story of survival against all odds, is as important and compelling as I believe it to be.

So much of a writing career is waiting.  And so I wait, hoping that others will feel the importance of a story I’ve never been able to get out of my mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

PRINCESS SULTANA – your replies to her question

Thanks to everyone of you who responded in such a positive manner.  You have my apologies that it took me so long to get back with you.  As I have mentioned, I am finishing my 11th book (YES!) and I have been chained to my computer chair for the past four months and have barely done anything else.

But this morning I did read ALL the responses to the question posed by Princess Sultana.

I have cut and pasted all your comments and am now in the process of sending those to her daughter.  I don’t know how she will resist connecting with the readers of her story after reading the most wonderful replies from all of you.

I will let you know within the next few weeks what her plans are.

Meanwhile, I appreciate all the feedback and I know that she will, too!

For now, have a most happy day!  Jean

 

 

For the past year I have been attempting to convince Princess Sultana to join the world wide web by posting, or having a FB page or tweeting.  I believe that she would enjoy having this kind of contact with other women who are working on the same issues that have so affected her life.  Although it is difficult for her to post when she is in the kingdom as there are government spies monitoring all Saudis, (even the royals) and most particularly Saudi women, she does spend a lot of time in Europe and in California, and during those jaunts she would be free to post.

At this time her eldest daughter sometimes responds on her mother’s behalf (with her mother’s permission) but I’m all for the Princess coming out of her shell, at least as much as possible, and having directly contact.

She wondered if anyone would be interested if she blogged or tweeted and I have assured her that they would.

What do you say?  Would you be interested in following the tweets of Princess Sultana? If so, let me know and I’ll pass the word.

PRINCESS SULTANA has a question

For the past year I have been attempting to convince Princess Sultana to join the world wide web by posting, or having a FB page or tweeting.  I believe that she would enjoy having this kind of contact with other women who are working on the same issues that have so affected her life.  Although it is difficult for her to post when she is in the kingdom as there are government spies monitoring all Saudis, (even the royals) and most particularly Saudi women, she does spend a lot of time in Europe and in California, and during those jaunts she would be free to post.

At this time her eldest daughter sometimes responds on her mother’s behalf (with her mother’s permission) but I’m all for the Princess coming out of her shell, at least as much as possible, and having directly contact.

She wondered if anyone would be interested if she blogged or tweeted and I have assured her that they would.

What do you say?  Would you be interested in following the tweets of Princess Sultana? If so, let me know and I’ll pass the word.

Everyone dies.

There are few things that human beings know with absolute certainty, but one truth that we can say in a variety of ways is:  Everyone dies.  No one has gotten off this earth alive.  Death will come to all of us, you, me, and everyone we know.  That about covers it!

I’m not fond of death, as I’ve noticed that everyone who dies didn’t want to die.  Another sad fact is that everyone who dies leaves behind a lot of very sad people.

Perhaps we are not prepared to die, or accept death is because death comes too soon.  If life didn’t seem so short, perhaps we would be more understanding of leaving life on this earth.

Who will say that they have enough time to accomplish all they want or need to accomplish?  Lately I’ve found myself wishing that a normal life span could be at least 200  years!  What couldn’t we do with 200 years?  That would give us 100 years to learn something, gain some wisdom, another 50 to work and do some good for the rest of the world, and perhaps the last 50 to kick back and do the things we most enjoy.  Another big blessing would be to have the chance to meet our great grandparents and great great grandparents and great great great grandparents.  I do a lot of research on my family and gosh, those folks that came before me surely did seem nice.  I wish I could sit and chat with them, show them my book collection, and chat about how life was without electricity or automobiles or televisions or computers.  Wouldn’t those folks love the chance to experience this modern world of ours?

Born with a double dose of the happy gene (yes there is a happy gene, according to science), I love my life and enjoy nearly every moment of it.  Not that I don’t have problems.  All people do.  But when I hear or think about the horrors that too often visit other people, I thank God for my good fortune and suddenly my problems seem minor by comparison.  For example, I’m plagued with worry for the Syrian people who are running for their lives.  Little children are losing their parents.  Parents are losing their children.  Such pain I cannot imagine.

So I cannot complain.  I’m living as safe as one can live.  I’m happy.  I feel good.  I enjoy my work and I believe that my work is of value.  I have family whom I love and family who loves me.  I have friends who are as dear to me as family.  I’ve always been an animal lover and animals have given me tremendous joy.

I haven’t admitted to anyone now that I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately.  Then out of the blue, a good friend from New York just sent me this piece written by the fabulously talented writer Nora Ephron, a woman who will be greatly missed by many, a woman who just died prematurely.  Her writing is about aging and facing death…  Like everything she did, this very talented writer makes you feel better about all aspects of life, including anticipating the end.  (Nora Ephron, who died on Tuesday aged 71, was the award-winning screenwriter whose credits include When Harry Met Sally and Sleepless In Seattle. In recent years, she also wrote two books of witty and poignant essays about ageing. Here, she faces her own mortality.)

BY NORA EPHRON:

‘The honest truth is that it’s sad to be over 60,’ said Nora Ephron When I turned 60, I had a big birthday party in Las Vegas, which happens to be one of my top five places. We spent the weekend eating and drinking and gambling and having fun. We all made some money and screamed and yelled and I went to bed deliriously happy. The spell lasted for several days, and as a result, I managed to avoid thinking about what it all meant. Denial has been a way of life for me for many years. I actually believe in denial. It seemed to me that the only way to deal with a birthday of this sort was to do everything possible to push it from my mind. Nothing else about me is better than it was at 50, or 40, or 30, but I definitely have the best haircut I’ve ever had, I like my new apartment, and, as the expression goes, consider the alternative.

