The Appeal by John Grisham
One of the things I like about John Grisham is that he really likes the underdog. In his books, the person often the least likely to prevail does so, usually because he has a smart attorney, one who is paying attention and taking good care of the client. Warning – this book review contains a spoiler, so don’t go any further if you don’t want to know too much about the plot and resolution.
The Appeal is the exception. No one wins, not even the apparent winner, who sails off in the end with his empty, unsatisfying life. He schemes, he exploits, he lies, he buys elections, and he makes a fortune – and he isn’t satisfied. He is married to a woman who sounds more like a greyhound, all skin and bones and self-absorption.
The subject matter is a case where a chemical company has dumped toxic wastes into the ground in Mississippi, it has penetrated into the groundwater, and polluted the entire water system of a small fictional town. Two lawyers, married to one another, sacrifice everything and face bankruptcy to win a case for their client who has lost both husband and son to cancer caused by the toxic chemicals dumped. They win.
There is an appeal.
What this book is about isn’t just about groundwater contamination, or even about buying elections in Mississippi – it is an indictment of every state that elects judges. The core of the novel is about how big money, big corporations, pick candidates and fund them, legally and illegally, and insure that they win. They pack the courts with judges who are opposed to large settlements.
God bless John Grisham. With all his great legal thrillers, he has made a bundle and can take risks like writing a book like The Appeal, which should be an eye opener, and should be read by every caring citizen.
Judges should not be elected. When the judiciary are elected, they have to think about their next election, with every legal decision. It taints objectivity. It corrupts objectivity. It eliminates objectivity. Without an objective judiciary – why bother? They will always rule on the side whose interests are the most powerful and profitable.
Here are a couple quotes that tell you where the novel is going. My Kuwaiti friends are going to love this – I have taken so many shots at Kuwait corruption – so here it is, my friends, exposure of the institutionalized corruption in my country:
Barry laughed and crossed his legs. “We do campaigns. Have a look.” He picked up a remote and pushed the button, and a large white screen dropped from the ceiling and covered most of the wall, then the entire nation appeared. Most of the states were in green, the rest were in a soft yellow. “Thirty-one states are in the green. The yellow ones have the good sense to appoint their courts. We make our living in the green ones.”
“Judicial elections.”
“Yes. That’s all we do, and we do it very quietly. When our clients need help, we target a supreme court justice who is not particularly friendly, and we take him, or her, out of the picture.”
“Just like that.”
“Just like that.”
“Who are your clients?”
“I can’t give you the names, but they’re all on your side of the street. Big companies in energy, insurance, pharmaceuticals, chemicals, timber, all types of manufacturers, plus doctors, hospitals, nursing homes, banks. We raise tons of money and hire the people on the ground to run aggressive campaigns.”
* * * * * * * *
The Senator did not know who owned the jet, not had he ever met Mr. Trudeau, which in most cultures would seem odd since Rudd had taken so much money from the man. But in Washington, money arrives through a myriad of strange and nebulous conduits. Often those taking it have only a vague idea of where it’s coming from; often they have no clue. In most democracies, the transference of so much cash would be considered outright corruption, but in Washington the corruption has been legalized. Senator Rudd didn’t know and didn’t care that he was owned by other people. He had over $11 million in the bank, money he could eventually keep if not forced to waste it on some frivolous campaign. In return for such an investment, Rudd had a perfect voting record on all matters dealing with pharmaceuticals, chemicals, oil, energy, insurance, banks and on and on.
I like almost every book I read by John Grisham. He is a man with a conscience, and he is trying to raise our awareness of corruptive factors before our system goes entirely under. I couldn’t put this book down, and I can hardly wait to read the next one.
Monte Cristo Sandwich
I have a young Kuwaiti friend who told me she used to LOVE Monte Cristo sandwiches until she learned they had ham in them, and then she couldn’t eat them anymore. I wonder if they would taste OK made with turkey ham? This is today’s recipe from allrecipes.com; my sweet daughter-in-law got me started and now they send me recipes with pictures every day!
