America's entertainment ambassador reveals for the first time her personal secrets for entertaining with style. Betsy Bloomingdale presents not only her own tips, but those of some of the world's most celebrated hosts and hostesses. Also features a variety of wonderful recipes.
Betsy Carter seemed to have it all: a gorgeous husband with Paul Newman eyes, a thriving career as a journalist at Newsweek and Esquire, and invites to the hottest parties in the best city in the world. Carter was the ultimate “New York woman,” and so it was no wonder that she founded a magazine by that name. But in her early thirties, her luck turned toxic: a fire, illness, divorce, a devastating cab accident, unspeakably bad boyfriends. Carter’s life became so grim that her therapist suggested she have an exorcism; a tarot card reader burst into tears as she laid Carter’s life out on the table. This moving story, set against the gossipy and often hilarious world of magazine publishing in the go-go eighties, reveals what it was like for one woman to be stripped bare, wander the wreckage, and come back with her head and renovations intact.
She wasnt a dog anyone wanted. Bald from the nape of her neck to the tip of her tail, she was a scrawny little black dog with little to recommend herself to anyone other than the little tricks she used to perform to amuse people. A loser dog. But then, I wasnt a person anyone wanted either. A loser in the eyes of the world. A neer do well named Jamie Fairchild, who, at the age of forty-one, had tried his luck in many places and invariably had failed. For twenty years, I had become a stranger even to the members of my own immediate family. I didnt want a dog. I wasnt even looking for one. But God has a way of intervening, regardless of our hopes, dreams, and personal wills, not necessarily giving one what one wants but what one needs. Th ey tole me you needed me, Betsy told me. Who told you? My superior offi cers, she smiled, elevating her chin toward heaven. Th ings hasnt been goin so well with ya these past twenty years. I hear tell ya had big dreams once, but you went bust, was homeless jes like me fer awhiles. I also hear tell them folks of yourn aint much of a family. But then, mine twerent neither. I hears ya likes adventure, aint afeerd of takin risks. I aint either. I also hear tell ya likes to perform. I does too. But ya lost your confi dence along the way. Well, Im here to give it back to ya. Before long, Betsy was putting me through my paces. Ah-ten-tion! shed bark at me. Th ats what our C.O. always barked at the fellas I worked with in New Guinea. Saunders was his name. Man, he was a doll, but he could also be one mean sonofabitch, let me tell ya. When Saunders barked them orders, them guys all shot up straight as ramrods. Shoulders up, ass in, chest out. Now, lissen up, Pop. Ah-ten-tion! Git that chin up! What goods it doin hangin down thataways on your collarbone? Well, no one would be able to cuff me under it if its hanging down. Lissen, Pop, she would say. No ones gonna cuff you under the chin. And if they does, Ill take care of em so good, they wont need to wear no shoes! No one messes with a Marine. Not if they know whats good for em. Now lissen up! Chin up! Shoulders back! Ass in! Awkward as these unaccustomed positions felt to me, I complied with her commands. Yeah, her muzzle widened into a grin. Th ats more like it, Daddy. If Betsy had set me onto the road of physical exercise, she also corrected my posture. If it hadnt been for the disciplines that she imposed upon me, Id now be a walking question mark. Why are ya walkin with your shoulders down on your chest? shed bark. You wanna be a hunchback one day? No, I said. Th en stand straight and stop hangin your head, she said. How are ya ever goin to see where youre a-goin lookin down at the ground all the time? You look at the ground when you sniff , Id say. Yeah, but thats only to get the smell of direction. Its in the dog world what you call a map in the human one. But ya caint go nowheres by always lookin at the map. Time comes when youve gotta keep your eye on the road. Th is was the army now, and I had become Private Jamie to Sergeant Betsy. When I would slump down into that easy chair, one of whose armrests she had completely disemboweled, and had sunk into those pointless ruminations about what I should or should not have done so many years before, Betsy would approach my feet and deposit at them the tug o war rope, fall back on her rear haunches, her big brown eyes shining with excited anticipation, her muzzle dropped open in an eager smile. Come on, Dad, lets play. Oh, please, not now, Betsy, Id say. Oh yes, now, she insisted. Come on. What goods settin there goin over things you caint do nuthin bout? When you does stuff like this, youre like me when a fl ea gets on my tail and I keep tryin to bite it off of it, but the more I turns around, that tail jes keep gittin further away from me. Memories is like fl eas, Dad. You chew on em too long, they gets your tail sore. Ya gotta keep your eye on your star. Th eres one up yonder thats yourn and yourn alone. Keep your eye on it, and it wont be forgettin ya. You jes take a hold on my tail, Pop, and Ill take ya to your highest dreams.