I have been 60 for four years now, and by the time you read this I will probably have been 60 for five. I survived turning 60, I was not thrilled to turn 61, I was less thrilled to turn 62, I didn’t much like being 63, I loathed being 64, and I will hate being 65. I don’t let on about such things in person; in person, I am cheerful and Pollyanna-ish. But the honest truth is that it’s sad to be over 60. The long shadows are everywhere ­ friends dying and battling illness. A miasma of melancholy hangs there, forcing you to deal with the fact that your life, however happy and successful, has been full of disappointments and mistakes, little ones and big ones. There are dreams that are never quite going to come true, ambitions that will never quite be realised. There are, in short, regrets. Edith Piaf was famous for singing a song called ‘Non, je ne regrette rien’. It’s a good song. I know what she meant. I can get into it; I can make a case that I regret nothing. After all, most of my mistakes turned out to be things I survived, or turned into funny stories, or, on occasion, even made money from. But the truth is that je regrette beaucoup. Why do people say it’s better to be older than to be younger? It’s not better. Even if you have all your marbles, you’re constantly reaching for the name of the person you met the day before yesterday. Even if you’re in great shape, you can’t chop an onion the way you used to and you can’t ride a bicycle several miles without becoming a candidate for traction. If you work, you’re surrounded by young people who are plugged into the marketplace, the demographic, the zeitgeist; they want your job and someday soon they’re going to get it. If you’re fortunate enough to be in a sexual relationship, you’re not going to have the sex you once had. Plus, you can’t wear a bikini. Oh, how I regret not having worn a bikini for the entire year I was 26. If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don’t take it off until you’re 34.

A magazine editor called me the other day, an editor who, like me, is over 60. Her magazine was going to do an issue on Age, and she wanted me to write something for it. We began to talk about the subject, and she said, ‘You know what drives me nuts? Why do women our age say, “In my day…”? This is our day.’ But it isn’t our day. It’s their day. We’re just hanging on. We can’t wear tank tops, we have no idea who 50 Cent is, and we don’t know how to use almost any of the functions on our mobile phones. If we hit the wrong button on the remote control and the television screen turns to snow, we have no idea how to get the television set back to where it was in the first place. (This is the true nightmare of the empty nest: your children are gone, and they were the only people in the house who knew how to use the remote control.) Technology is a bitch. I can no longer even work out how to get the buttons on the car radio to play my favourite stations. The gears on my bicycle mystify me. On my bicycle! And thank God no one has given me a digital wristwatch. In fact, if any of my friends are reading this, please don’t ever give me a digital anything. Just the other day I went shopping at a store in Los Angeles that happens to stock jeans that actually come all the way up to my waist, and I was stunned to discover that the customer just before me was Nancy Reagan. That’s how old I am: Nancy Reagan and I shop in the same store.

Anyway, I said to this editor, ‘You’re wrong, you are so wrong, this is not our day, this is their day.’ But she was undaunted. She said to me, ‘Well then, I have another idea: Why don’t you write about Age Shame?’ I said to her, ‘Get someone who is only 50 to write about Age Shame. I am way past Age Shame, if I ever had it. I’m just happy to be here at all.’ We are a generation that has learned to believe we can do something about almost everything. We are active ­ hell, we are proactive. We are positive thinkers. We have the power. We will take any suggestion seriously. If a pill will help, we will take it. If being in the Zone will help, we will enter the Zone. When we hear about the latest ludicrously expensive face cream that is alleged to turn back the clock, we will go out and buy it even though we know that the last five face creams we fell for were completely ineffectual. We will do crossword puzzles to ward off Alzheimer’s and eat six almonds a day to ward off cancer; we will scan ourselves to find whatever can be nipped in the bud. We are in control. Behind the wheel. On the cutting edge. We make lists. We seek out the options. We surf the net. But there are some things that are absolutely, definitively, entirely uncontrollable. I am dancing around the D word, but I don’t mean to be coy. When you cross into your 60s, your odds of dying ­ or of merely getting horribly sick on the way to dying ­ spike.

Death is a sniper. It strikes people you love, people you like, people you know, it’s everywhere. You could be next. But then you turn out not to be. But then again you could be. And meanwhile, your friends die, and you’re left not just bereft, not just grieving, not just guilty, but utterly helpless. There is nothing you can do. Nothing. Everybody dies. Here are some questions I am constantly fretting over: Do you splurge or do you hoard? Do you live every day as if it’s your last, or do you save your money on the chance you’ll live 20 more years? Is life too short, or is it going to be too long? Do you work as hard as you can, or do you slow down to smell the roses? And where do carbohydrates fit into all this? Are we really going to have to spend our last years avoiding bread, especially now that bread is so unbelievably delicious? And what about chocolate?

My friend Judy died last year. She was the person I told everything to. She was my best friend, my extra sister, my true mother, sometimes even my daughter. She was all these things, and one day she called up to say, the weirdest thing has happened, there’s a lump on my tongue. Less than a year later, she was dead. She was 66 years old. She had no interest in dying, right to the end. She died horribly. And now she’s gone. I think of her every day, sometimes six or seven times a day. I have her white cashmere shawl. I wore it for days after her death; I wrapped myself up in it; I even slept in it. But now I can’t bear to wear it because it feels as if that’s all there is left of my Judy. I want to talk to her. I want to have lunch with her. I want her to give me a book she just read and loved. She is my phantom limb, and I can’t believe I’m here without her. A few months before they found the lump on her tongue, Judy and I went out to lunch to celebrate a friend’s birthday. It had been a difficult year: barely a week had passed without some terrible news about someone’s health. ‘Death doesn’t really feel eventual or inevitable. It still feels…avoidable somehow,’ said Judy. I said at lunch, what are we going to do about this? Shouldn’t we talk about this? This is what our lives have become. Death is everywhere. How do we deal with it? Our birthday friend said, oh, please, let’s not be morbid. Yes. Let’s not be morbid. Let’s not. On the other hand, I meant to have a conversation with Judy about death.