Monte Cristo Sandwich
SUBMITTED BY: CJO PHOTO BY: gapch1026
from allrecipes.com
INGREDIENTS
2 slices bread
1 teaspoon mayonnaise
1 teaspoon prepared mustard
2 slices cooked ham (turkey ham 🙂 )
2 slices cooked turkey meat
1 slice Swiss cheese
1 egg
1/2 cup milk
DIRECTIONS
Spread bread with mayonnaise and mustard. Alternate ham, Swiss and turkey slices on bread.
Beat egg and milk in a small bowl. Coat the sandwich with the egg and milk mixture. Heat a greased skillet over medium heat, brown the sandwich on both sides. Serve hot.
Having a Ball to Celebrate the Army’s 234th Birthday
(Photo from PictureBook Directory of Children’s Illustrations)
As a child, I grew up with stories of dressing up in beautiful gowns and going to the ball – didn’t you see Cinderella when you were a child? My mother would dress in wonderful gowns to go out with my father to balls; I still remember her kissing me goodnight, dressed is midnight dark blue velvet with rhinestones scattered on the gown; it reminded me of a starry night in Alaska. She wore White Shoulders perfume.
We always thought they had so much fun when they went out – they would bring us small swords and umbrellas. We would ask “what did you do with these?” imagining sword fights or something equally interesting, but they would say they were just decorations for fancy drinks. We knew they were lying; we knew it must be some adult thing that they couldn’t tell us about.
This weekend AdventureMan and I went to the Army Birthday Ball, and realized it may be the last ball we go to. We were prepared, or mostly. Unlike Cinderella, I didn’t have my glamorous shoes with me. I remember taking them out of the closet, but somehow they got packed in my household goods. I did have a pair of sandals with me that matched my gown closely enough, but they were far from glam.
AdventureMan was dressing in his evening wear and discovered he had no black socks! Horrors! We found a pair of very dark green socks that he usually wears traveling in Africa, and his pants were long enough to cover them, both standing and sitting, as long as he didn’t cross his legs, LLOOLLL!
So, off we went to the ball, not in a glorious carriage but in air conditioned comfort, thank God. The air conditioning matters when you are all dressed up, made up, and want to be cool.
Cool we were. As we sat shivering in the giant decorated warehouse where the ball was held, I laughed at AdventureMan and said “I have NEVER been cold at a ball before!” Even at the winter balls we used to attend in Germany, the heat would be on, and with 300 – 400 people attending, all crowded in, things heated up in a hurry. The summer balls in Germany were often sweltering – there was never any air conditioning, and a big heat wave always seemed to hit around the time of the balls. There is nothing so unglamorous as sweating in a ball gown!
Here, in Doha, where the temperatures at night sometimes don’t even drop below 90°F, the air conditioning was working great.
The food was also surprisingly good. Most of the time at grand occasions the food can be rubbery, or blandly disappointing. The food was pretty good.
Best of all, this was a ball put on by soldiers, for soldiers. It was really fun seeing all the soldiers and civilians in their finery, all glammed up and having a great time. It was even more fun having some of the soldiers out of the war zones, on R&R, in their battle-dress-uniforms – after all, the ball was to celebrate the Army, the Army’s 234th birthday, and those who serve.
The program was excellent, and moving. Great honor was given to those who serve, who sacrifice, those who have been wounded, the families that support them, and to those who give their lives in service to our country. There were many solemn moments. It gave the occasion gravity. It was impossible not to be moved. They did a great job.
When I was younger, before marrying AdventureMan, my sister and I were in the right place at the right time. All the young officers needed respectable dates for the balls, and we attended a lot of balls. I guess we “cleaned up good.” 😉 Many of the balls were held in the Heidelberg Castle, or other castles, it was always a very fun time, lots of dancing.
