Author Archives: kzmclain

Guest Post: Reluctant Travel: New York Adventure Day 2

Posted in Reluctant Traveler, Whimsies by

 

bec-closeup-two By Rebecca Borman

My second full day in New York was July 4th.  I would be celebrating our nation’s independence in one of its early capital cities.  I hadn’t planned the second day as carefully as the first, because my big adventure would be in the evening.  I decided to walk across the street to Macy’s and see if I could find something fun to wear for the holiday.  I did, but mostly I enjoyed riding up and down the old wooden escalators.  I also enjoyed a breakfast bagel in Herald Square because, why not?

I decided I would take the subway to the Upper West Side and see what was going on there.  It’s a different world from mid-town.  I walked for quite a while along Central Park and even walked into the park for a bit; there were many families, couples, and bikers enjoying the holiday.  I started feeling hungry and checked my phone to see if there was a good diner nearby.  John’s Old Luncheonette popped up, and it was only a couple of blocks away.  When I walked in, I knew I had made a good choice.  No fancy food or surroundings here, and a quite small menu.  But, it is clearly a neighborhood place; I was the only customer they didn’t greet by name.  I ordered a Long Island Dip sandwich, which is a French dip but on a Kaiser roll.  It was yummy and inexpensive.  I walked out of there for only $12, including the tip.  It was a far cry from my $23 martini on Saturday night!

Remembering that I had a big evening ahead of me, I took the subway back to my hotel and decided to relax for a few hours.  My room was beautiful and it seemed silly not to enjoy that view for a bit.  I rested until it was time to walk to Pier 83, from which a Circle Line Cruise would take me (and many hundreds of others) to see the fireworks from New York Harbor.

Bec NYC cruise line

It was a fun evening aboard one of the six Circle Line ships that set sail that evening.  I scored a seat outside on the upper deck, so I could see the city from a different perspective.  As we sailed around the tip of the island, we passed near the Statue of Liberty, which seemed appropriate on this holiday.  We arrived at our designated spot quite early, but we were entertained by a helicopter fly-over and by a fire boat that was spraying enormous plumes of red, white, and blue water.  Light rain dampened our spirits a bit, but we stayed under cover for a while, and the rain let up long enough for the firework display, which was as spectacular as everyone had expected.  We slowly made our way back to the pier, by which time it was raining steadily.  We all knew we would be walking in the rain back to our various hotels.  A distance of a mile and half isn’t far to walk unless it’s 11:30 PM and raining.  But, the fireworks were worth it, and I’d do it all again.

The next morning, it was time to close out my New York adventure and head to DC, so I walked the two blocks to Penn Station, climbed aboard the Acela train, and prepared to enjoy a quiet three-hour trip to Part II of my East Coast Swing.

Guest Post: Reluctant Travel: New York Adventure Day One

Posted in Reluctant Traveler, Whimsies by

By Rebecca Borman

bec-closeup-twoI love my state of Arizona and the wide open spaces of the west in general.  But, sometimes I long for two East Coast cities, New York and Washington, D.C.  When I learned that I was invited to the wedding of a friend’s son in one of the DC suburbs, it seemed the perfect opportunity to spend a week or so visiting some old haunts.  So I booked airline and train tickets, reserved hotel rooms and, in early July, set off for what I thought of as my East Coast Swing.

I arrived in New York on a Saturday evening, so the taxi ride into the city was fairly quick.  I checked into what looked to be a fabulous hotel, unpacked a couple of things, and set off from the Renaissance Midtown Hotel on 35th St. to Times Square.  Traditionally, my first evening in the Big Apple includes a martini in the awesome 8th floor bar in the Renaissance Marquis, which overlooks the madness of Times Square.  I love sipping a martini, munching on an app, and watching the crowds of people down below.  I took my time on the way back to my hotel, even stopping to do a little shopping for something I’d forgotten.  For some reason, it feels decadent to be able to shop at 10:00 at night!  After all, it’s the city that never sleeps.

View from Bec NYC windowThe next morning, I took time to enjoy the view from my 29th floor room…truly amazing.  I didn’t linger long, however, because I had plans for the day.  I ran (well, walked) a quick errand, then set off to walk to a church I love, St. Francis Xavier, near Union Square.  The church itself is beautiful, like something you’d see in Europe.  And, the Mass there, as always, was uplifting.  After Mass, I stopped in a bakery I’d discovered a couple of years ago.  I didn’t want to carry around their specialty, a chocolate/Nutella babka all day, so I settled for a tasty rugelach to eat on my way to lunch.  (Yes, dessert before lunch.  Don’t judge!)