Before either of us was sick or dying. I meant to have one of those straightforward conversations where you discuss What You Want in the eventuality ­ well, I say ‘the eventuality’, but that’s one of the oddest things about this whole subject. Death doesn’t really feel eventual or inevitable. It still feels . . . avoidable somehow. But it’s not. We know in one part of our brains that we are all going to die, but on some level we don’t quite believe it. But I meant to have that conversation with Judy, so that when the inevitable happened we would know what our intentions were, so that we could help each other die in whatever way we wanted to die. But of course, once they found the lump, there was no having the conversation. Living wills are much easier to draft when you are living instead of possibly dying; they’re the ultimate hypotheticals. And what difference would it have made if we’d had that conversation? Before you get sick, you have absolutely no idea of how you’re going to feel once you do. You can imagine you’ll be brave, but it’s just as possible you’ll be terrified. You can hope that you’ll find a way to accept death, but you could just as easily end up raging against it.

The day before my friend Henry died, he asked to be brought a large brown folder he kept in his office. In it were love letters he had received when he was younger. He sent them back to the women who’d written them, wrote them all lovely notes, and destroyed the rest. What’s more, he left complete, detailed instructions for his funeral, including the music he wanted ­ all of this laid out explicitly in a file on his computer he called ‘Exit’. I so admire Henry and the way he handled his death. It’s inspirational. And yet I can’t quite figure out how any of it applies. For one thing, I have managed to lose all my love letters. Not that there were that many. And if I ever found them and sent them back to the men who wrote them to me, I promise you they would be completely mystified. I haven’t heard from any of these men in years, and on the evidence, they all seem to have done an extremely good job of getting over me. As for instructions for my funeral, I suppose I could come up with a few.  For example, if there’s a reception afterward, I know what sort of food I would like served: those little finger sandwiches from this place on Lexington Avenue called William Poll. And champagne would be nice. I love champagne. It’s so festive. But otherwise, I don’t have a clue. I haven’t even worked out whether I want to be buried or cremated ­ largely because I’ve always worried that cremation in some way lowers your chances of being reincarnated. (If there is such a thing.) (Which I know there isn’t.) (And yet . . .)

And meanwhile, here we are. What is to be done? I don’t know. I hope that’s clear. In a few minutes I will have finished writing this piece, and I will go back to life itself. Squirrels have made a hole in the roof, and we don’t quite know what to do about it. Soon it will rain; we should probably take the cushions inside. I need more bath oil. And that reminds me to say something about bath oil. I use this bath oil I happen to love. It’s called Dr Hauschka’s lemon bath. It costs about £15 a bottle, which is enough for about two weeks of baths if you follow the instructions. The instructions say one capful per bath. But a capful gets you nowhere. A capful is not enough. I have known this for a long time. But if the events of the last few years have taught me anything, it’s that I’m going to feel like an idiot if I die tomorrow and I skimped on bath oil today. So I use quite a lot of bath oil. More than you could ever imagine. After I take a bath, my bathtub is as dangerous as an oil slick. But thanks to the bath oil, I’m as smooth as silk. I am going out to buy more, right now. Goodbye.

 

Jean Sasson’s Books

Here I am in Saudi Arabia, having a lovely day exploring.  Wearing the man’s Saudi headdress to protect my head from the boiling sun!

 

Recently I received a lot of letters from readers wanting to know about my books and how I came to write books about the Middle East, along with other questions about my love of animals.  Thus I decided to do a blog rather than respond individually to letters.  I hope this works!

Thanks to all who care about the books I write, and about my heroines.  I thank you, and they thank you!

Beautiful Saudi woman behind the veil

A Note from Author Jean Sasson:

So many people ask me why do I care so much about the plight of women of the world?

The answer is simple:  because I can’t help it. I grew up in the United States, in a tiny town down South.  In my daily experience, women enjoyed full freedom to do as they pleased.  During those early years, it was beyond my imagining that women might be discriminated against. But from a young age, I noticed mankind’s occasional unthinking mistreatment of other animals.  Such cruelty broke my heart, and I took aggressive action to aid animals in need.  Mischievous boys who thought it amusing to tie a bag of rocks to a cat’s tail soon learned to avoid me.  I cared for a number of animals of my own, including some rather eccentric ones, such as a pet chicken named Prissy that I taught to walk on a lead.  Another pet chicken, named Ducky, accompanied me like my little shadow and brought me endless joy.  I had a number of cats and, when I grew older, I got my first doggie, a black cocker spaniel named, yes, Blackie!  Others – Frisky, Doby, and a Peke named Goo Boo – soon followed. As I grew older, it seemed that all the homeless dogs and cats in my little town “knew” to gather in our yard, sensing that I could not turn a single one away. An impulse to save needy animals carried on throughout my entire life, and I was willing to pursue eccentric efforts to save a chained or otherwise mistreated animal.  After I moved to Saudi Arabia, our villa in a Saudi neighborhood quickly filled with abandoned dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, and even ducks!