After getting married, I realized that what I thought was just a great romantic evening out was really all about politicking. The wives were left stranded at their tables while the husbands were out renewing acquaintances, getting introductions to new potential bosses and angling for their next assignment. So much for an evening of dancing and romance! As the music blared, you couldn’t even have a good conversation, just sit at the table or walk around with a friend, wondering when your husband was coming back!
So, for me, this ball was the best. AdventureMan made his rounds during dinner, while I chatted with other wives whose husbands were also out making the rounds, but before the loud music had started. The program didn’t end until late, and after making our rounds of farewells, we made our escape, hoping we would not turn into pumpkins!
Here is a wonderful video, made by a 15 year old girl, to honor our Armed Forces:
Dar Al Thaqafa in Doha, Qatar
I have very special feelings about Dar Al Thaqafa. When I was new in Qatar, as I started to read a very special book, it fell out of the binding. Maybe the heat has melted the glue, I don’t know, but it was not my book! It was loaned to me by the Ambassador to Qatar from Japan, and holy smokes, I had ruined it!
I went ahead and read the book, and then I had to figure out how to get it re-bound. I asked around, no one had any idea. Finally, I asked at one of the Dar al Thaqafa stores (there are several in Doha) and they told me about the Dar al Thaqafa printing plant, which was not far from where I lived.
I took the book there. They said they could rebind it. It would take about a week. I didn’t even ask the cost; it didn’t matter, I had to return the book in good condition.
When I went to pick up the book, they wouldn’t let me pay them. The man who gave it to me – with beautiful bindings and end-papers – had a big prayer bump on his head. He told me he wanted me to remember that not all religious Muslims were terrorists. I almost cried. Maybe I did, a little, when I got back to the car, it is just such a perfect example of God’s grace, and how we are supposed to love one another and be kind to one another.
So this weekend, as I drove around familiarizing myself with my old secret back ways to get places, I came across the first Dar Al Thaqafa book store I ever visited, with Little Diamond, down near the Dira’a fabric souks. You would hardly know it was there, if you didn’t know it was there. We only found it because the toy vendor outside had some dancing Saddam Husseins and Osama bin Ladens – I have never seen them anywhere else. Then we spotted the bookstore – and oh, what heaven, all kinds of books, a bookstore any book lover would love:
Qatar is a conservative country. You might be wondering how I can take pictures so freely – I always ask.
So I asked if I might take photos of the bookstore.
“Why” asked the man at the desk.
“I love this bookstore,” I responded, “and I take photos of places that might not exist in the next five or ten years. I try to record what was special and unique in a country.”
He beamed with delight!
“This is the oldest bookstore in Qatar!” he exclaimed! “This is the original of all the Dar al Thaqafa bookstores!” He gladly gave me permission to photograph.
They carry textbooks, reference books, religious books, children’s books, and all kinds of school supplies, from the most elementary grades through the most specialized university courses.
You know I read and write Arabic on a very very basic level. I can proudly say my niece, Little Diamond reads and writes on a fluent level, and as we leave book stores, we are often staggering under the load of the books she buys to take home and read. This store, and the Jarir bookstores, are a couple of our favorite stops.
I had a family cookbook printed with all our best of the best recipes – the Dar al Thaqafa on Merqab did the printing and cover and binding for me. They did a great job.
As much as I like going to a Barnes and Noble, you walk into just about any Barnes and Noble and it is like walking into the same one, whether you are in Pensacola, Seattle, Houston, Charleston – they all pretty much follow the same pattern. It is calculated and more than a little sterile. Not so the Dar al Thaqafa, where books are piled here and there, pens are all in one place, children’s books in piles – you kind of have to search for what you want, but they usually have it, or can find it for you, or tell you where to go for it.
Dulce in Villagio Mall, Doha, Qatar
It’s almost trite, it’s so common. You go to church, you hit Villagio. I needed to run some errands at the Carrefour, so we figured lunch at Villagio – there is so much to choose from. We were debating over two old favorites when we came to Dulce, and decided immediately to try something new.