And where to have lunch was a no-brainer.  I was less than a mile from NY’s NYC fruit stand becEataly, one of my favorite places in Manhattan.  Just walking in the door makes me smile, as you are immediately hit with the sight of beautiful produce and the smell of every kind of good food.  I chose to have a charcuterie and cheese plate and, of course, a glass of wine.  After checking out the display cases of fresh pasta, meats, and seafood, I stopped for a shot of espresso on my way out the door.

Lunch Eatily NYC

I walked a few blocks to catch a subway down to the Brooklyn Bridge, which was my next destination.  One of the few things I try to do every time I’m in NYC is a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.  It’s such a beautiful and awesome structure!  The walkway was crowded and I took my time, simply enjoying the activity and the views.  Once on the other side, I walked just a few blocks north to the Manhattan Bridge.  Now, the Manhattan Bridge is not particularly beautiful, and it’s very noisy because of the vehicle and train traffic, which is on the same level as the walkway.  But, it has a great view of the Brooklyn Bridge.  And, as you get to the Manhattan side, you are looking across and down into some interesting neighborhoods, and, eventually, into China Town.  Once off the bridge, I walked through China Town to get to another favorite place in NY, Little Italy.

Little Italy is…well little.  But, the Italian spirit is definitely there.  I walked in and out of a few shops, bought some souvenirs for my grandkids, and checked out some menus.  I found a restaurant that looked good and stepped up to ask for a table outside.  The host, an elderly gentleman, spoke to me in Italian until my blank face no doubt made it clear that I didn’t understand a thing he was saying!  He gave me a primo table right by the street, and I could tell he was instructing the server to take care of me.  I lingered over a glass of wine and a salad before ordering a bowl of pasta that was, of course, fabulous.  I bought a small gelato for dessert and enjoyed it as I walked out of Little Italy and toward the subway station, just a few blocks away.

By the time I got back to my room, I was bushed!  So, I relaxed on the sofa by my window, read, and enjoyed watching the lights come on in the buildings around me.  Day One in the Big Apple was a success.

Saturday Smile: Director of the Garden

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Those of you who know me, or who are faithful readers of my blog, know that I am a big fan — huge — of chef Lidia Bastianich. So I was delighted that the most recent issue of AARP Magazine had a fairly short interview with her about gardening. I have gleaned from being a faithful viewer of her cooking show on PBS that she loves to garden. So does her mother, who is 95 years old and going strong.

Here is a link to the article, which made me smile…..

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Here are words from somewhere in the middle of the article that resonated with me….

Mamma: I am director of the garden.

Lidia: Nothing goes in without her OK. The other thing about gardening is that it’s not only about food. It’s nice movement when you’re at a mature age. You have to bend down. It’s continuous moving, back and forth. Mamma never went to a doctor till she was 80, and finally I told her she had to go.

Mamma: They do this test, that test, they shake me up and down. At the end they say, “You know what? Go home. Do what you did until now.”

Read the article. It will make you smile.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: This Dark Road to Mercy

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searchIn Wiley Cash’s second novel, This Dark Road to Mercy — following on the footsteps of his exceptional debut A Land More Kind Than Home — 12-year-old Easter and her 6-year-old sister Ruby have been left orphaned after the unexpected death of their mother from a drug overdose. The two little girls haven’t had an easy life, and their father Wade signed away his parental rights a number of years past.

And yet, suddenly Wade appears on the scene one night as he sneaks into the window of the orphanage where the two girls are living, and convinces them to go with him. Brady, the court-appointed guardian of the girls – who has his own cross to bear – begins the search for the missing sisters.

Wade appears to want to make his amends for the past. Easter, in particular, is reluctant to believe or trust him, but Ruby is desperate to have a parent who loves her. The author has us rooting for all three of them as the book progresses.

Wade, for his part, is trying to outrun a mistake he has made that could put everyone’s lives at risk. Through an odd set of circumstances, he has come into possession of a large amount of cash, and the person who thinks the cash belongs to him will stop at nothing to get it back. And that includes using the two little girls as leverage.