Friends who stayed overnight in our home were often confronted with the challenge of sharing their bed with a couple of affectionate cats, of being roused in the morning by songs from caged birds, or of arranging their evening ablutions alongside a surprise in the guest bathroom:  a bathtub filled with ducks! Some people say that my heightened sensitivity is a blessing, while others stamp it a curse.  I endorse the “blessing” tag and exult that I’ve been the joyful “mother” of 31 cats and dogs, the “foster mom” of many others until I could find an appropriate home, as well as the caretaker of too many birds to count.  A few years ago a friend from the days of Saudi laughingly confided that my nickname was “The Bird Woman of Riyadh,” a title unknown to me during my 12 years of living in the desert kingdom.

In Saudi Arabia, I worked as the Administrative Coordinator of Medical Affairs at The King Faisal Specialist Hospital and Research Centre.  Most hospital reports crossed my desk prior to being presented to my boss who was the head of the hospital.  Therefore, I was privy to the details of many human tragedies.  But the reports that haunted me most were the stories of women who had been brutally mistreated.  And, more often than not, it seems, their injuries had been inflicted by the very men who were supposed to protect them.  Many Saudi men, of course, were wholly kind to the females in their family.  But when the occasional man lashed out at a wife or daughter with cruelty or brutality, the women of the family had nowhere to turn for help.  The man’s word was absolute law and no outside organization would dare interfere.  A woman’s helplesness in such a situation is heartrending and nearly unsolvable.

I saw sadness almost every day that I worked at the hospital, most of it associated with women’s issues.  Unfortunately, there was little I could do – for I, too, was a disenfranchised woman, in a country not my own.

But I met several Saudi women who desperately plotted for change.  One was a Saudi princess, a woman the world now knows as Princess Sultana al-Saud.  Understanding her culture well, she described that nothing would crack Saudi men’s determination to maintain the status quo…nothing, that is, short of worldwide indignation.  For this reason, the princess was fierce in her belief that the story of Saudi women must be told.  Most importantly, she wanted her own life experiences to be the story that inflamed the world. For years we discussed this possibility, but after my book THE RAPE OF KUWAIT lent me the clout of a bestseller, we knew the time was right to expose the tragedies that afflict so many women on this earth.  By then, we were both mature women who understood that discrimination against women is not limited to Saudi Arabia or to the Middle East, but is a worldwide problem, aggrieving women in Western nations, too.  But first we would tell HER story.

Storytelling is powerful.  A powerful book or movie can inform and inflame.  That is why I think it is wonderful that so many books are now being written about the plight of women worldwide.  I support all authors who make this important subject their life’s work.

I am proud that PRINCESS was the first book to be written about the life of a Saudi Arabian woman, because Saudi life for females is completely unique and cannot compare with any other Middle Eastern country, or for that matter, any country in the world.

After PRINCESS, I shared other, very powerful stories.  After traveling to Iraq in July 1998, I wrote about Mayada Al-Askari in MAYADA, DAUGHTER OF IRAQ.  Later I shared the story of Joanna’s great adventure, the story of a Kurdish woman’s escape from Northern Iraq in the book LOVE IN A TORN LAND.  Soon  came the compelling story of Osama’s wife and son, called:  GROWING UP BIN LADEN.  My latest account is FOR THE LOVE OF A SON:  ONE AFGHAN WOMAN’S QUEST FOR HER STOLEN CHILD, a story that will make you weep and make you laugh.  Such exuberance is typical of so many lives, lives laced with good and with bad.  And who would deny the importance of any story that details the life of a woman who challenges an unjust system?  Such stories are criticized only by those who care nothing about the status of women.

I hope that you learn about women of the world, and that you, too, work to ensure that every human being – male or female – has the right to lead a life of dignity. Jean Sasson www.jeansasson.com

THE BOOKS I HAVE WRITTEN:

I’m currently working on my memoirs and a first installment featuring the first year of living in Saudi Arabia was recently released as an e-book, titled:  AMERICAN CHICK IN SAUDI ARABIA.  READERS NOTE:  This is only a short installment.  The book will not be released for at least another year.

Here’s a photo of the book: 

My work has been featured in People, Vanity Fair, The New York Times, The Washington Post, The New Yorker, The New York Post, The Sunday London Times, The Guardian, CNN, FOX, NBC, and many other news organizations.

To Selena, With Love by Chris Perez

I’ve just read a book that left me so very sad and at the same time, thoughtful.  The book is:  To Selena, With Love by Chris Perez, her loving husband at the time of her murder.  This book set me to thinking about a lot of things.  I’ll discuss those thoughts later, but for now, I’d like to tell you a little about Selena, a true force of nature, a woman who seemingly had it all, a beautiful woman who honestly cared about others, doing one good deed after another, a woman who so adored animals that she treated them like children, a woman so talented and energetic that nothing was going to stop her.  That is, nothing but another woman, a jealous, evil woman, a woman whose name I refuse to say because she thrives on publicity.

I’m sure that most of you have heard of Selena, the powerful singer of a Mexican American father and half-Cherokee Native American mother.  She was named the top Latin artist of the 90′s and the best selling Latin artist of the decade.  This extraordinary woman was murdered by a woman Selena tried to help, time and again, a woman who should have been protecting her.  This happened at the cusp of Selena’s life, when she was only 23 years old, in 1995.  (In 1997, Jennifer Lopez starred in the film about Selena’s life, which propelled Lopez to great stardom.)