Concrete floors and concrete walls, buildings that pierce the sky, taxicabs and subway corridors, a steady din of noise. These things, along with a virtually unrivaled collection of museums, galleries, performance venues, media outlets, international corporations, and stock exchanges make New York City not only the cultural and financial capital of the United States, but one of the largest and most impressive urban conglomerations in the world. With distinctions like these, is it possible to imagine the city as any more than this? City at the Water's Edge invites readers to do just that. Betsy McCully, a long-time urban dweller, argues that this city of lights is much more than a human-made metropolis. It has a rich natural history that is every bit as fascinating as the glitzy veneer that has been built atop it. Through twenty years of nature exploration, McCully has come to know New York as part of the Lower Hudson Bioregion-a place of salt marshes and estuaries, sand dunes and barrier islands, glacially sculpted ridges and kettle holes, rivers and streams, woodlands and outwash plains. Here she tells the story of New York that began before the first humans settled in the region twelve thousand years ago, and long before immigrants ever arrived at Ellis Island. The timeline that she recounts is one that extends backward half a billion years; it plumbs the depths of Manhattan's geological history and forecasts a possible future of global warming, with rising seas lapping at the base of the Empire State Building. Counter to popular views that see the city as a marvel of human ingenuity diametrically opposed to nature, this unique account shows how the region has served as an evolving habitat for a diversity of species, including our own. The author chronicles the growth of the city at the expense of the environment, but leaves the reader with a vision of a future city as a human habitat that is brought into balance with nature.
Few of our state's 64 parishes have first-rate published histories available about them. How marvelous that Pelican should have seen fit to republish this superlative book!--Shreveport forum news From the banks of the Mississippi River to the edge of Bayou Barataria to the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, Louisiana�s Jefferson Parish encompasses a diverse and historic region. This comprehensive, illustrated volume reconstructs the natural and human history of the parish, tracing its evolution from the earliest times of prehistory to the modern era. Betsy Swanson spotlights the area�s early Indian life and archaeological sites and historic landmarks, extinct and extant, and the roles they played in the progress of the region. Colorful historical figures who appear in these pages include the pirate Jean Lafitte, revolutionary Nicolas Chauvin de la Freni�re, and the reclusive philanthropist John McDonogh. Historic Jefferson Parish also features a treasure trove of early sketches, rare maps, and vintage photographs.
This monograph is the first scholarly study of John Ferguson Weir (1841-1926). Weir has been long overshadowed by his father, Robert Walter Weir (1803-89), and his Impressionist brother, Julian Alden Weir (1852-1919). This volume definitively restores John's reputation. Two major contributions - as an artist and as a teacher - insure his prominent place in the history of American art. In his paintings, he tackled significant subject matter of broad cultural resonance. Weir's forty-four-year-long career as director of Yale University's School of the Fine Arts also represents a seminal contribution to the nation's cultural history." "John Ferguson Weir: The Labor of Art contains over 140 illustrations, seven in color. In addition, a detailed chronology of Weir's life is contained in an appendix."--BOOK JACKET.Title Summary field provided by Blackwell North America, Inc. All Rights Reserved
Betsy Carter seemed to have it all: a gorgeous husband with Paul Newman eyes, a thriving career as a journalist at Newsweek and Esquire, and invites to the hottest parties in the best city in the world. Carter was the ultimate “New York woman,” and so it was no wonder that she founded a magazine by that name. But in her early thirties, her luck turned toxic: a fire, illness, divorce, a devastating cab accident, unspeakably bad boyfriends. Carter’s life became so grim that her therapist suggested she have an exorcism; a tarot card reader burst into tears as she laid Carter’s life out on the table. This moving story, set against the gossipy and often hilarious world of magazine publishing in the go-go eighties, reveals what it was like for one woman to be stripped bare, wander the wreckage, and come back with her head and renovations intact.
In personal interviews and correspondence, the popular author discusses the relationship between herself and her characters, how she became an author, and what her daily life is like now.
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