The theme of making amends runs throughout the book, thereby explaining the novel’s title. The story is dark, but the ending is satisfying. Cash is another in the line of exceptional southern writers of which I’m so fond. His ability to make a character such as Wade someone of whom the reader actually grows fond is a gift. His dialogue is good and his ability to create a sense of place adds to the readability.

And the fact that this book has a baseball theme doesn’t hurt.

I’m quoting another reviewer when I say that despite the darkness of the plot, the book reads more gently than you would think.

Here is a link to the book.

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Thursday Thoughts

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The Promised Land
Kaiya and Mylee were in the back seat of my car the other day and we were heading for my house. Mylee expressed (perhaps more than once or twice, and perhaps in a tad whiny voice) that she was very, very, maybe even VERY thirsty. Kaiya, who had finally had enough complaining, said, “Mylee, Moses had to put up with it, so you do too.” Now, that was very random, and for many reasons, not the least being that I’m not even sure how Kaiya knows who Moses is. But it brought about a further conversation about Moses. I explained that Moses led his people to the promised land. It is true, I noted, that at one point the people were very hungry and thirsty, but they prayed to God and he fed them. (I didn’t add that the people were actually whining much like Mylee.) How did Moses die, Mylee wondered. I said the Bible never says how he died, but it does tell us that he never made it into the promised land. Mylee was quiet for a few seconds, and then told me, “I know why he didn’t make it. He only had one snack and so he starved to death.” Bible History 101.

Half-Mast
As I have been driving around town, I keep seeing flags at half-mast. It occurred to me that generally, whenever a flag is flying at half-mast, I have to stop and think about what happened that created the need for this solemn display of the flag. It seems to me that the flags are almost at a constant half-mast stage these days. So very sad.

V-rooooooom
I have mentioned before that I have owned a scooter for almost 10 years. I don’t exactly recall how might thought process came about, but I vividly recall that I suddenly began thinking that I wanted to buy a small motorcycle so that Bill and I could ride together. I mentioned that to Bill, and he managed to keep a straight face. After some heavy-duty swallowing, he suggested that perhaps I might consider a scooter instead. The rest is history. What many people don’t know, however, is that I hadn’t had my scooter for that long when Bill began noticing just how much fun I was having while scooting around town. Before long, Bill too was the proud owner of an identical scooter. He doesn’t ride his as much as I ride mine, but we have had our share of fun times on our scooters….

Bill Kris scooters

I-80, Here We Come
My sister Bec arrived yesterday afternoon to spend a few weeks in Colorado to escape the incessant heat of the desert. She and Jen and Bill and I will leave tomorrow to drive to Nebraska where we will be spending a long weekend in our old stomping grounds. Well, they aren’t really Bill’s old stomping grounds, but he will stomp just about anywhere. On Saturday, our relatives on our mother’s side are gathering for a reunion. Mom was the youngest of 13, so there are oodles of cousins. I’m not sure how many are going to come to the reunion, because we are none of us spring chickens any longer. But it will be fun to see everyone and talk about old times. If we can remember any, that is.

Ciao!

Treasure Hunting

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Since I haven’t quite figured out Pokemon, it stands to reason that I am considerably confused about Pokemon GO. But I’ve been seeing bits and pieces about Pokemon GO in social media for a while now. I haven’t really paid much attention to it beyond noting that once again I have no idea what a Pokemon is and it makes me feel like I’m in the Dark Ages.

So I did what any baby boomer living in the 21st century worth her salt would do – I googled Pokemon GO. It seems Pokemon GO is a game played via an app on one’s phone in which one looks for virtual characters (called Pokemon) using GPS coordinates.

Wait, what?

I’ve been doing that kind of thing for years. It’s called geocaching, and it’s been around since 2000.

Oh sure, geocaching doesn’t involve creation of an avatar or cool graphics. But there are literally millions of geocaches (actual THINGS and not virtual) placed around the world for which so-called geocachers hunt using the GPS devices on their telephones. It’s a blast.

Geocaching began in 2000 when President Clinton lifted the restrictions on John and Joan Q. Public’s ability to use GPS. Prior to 2000, the double secret government peeps felt it was too risky to let the plebes have access to such valuable information. So, while GPS was available, it was highly unreliable. You might have been trying to find your way to the grocery store and ended up instead at a Chinese massage parlor. Risky business.

Once Clinton lifted the restrictions, American people did what American people do – became creative and invented a game in which participants use their now-reliable GPS to find treasures, and called it geocaching.