Chris Perez and his wife Selena shared a great love.  In the book, Chris has a way of making the readers feel we personally knew this fabulous woman, leaving the reader with the knowledge that when Selena was murdered, the world more than a talented entertainer, the world lost a great person who would have made the world a better place.

I recommend the book for its easy way of introducing the reader to a unique woman and at the same time telling a love story; albeit, a love story cut short.  All through the book the reader wants to reach back in time and change history, warn Selena about the woman she was helping, the woman who would one day take Selena’s life.

This story led me to thinking about the women in my life. I have known and still know some great women.  I was extremely fortunate to have one of the world’s greatest mothers, someone who intensely loved me and who never let me down.  Quite simply, my mother was my best friend from the time I was young, until the day she died in 2003.  As far as female friends, my luck continued.  I’ve enjoyed the most rewarding friendships with very special girls (when I was young) and women (after I grew up), females who were always there for me, as I was for them.  Various faces come to mind when I think of my closest female friends.  There was Alece & Kay & Catherine in elementary and high school.  There was Anita & Miss Barbara & Pat & Frances & Lois & Dee & Dot & Vicki & Judy in my young adult years.  Later there was Eleanor & Maria & Lydia & Margaret & Donna Jean & Lisa & Julie & Alice & Princess Sultana & Mayada & Maryam and others.  All these friendships still endure, other than the three lost to death, and I still mourn them.  Even today, I’m meeting very nice women on Facebook and other social networks, lovely women whom I hope to one day meet in person.  In other words, I’ve enjoyed a lifetime of unique friendships with extraordinary women.

I can truthfully say that women are some of my favorite people!

I so admire most women that I do everything in my power to be there at their time of need, and I do this with an open heart and a smile.  I’ll bet that every woman reading this can identify with what I’m about to say.  While women have been my best friends in the world, I have run across a number of women who targeted me as someone they wanted to grievously harm, and for no good reason.  I’ve had so many good women share the same kind of stories with me, that the people who have done them great harm were often other females.

What is this about?   As women, we should strive to help women at every opportunity.  The world is a dangerous place, and in so many countries women are abused and even murdered, for no reason other than because they are women.   I ask again, what is it about those women that they joyously target other women with the intention to bring great harm?  For those of you who have endured such an experience, I’d love to hear about it.  Is it jealousy?  Is it pure evil?  What is it that makes some females want to seriously harm other females?

I’m hoping to hear from you.

Meanwhile, I hope you read the book about Selena.  It will give you something to think about.

The Titanic Sinks! 100 years ago – April 15, 1912

The world changed exactly 100 years ago when the Titanic struck an iceburg, creating a massive death toll of 1,503 people.  An interesting note is that the first class passengers who perished had paid $4,700, equal to $50,000.00 today for the journey to their deaths.

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Approximately 45 years after the Titanic sank, I was a young girl when I first heard about the disaster.  One of my mother’s aunties had died of old age and my mother was the person appointed by family to go through her auntie’s belongings and sort out the house.   I went along with my Mom and since I was already a lover of all reading material, I was given a job to do when my Mother told me to sit in the living room and go through the papers, books, and music sheets, as this aunt was a talented pianist and quite obviously, an avid reader.  I was thrilled to have such an interesting task. 

While looking through her materials I came across some sheet music with songs about the Titanic.  I had no idea what the Titanic was, and asked my mother, but she was far too busy folding poor Auntie’s clothes and packing her her kitchen ware to sit and sift through those materials with me, and to answer my question. 

I was baffled until I found a book titled The Sinking of the Titanic and Great Sea Disasters.  The books says it is the first book published (in 1912) about the sinking of the Titanic.  And so I sat and read, a young and naive girl in South Alabama, learning about the great disaster that created enormous agony and grief to so many.

I have a copy of that book and am looking at it now.  It claims to be “A detailed and accurate account of the most awful marine disaster in history, constructed from the real facts as obtained from those on board who survived.  ONLY AUTHORITATIVE BOOK, with numerous authentic photographs and drawings.”

What makes this book so interesting to me is that it was written and published almost immediately after the disaster, and when the memories of those who lived through it were fresh and accurate.

Since the copyright on this book has expired, I feel free to quote a few interesting passages:

This is from the section “Women and Children First.”

MY PERSONAL COMMENT:  Being from the deep south were men are still very chivalrous, I was not surprised to learn about the Titanic order of “Women and Children First.”  While most men adhered to the order, there were others who did not.  But one courageous man was prepared to die bravely.  HIs name was Benjamin Guggenheim.

And, I quote:  “One of the Titanic’s stewards, Johnson by name, carried this message to the sorrowing widow of Benjamin Guggenheim:  “When Mr. Guggenheim realized that there was grave danger, said the room steward, “he advised his secretary, who also died, to dress fully and he himself did the same.  Mr. Guggenheim, who was cool and collected as he was pulling on his outer garments, said to the steward:  “I think there is grave doubt that the men will get off safely.  I am willing to remain and play the man’s game, if there are not enough boats for more than the women and children.  I won’t die here like a beast.  I’ll meet my end as a man.”  There was a pause and then Mr. Guggenheim continued:  “Tell my wife, Johnson, if it should happen that my secretary and I both go down and you are saved, tell her that I played the game out straight and to the end.  No woman shall be left abroad this ship because Ben guggenheim was a coward.

“Tell her that my last thoughts will be of her and of our girls, but that my duty now is to these unfortunate women and children on this ship.  Tell her I will meet whatever fate is in store for me, knowing she will approve of what I do.”

In telling the story the room steward said the last he saw of Mr. Guggenheim was when he stood fully dressed upon the upper deck talking calmly with Colonel Astor and Major Butt.

THE DOOMED MEN:

As the ship began to settle to starboard, heeling at an angle of nearly forty-five degrees, those who had believed it was all right to stick by the ship began to have doubts, and a few jumped into the sea.  They were followed immediately by others, and in a few minutes, there were scores swimming around.  Nearly all of them wore life-preservers.  One man, who had a Pomeranian dog, leaped overboard with it and striking a piece of wreckage was badly stunned.  He recovered after a few mintues and swam toward one of the life-boats and was taken aboard.  (No mention is made of the dog’s fate, much to my distress then when I first read this portion, and even now, many years later.)

Said one survivor, speaking of the men who remained on the ship:  “There they stood – Major Butt, Colonel Astor waving a farewell to his wife; Mr. Thayer, Mr. Case, Mr. Clarence Moore, Mr. Widener, all multimillionaires, and hundreds of other men, bravely smiling at us all.  Never have I seen such chivalry and and fortitude.  Such courage in the face of fate horrible to contemplate filled us even then with wonder and admiration.

There were men whose word of command swayed boards of directors, governed institutions, disposed of millions.  They were accustomed merely to pronounce a wish to have it gratified.  But these men stood aside – onec can see them – and gave place not merely to the delicate and the refined, but to the scared Czech woman from the steerage, with the baby at her breast, the Croatian with a toddler by her side.

MEN SHOT DOWN

The officers had to assert their authority by force, and three foreigners from the steerage who tried to force their way in among the women and children were shot down with out mercy.

Robert Daniel, a Philadelphia passenger, told of terrible scenes at this period of the disaster.  He said men fought and bit and struck one another like madmen, and exhibited wounds upon his face to prove the assertion.

This is from the chapter titled:  In the Drifting Life-Boats, after the Titanic had gone under:

“Let me go back – I want to go back to my husband – I’ll jump from the boat if you don’t,” cried an agonized voice in one life-boat.

“You can do no good by going back – other lives will be lost if you try to do it.  Try to calm yourself for the sake of the living.  It may be that your husband will be picked up somewhere by one of the fishing boats.”

The woman who pleaded to go back, according to Mrs. Vera Dick, of Calgary, Canada, later tried to throw herself from the life-boat.  Mrs. Dick, describing the scens in the life-boats, said there were half a dozen women in that one boat who tried to commit suicide when they realized that the Titanic had gone down.

“Even in Canada, where we have such clear nights, ” said Mrs. Dick, “I have never seen such a clear sky.  The stars were very bright and we could see the Titanic plainly, like a great hotel on the water.  Floor after floor of the lights went out as we watched.  It was horrible, horrible.  I can’t bear to think about it.  From the distance, as we rowed away, we could hear the band playing, ‘Nearer, my God to Thee.’

“Among the life-boats themselves, however, there were scenes just as terrible, perhaps, but to me nothing could outdo the tragic grandeur with which the Titanic went to its death.  To realize it, you sould have to see the Titanic as I saw it the day we set sail-with the flags flying and the bands playing.  Everybody on board was laughing and talking about the Titanic being the biggest and most luxurious boat on the ocean and being unsinkable.  To think of it then and to think of it standing out there in the night, wounded to death and gasping for life, is almost too big for the imagination.

COLONEL ASTOR’S DEATH:

To Colonel Astor’s death, Philip Mock bears this testimoney:  “Many men were hanging on to rafts in the sea.  Colonel Astor was among them.  His feet and hands froze and he had to let go. He was drowned.

The last man among the survivors to speak to Colonel Astor was K. Whiteman, the ships barber.

“I shaved Colonel Astor Sunday afternoon,” said Whiteman.  “He was a pleasant, affable man, and that awful night when I found myself standing beside him on the passenger deck, helping to put the women into the boats, I spoke to him.  “Where is your life-belt?” I asked him.

“I didn’t think there would be any need of it,” he said.8

“Get one while there is time,” I told him.  “The last boat is gone, and we are done for.”

“No,” he said, “I think there are some life-boats to be launched, and we may get on one of them.”

“There are no life-rafts,” I told him, “and the ship is going to sink.  I am going to jump overboard and take a chance on swimming out and being picked up by one of the boats.  Better come along.”

“No, thank you,” he said calmly, “I think I’ll have to stick.”

LAST MOMENTS:

That great ship, which started out proudly, went down to her death like some grim, silent juggernaut, drunk with carnage and anxious to stop the throbbing of her own heart at the bottom of the sea.  Charles H. Lightoller, second officer of the Titanic, tells the story this way:

“I stuck to the ship until the water came up to my ankles.  There was no lamentations from the men passengers as they saw the last life-boat go.  There was no wailing or crying, no outburst from the men who lined the ship’s rail as the Titanic disappeared from sight.

“The men stood quietly as if they were in church.  Finally, the ship took a dive, reeling for a moment, then plunging.  I was sucked to the side of the ship against the grating over the blower for the exhaust.  There was an explosion.  It blew me to the surface again, only to be sucked back again by the water rushing into the ship.  I came up near a collapsible life-boat and grabbed it.  Many men were in the water with me.  A funnel fell within four inches of me and killed at least one of the swimmers. ”

Lightoller survived and this is an excerpt from Lightoller’s testimony berfore the Senate investigating committee:

“What time did you leave the ship?”

“I didn’t leave it.”

“Did it leave you?”

“Yes sir.”