My granddaughter Maggie Faith asked me the other day why it is called geocaching, and I will tell you exactly what I told her: I haven’t the foggiest idea but it probably has to do with something high techie. You can see why my grandkids ask me so many questions. My answers are so insightful.

And speaking of Maggie Faith, reading about Pokemon GO and thinking about geocaching got me in the mood to geocache. While I can (and have) done it by myself, it is much more fun to have a companion or two. So I sent an invite to the grandkids, and two of them took the bait – Dagny and Magnolia. They have been faithful geocachers with me in the past, though we haven’t often been successful. But they are always game for an adventure.

We drove (well, I drove and they sat in the back eagerly asking questions about where we were going) to an area in which I had noted there was an easy geocache. The notes on the website indicated it was large enough to hold some trinkets. (Part of geocaching is that some containers are large enough to hold little treasures such as inexpensive rings or fancy erasers; you can take one of the trinkets as long as you leave a replacement. There are no geocache police to ensure that the unwritten rule is followed; however, geocachers, like Morman missionaries, are an honest lot.) The note also said the container was wrapped in aqua duct tape.

While I tried to get my GPS up and running, Dagny and Maggie set off on the hunt. I was still fiddling with my phone when I heard Maggie holler, “I FOUND IT!” Indeed, she had. It was hidden behind a large tree. Oh, was she ever proud.

We did the trinket exchange, and set off on our second hunt just down the road. This one indicated it would be more difficult, and the heavy tree coverage impacted my GPS. We were in a very hoity toity Denver suburb not far from my not-hoity-toity neighborhood, so a yellow bug parked on the side of the street and an adult and two kids wandering around looking under bushes and rocks looked plenty suspicious. I wasn’t surprised when a car pulled over and the woman driving asked if we needed some help.

I tried to explain what we were doing so that the she wouldn’t pull out a concealed weapon. I described it as a scavenger hunt, and told her our instructions indicated that it was hidden on a horse trail. “Was there a horse trail nearby?” I asked her.

She was very nice and pointed out a horse trail that we hadn’t spotted. After thanking her, we took off. I followed my GPS’s directions until it informed me “YOU ARE VERY CLOSE.” Since I didn’t know the program notified me when the geocache is nearby, the three of us nearly jumped out of our skin. We began hunting, and it was only seconds before Dagny this time shouted, “I FOUND IT!” And, again, she had. It was much harder to spot as it was not wrapped in aqua duct tape, but rather in camouflaged tape.

Maggie Dagny geocache 2016

Two for two. Nana’s turn to find the next one.

We drove to a nearby church where there allegedly was another geocache. My GPS got us to the point where it again told us “YOU ARE VERY CLOSE.” This time we didn’t jump. But we also didn’t find the treasure. And by this time we were closing in on the time the little ones were to be home for dinner.

But we didn’t give up; instead, we returned the next day, and brought along the big gun — Papa….

papa dagny mags geocaching

With his help, we found three more geocaches, including the one at the church (which I found, yay!, and had one fail.

We aren’t giving up. Our plan is to go again soon and find the one we couldn’t find during our last try. My two little game geocachers are already begging for more.

Take that, Pokemon GO!

Play Dates

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Like most Baby Boomers, from the time school let out at the beginning of summer until I trudged the seven blocks back to school after Labor Day with my shiny new school supplies and my book bag left over from the previous year or handed down from my sister, I played outside.

After a breakfast of Frosted Flakes with bananas on top (as a wink and a nod towards actual nutrition), I put on my pedal pushers and my sleeveless plaid blouse, considered – then rejected – my flip-flops (then called thongs), and ran outside barefoot to my back patio.

“Eee-ah-kee, Kathy,” I yelled at the top of my lungs. This was my way of contacting my best neighborhood friend and inviting her to come out and play.

“Eee-ah-kee,” she would respond, and be over at my house in a heartbeat.

I don’t know what eee-ah-kee means or from whence it originated. We are not American Indian. It just became our cry for fellowship. There was, by the way, no need to holler, as my childhood friend was just a quick scamper past our garage and through Mrs. Benda’s garden. But holler, we did.