FIFTY LADS MET DEATH:

Among the many hundreds of heroic souls who went bravely and quietly to their end were fifty youngsters shipped as bell boys or messengers to serve the first cabin passengers.  James Humphres, a quartermaster, told a story that shows how these fifty lads met death.

Humphres said that the boys were called to their regular posts in the main cabin entry.  The were ordered to remain in the cabin and not to get in the way.  Throughout the first hour of confusion and terror these lads sat quietly on their benches.  Then toward the end when the order was passed around that the ship was going down and every man was free to save himself, if he kept away from the life-boats in which the women were being were being taken.Humphres said he saw many of them smoking cigarettes and joking with the passengers. Not one of the attempted to enter a life-boat.  Not one of the boys was saved.

DOGS ONBOARD: 

There were many dogs onboard but only two survived.  One was a dog hero named Rigel.

Rigel was a big black Newfoundland dog, belonging to the first officer, who went down with the ship.  Rigel swam for two or three hours in the icy water where the Titanic went down, evidently looking for his master.  Rigel was finally taken aboard the Carpathia, but he stood by the rail and barked for his master, finally taken below.  Whatever happened to Rigel after that, is unknown. 

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The tempterature of the Atlantic ocean at the time of sinking was 31 degrees F.  The temperature of the water was the biggest cause of death among the passengers and crew.

SAUDI WOMEN Reaching High, Stepping High: Ten Saudi women to climb Mount Everest

There's no doubt that Saudi women are taking their place in the society of brave women of the world.  When these  ten Saudi women climb Mount Everest, they will make the history books.  I'm fortunate and honored that I know one of these resourceful and brave women.  Help me to spread the news that our Saudi sisters are reaching high, stepping high, and that nothing will stop them!

10 Saudi women take fight against breast cancer to Mount Everest

[image error]A woman walks past a display of a brain slice of patient "H.M." at the press preview for the MIT 150 Exhibition at the MIT Museum, celebrating Massachusetts Institute of Technology's 150 year anniversary, in Cambridge in this January 7, 2011 file photo. (Reuters)

                                                                                                 By ARWA AL-RIKABI

Published: Mar  24, 2012 00:08                Updated: Mar  25, 2012 19:25

RIYADH: Princess Reema bint Bandar bin Sultan and the Zahra Breast Cancer Association launched a campaign on Tuesday where 10 Saudi women will climb to the Mount Everest base camp in May.

The 10 climbers include Jude Al-Aitani, Asma Al-Sharif, Mashael Alhegelan, Mona Shahab, Noura Bouzo, Raha Al-Moharrak, Lina Almaeena, Samaher Mously, Hatun Madani, Alya Al-Sa'ad, Reema Al-Saud, and Marie Green. They will be accompanied by a filming crew.

The campaign, titled "A Woman's Journey: Destination Mount Everest," will raise awareness about breast cancer and is being held under the patronage of the Saudi Ministry of Health and the Ministry of Education.

Under the banners of Alf Khair (the CSR arm of Alfa International Limited "Harvey Nichols") and Al-Bidayah Breastfeeding Resource and Women's Awareness Center, Princess Reema is heading the campaign.

Explaining the aims of the campaign, the princess said: "Alf Khair and Al-Bidayah are leading advocates for women's causes in the Kingdom and we want NGOs, schools, universities, activists, the government, and media to be part of this campaign to form a network that not only builds awareness but helps us achieve our vision of having healthier and cancer-free Saudi women. I am honored and proud to lend my voice to this collective group effort."

The campaign, which was organized by Princess Reema and Dr. Modi Batterjee, highlights awareness on breast cancer prevention through adapting healthy lifestyle habits and staying physically active.

This is based on extensive research published in major scientific journals worldwide indicating that physically active women have a lower risk of developing breast cancer than inactive women.

In a study published in the Journal of the National Cancer Institute, investigators found that the amount of activity needed to achieve a 23 percent reduction in risk of breast cancer was roughly equivalent to 3.25 hours of running or 13 hours of walking per week.

Due to the 8,000 cases of breast cancer being discovered annually in Saudi Arabia according to the Saudi Cancer Registry at King Faisal Specialist Hospital and Research Center, making it the most common type of cancer in Saudi women, this campaign seeks to encourage Saudi women to spread awareness about breast cancer and its early detection.

"The campaign's goals are threefold: Spread awareness, encourage greater participation, and promote healthier lifestyles. The Zahra Breast Cancer Association is privileged that Princess Reema has taken up such a noble cause and we hope this May Saudi women will join us when we climb Mount Everest, and walk for 15 minutes a day in support of the climbers and help spread awareness about this deadly disease," said campaign spokesperson and breast cancer survivor Ola Abbass Al-Marzouky, who is also general supervisor for Zahra's Makkah office. Besides promoting exercise, the campaign focuses on early detection, since 50 to 60 percent of cases in Saudi Arabia are diagnosed at a late stage.

Dr. Muna Baslaim, a breast surgeon at King Fahd General Hospital in Jeddah, urges women to have routine checkups. "Breast cancer is on the rise in the Kingdom and early detection can prevent cancer. Women aged 40 and above should have an annual mammogram screening. Women in their 20′s and 30′s should be aware of their health and how their breasts feel so they can seek medical advice early," she explained.

Princess Reema and Batterjee were inspired by their previous success in breaking the Guinness World Record on behalf of Zahra in 2010 by forming a human pink ribbon chain in Jeddah.

Those who help one woman, helps every woman.

FROM JEAN SASSON:  Since I have been such a vocal opponent of any and all who discriminate against women, I want to also speak out when I see or hear of those that I know do all they can to help the women of the world.  King Abdullah has done more than most to help Saudi women when it comes to leaders of the Middle East.   And ANYONE who helps one woman, helps the world.  I hereby say we should all recognize and thank King Abduallah for his stand on helping women. 

 

New book illustrates king's support to women's cause

Cover of the book King Abdullah and Achievements for Women. (AN photo)

                                                                                                 By NAIF TURKI | ARAB NEWS

Published: Mar  27, 2012 23:51                Updated: Mar  29, 2012 03:51

JEDDAH: The Women Cultural Forum in Jeddah recently published the book King Abdullah and Achievements for Women. The book describes King Abdullah's support to women and the achievements he accomplished for the benefit of all of his people. The book was distributed among government institutions.

The authors, Zubaida Musalli, Nadia Sheikh and Shahinaz Al-Sabban collected the decisions and pronouncements in support of women that Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques King Abdullah made during his reign.

"The king was just and gave women his full support based on a profound Islamic vision for equality," read the introduction.

The idea for the book had been in Musalli's mind for some time before she and her associates started working on it. "It was a dream that I had for two years," said Musalli.

When Musalli decided to realize her idea, she formed a committee within the forum. The committee comprised, beside her, Nadia Sheikh and Al-Sabban. "I wanted to document Custodian of the Two Mosques' decisions that supported women and led to their accomplishments," she said, adding she had met and interviewed princesses and officials for that purpose.

Musalli said that it is the forum's custom to honor outstanding people with great accomplishments every year.

"I hesitated about this particular project, given the high status of Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques."

The book is richly illustrated with pictures, describing the king in different stages of his life. King Abdullah appointed women as members of the Shoura Council, enabling them to vote and run for the membership of municipal councils.

He raised social security allowances for divorced women and widows and he took a keen interest in the fate the condition of female prisoners.

All decisions he took related to the economy included points that would enable women to be economically independent.

The largest women-only university was opened in Riyadh during his reign and the king has always been supportive of the scientific achievements of women.

PRINCE HARRY the HIPPO more photos!

Just in case you want to see more pictures of Prince Harry the baby hippo!  ENJOY!

Harry the hungry hippo gives his happy handler a loving lick

By

PUBLISHED: 06:05 EST, 28 March 2012 | UPDATED: 10:49 EST, 28 March 2

Adorable Harry the hippopotamus is no stick-in-the-mud when it comes to making friends with humans.

The six-day-old pygmy hippo calf is filling the time of his doting carers after being rejected by his mother at birth.

The 11lb baby was born last Thursday at a wildlife sanctuary in South Africa and requires round-the-clock care.

Mother nose best: Looking after six-day-old Harry is a full-time job for his devoted carer Toni Inggs

All alone: The tiny calf was his mother Hilda's eighth-born and only her third child to survive, but was rejected by his parent

But the regal little Harry – named after the Prince – has brought joy to the whole centre, according to Rob Hall, the reserve's manager.

Handler Toni Inggs looks after the mud-loving creature at the privately-run Cango Wildlife Ranch.

More…

Didn't hear it coming? Earless rabbit destined for stardom dies after being trodden on by cameraman

The pygmy hippo – who will not grow to more than three feet tall – requires 125ml of milk around every three hours.

His parents have been returned to an external enclosure, while Harry lives like a monarch in a special suite at the sanctuary.

Mr Hall said: 'We were absolutely delighted when Harry arrived on Thursday.

'His parents Hilda and Herbert mated successfully last year and we waited patiently for the result.

Making a splash: Harry's healthy development is vital to his species, which is critically endangered with fewer than 3,000 left in the wild

Bubbly personality: Pygmy hippo calves do not grow to be more than three feet tall and live largely underwater

'Hilda was pregnant for 210 days before Harry arrived in the early hours of Thursday.

'Sadly Hilda struggled with being a mother and showed no maternal instinct so we have removed him and are rearing him by hand.

'He's an active little thing and is keeping Toni busy day and night.'

The Cango Wildlife Ranch said the arrival of Harry was a massive boost to his species, which has been declared critically endangered after experts warned there were fewer than 3,000 left in the wild.

The centre specialises in the breeding of endangered species, including cheetahs, tigers and crocodiles.

Pygmy hippos are nocturnal animals who live largely underwater and wait until nightfall before emerging to eat leaves and grass.

Thirsty work: Harry – named after the prince – needs feeding 25ml of milk every three hours

They will only ever reach around a fifth of the size of their bigger cousin, the common hippo.

The rare animals originate from the swamps of western Africa but have become threatened by the loss of their native habitat.

Harry was born after a prolonged breeding programme at Cango, which is located in the town of Oudtshoorn, east of Cape Town.

Mr Hall said the tiny calf was the eighth born to Hilda – and sadly just the third to survive.

He added: 'We saw that Hilda wasn't feeding him and realised we had to make an intervention so stepped in and are doing it ourselves.

Forty winks: Pygmy hippos are largely nocturnal and and wait until nightfall before emerging to eat leaves and grass

'Harry needs to drink 125ml of milk around every three hours, which means looking after him is a full time job.

'He will need that level of care for the first three months and after that might start to feed himself.'

'We're so pleased that he's with us and we're confident he'll grow strong.

'We knew we wanted to call him something beginning with H and and it suddenly struck us to name him Harry after the prince.

'Our team here loves Prince Harry as he shows true grit and is passionate about Africa.

'Our little guy is already proving he's made of similar stuff and is determined to make the most of life.'

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2121539/Harry-hungry-hippo-gives-happy-handler-loving-lick.html#ixzz1qYn5yaSv

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