And play, we did. Games that called for imagination. Riding our bikes. Playing tag. Spying on the neighbors to the south. Playing with our Barbie dolls. Writing and performing plays in front of our patient mothers and neighbors. Occasionally stopping for a glass of Kool-Aid that was toxically loaded with red dye. Taking a break for a salami sandwich and milk. Finishing up quickly as I heard in the distance, “Eee-ah-kee, Kris.”

More call to play.

Baby Boomers everywhere recall these days with joyful nostalgia. Metal playground equipment that was scalding to the touch which didn’t stop us from using them. Merry-go-rounds that you took turns pushing as hard as you could. Mostly we stayed on, but sometimes someone fell off and required Mercurochrome and a band-aid. See? It wasn’t all sunshine and roses. We actually hurt ourselves. We had scabs to prove it. Mercurochrome, by the way, was banned by the FDA in 1998. It’s a wonder we’re still alive.

I often see postings on social media from fellow Baby Boomers recalling these simpler days. I know that our kids are safer now than we were. I don’t purport that we return to the days of riding bikes without helmets. But still, I don’t see scores of Baby Boomers wearing head gear caused by falling off a merry-go-round.

A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook a link to an article from the reputable publication Psychology Today. This article, written by a smartypants as indicated by the fact that he has a Ph.D., reports that rates of depression and anxiety among young people are on the rise, and have been for several decades. He goes on to say that this psychological phenomenon appears to have nothing to do with the idea that our world is inherently more dangerous. During the Great Depression of the 1930s, World War II, and the ensuing years when we all thought we were going to be blasted to Kingdom Come by a nuclear bomb coming straight out of the Soviet Union, we were all still happy campers.

And the reason for the increase according to Dr. Peter Gray? Kids no longer have a sense of personal control over what is going to happen to them. The reason, he goes on to say, is that kids no longer play outside unwatched by any sort of parental figure. Instead, they have Play Dates. As a result, kids no longer solve their own problems. They don’t figure out how to fight their own battles. Instead, parents help their kids make decisions (when they’re not actually making the decisions for them). Parents are choosing their kids’ friends. Kids aren’t able to choose their own interests. Instead, they are put on soccer teams and into gymnastic classes. They must study, study, study because they have to get into the best schools and for heaven’s sake, they MUST go to college. As a result, they are spending more time than ever in school, and less time in free play with their friends.

I don’t know if Dr. Smartypants is right or not. My grandkids seem perfectly happy with their lives. But it does make me sort of sad that they haven’t the opportunity to experience summer in the same way that I did.

And, by the way, kids still drink red Kool-Aid, though I’m certain it’s made with safer coloring.

Here is a photo courtesy of a fellow grade school classmate who somehow had access to this permanent reminder of our youth. I am pretty sure I am the little girl with my back to the camera in the middle row, third from the right, uncharacteristically wearing my glasses. The top row features the women who served us every day at cafeteria. While they look wholly unpleasant (except for the woman on the far right who didn’t get the memo that she shouldn’t smile), I recall them actually being quite pleasant. Ah, sweet youth….

cafeteria line circa 1960 (2)

 

Take Me Home Oh Muddah Faddah

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Hello Muddah, hello Fadduh,
Here I am at Camp Grenada
Camp is very entertaining
and they say we’ll have some fun if it stops raining. – Allan Sherman and Lou Busch

When I was young, my mom dangled the option of going away to summer camp for a week in front of my eyes.  I responded with a resounding  NO, THANK YOU. She tried sweetening the deal: Beckie would be there. Nope. That didn’t help.

As I have mentioned in the past, I was an unfailing, written-in-permanent-marker Mama’s Girl. When Mom and Dad would go out for dinner and leave me (and my siblings) at my grandmother’s apartment above the bakery (where we received lots of affection and sweet treats), I would sit in the window and watch for their car to drive up on the street down below. Likewise, every summer my parents would put me on a bus to Grand Island – about an hour away from Columbus – to visit my cousin Shari who was my age. I loved the idea of the visit, but after about a day-and-a-half, I was on the telephone asking my mom to come and retrieve me.

But I will tell you the truth about my unwillingness to go to camp. Yes, it’s true that I knew I would be homesick  for my mommy  (just like in the Hello Muddah Hello Faddah song that was popular for a brief period in 1963 and won a Grammy award in 1964, further proving that ANYTHING could be popular in the 60s). But as much as anything else, camp was a no-go for me because I knew they would try to teach me to swim. I didn’t want to learn to swim, as I have noted again and again on this blog. I will die unable to swim, and I am perfectly fine with that. There will be no swimming pools in heaven, at least not for me.

Let me tell you, however, Addie, Alastair, Dagny, and Maggie Faith do love them some summer camp. They attend a church camp located in a spectacular area between Estes Park and Lyons in the mountains of Colorado. They all go for one week each year and miss their parents NOT ONE SINGLE BIT. Dagny, in fact, doesn’t even take the time to read the daily emails all of her loved ones dutifully send her to combat homesickness until she is on the drive home. She apparently pulls them out of her pack at that point and catches up on the news from Denver. Note to self: Should a tragedy occur during the week of summer camp, DON’T NOTIFY DAGNY BY EMAIL.

This year Addie begged her parents to allow her to go to summer camp twice – Addie Camp Performance 2 2016two full nonconsecutive weeks. They told her they would allow her to go for two weeks, but they would only pay for one of those weeks. If she wanted to go to another week, she would have to pay for it herself. That is exactly what she did. She earned money to pay for camp. But she also took the initiative and applied for a scholarship, which she was awarded. And thus, she completed M.A.D. Camp this past Friday. M.A.D., by the way, stands for music, art, and drama.

Seeings as at age 3 Addie performed a self-composed one-man musical for my sister Jen and me in my backyard splash pool, it is no surprise to anyone that she is a natural-born performer. M.A.D. Camp was made for Addie.

Friday afternoon Bill and I drove to her camp outside Allenspark and watched the final performance of the play the middle-school-aged campers had been working on the entire week. Shockingly, Addie was the outstanding performer. She sang a solo, and her voice was clear as a bell and very pretty. Her acting was appropriately animated. She not only remembered every one of her lines, but I could tell she knew everyone else’s lines as well. It was only with great difficulty that she barely refrained from saying the lines along with them under her breath. Her lips almost didn’t move.

addie camp performance 2016

I’m happy that my grandkids aren’t as wimpy as their nana and that they all enjoy camp so much. It pleases me that they don’t get homesick, apparently not one little bit. And as for Dagny, I’m going to stop sending her emails and then just tell her she must have lost mine on the trip home.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Pulling Your Weight

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The other day when a few of the grandkids were visiting, Mylee came up to me and told me that Alastair had asked her to bring him a glass of water with ice. “Can you help me, Nana?” she asked me.

I helped her get the water for Alastair, wondering how that whole transaction came about. A few minutes later, she came back with her fist in a ball and a big smile on her face.

“Alastair paid me a quarter for getting him water,” she said, opening her fist and showing me the quarter. I was going to demand my twelve-and-a-half cents, but decided to take the high road.

When Mylee’s dad came to pick her up, as they walked to the car, she proudly showed him the quarter she had earned.

“I’m bringing some money into our family,” she told her dad.

Mylee quarter 2016

Well, it’s about time.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Residence: Inside the Private World of the White House

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imagesI love to read and hear about how the other half live. I think this is why I am so intrigued with the British Monarchy and why Downton Abbey so thoroughly captured my interest. So when I came across the opportunity to read about life inside the White House – not the politics but the real-life stories about the people who have lived there – well, my interest was immediately piqued.

The Residence: Inside the Private World of the White House, penned by Kate Brower Andersen, gives readers a glimpse of what life is like within the so-called people’s house. The stories come from the mouths of those who know the house the best – the staff, many of whom have worked there for an extremely long time.

Brower covered the White House for Bloomberg News, so she had a bit of a leg up when it came to access to White House personnel. But she clearly did a lot of research because the people with whom she spoke went as far back as the Kennedy years.

Historically, White House staff are very closed-mouthed about what goes on inside those four walls (well, it is actually about 55,000 square feet in size, which includes 132 rooms, 3 kitchens, and 35 bathrooms). And there are certainly no state secrets spilled in this book. The author says time and time again that the people who work at the White House are loyal and reluctant to talk about the families who reside there.

Still, the reader gets some glimpses into more of a real-life image of these people who appear to us to be bigger than life. I can’t say that I learned anything astounding, but I did get a picture of the atmosphere in the White House during each of the individual administrations.

Clearly, the winners were George H.W. and Barbara Bush, and the loser, well, I won’t give it up.

If you like Downton Abbey, you might enjoy reading about our very own Downton Abbey at 1600 Pennsylvania in Washington, D.C.

Here is a link to the book.

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