We were so glad we did. Everything was delicious!
The Sicilian Appetizer – mixed olives, artichoke hearts, pickles – was WAAAAYY too much for just two people (we forgot and scooped onto our plates before I remembered to take a photo):
My Chicken Rosemary Wrap was so big I took half of it home with me:
AdventureMan’s mushroom pizza was SO tasty, but even so, we ended up taking half home, there was so much pizza:
Our one regret – as we were eating, we were sitting near the dessert displays, and they kept bringing out more and more, each more delicious looking than the previous. By the time we left, we were gawking, but unable to do anything about it! On the other hand, we know where we will go for dessert and coffee the next time the urge hits us. 🙂
The Little Prisoner and Child Abuse
Of all the books our book club read this year, The Little Prisoner by Jane Elliott (not her real name) was the most troublesome. The first one to finish said it was boring and repetitive. The second refused to read it at all, that the content would have images that would polute her mind. Both were right, and at the same time, if we refuse to look at what troubles us, we collude with the abuser.
I hate bullying. A man who beats and plays sexual games with a child is a bully and worse – he is a betrayer of trust. Children come into the world pure, clean slates. They can create their own mischief, their own evil, but to be corrupted by an adult – that is the absolute worst sin.
Today’s Gospel reading in The Lectionary is about this very behavior – that betrayal and/or corruption of a child is a huge sin against God:
Matthew 18:1-14
18 At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ 2 He called a child, whom he put among them, 3 and said, ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 5 Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.
6 ‘If any of you put a stumbling-block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea. 7 Woe to the world because of stumbling-blocks! Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to the one by whom the stumbling-block comes!
8 ‘If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life maimed or lame than to have two hands or two feet and to be thrown into the eternal fire. 9 And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into the hell* of fire.
10 ‘Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven.* 12 What do you think? If a shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? 13 And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray. 14 So it is not the will of your* Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.
The book was, in one sense, an easy read. It only took about three hours to read it. It was, as the first reader said, repetitive, but then once a bully has found a victim, the behavior does tend to be repetitive, and, as in the book, it also escalates.
The victim’s father bullied her, and he abused her sexually from the time she was four until she was seventeen. He terrorized his wife and other children, and he terrorized the neighborhood with his violence and threats of violence. To this day, the author and her family live far away, and fears her step-father finding out where she is.
I found the writer unlikeable. I wanted to feel more compassion for her than I did. I think part of my problem was that she stayed in the situation even into her teens, even into early adulthood, without seeming to rebel, without taking any steps to get herself out of the situation. She tells us straight away that she has personality defects, troubles with trust and betrayal, and that she sometimes turns to drink. A part of me knows that people who have been systematically abused over a long time can lose that ability to resist, rebel, to ask for help, but another part of me can’t understand it at all. A part of me is impatient with her weakness, I want her to stand on her feet and make her life a testament to her survival, I want her success in overcoming her childhood to be the sweetest kind of revenge. Unfortunately, life is more complicated than that, and her murky ending is probably the more realistic. Abuse leaves lasting damage.
The Little Prisoner is not an easy read in terms of content. There were times I felt she exaggerated to sell the book; to make hers just a little more interesting than the other ones out there with which her book is competing. There is a part of me that would prefer not to see, not to have those images in my mind.
We know, from all the literature, that children who are abused can grow up to be abusers. I have had friends who were abused who refused to have children at all, afraid they would perpetuate the behavior, even though they had a horror of the violence, and were gentle and peaceful people. How do we intervene, how do we break the chain of abusers begetting abusers? How do we change the behaviors? Can abusers really change?
The Little Prisoner brings up a whole host of uncomfortable questions. We can read, we can discuss – but if we choose to look the other way, aren’t we in a small way colluding with the abusers, allowing them to continue while we look the other way?
Enmegahbowh
Yesterday, one of the songs we sang was an oldie but goodie, To Be a Pilgrim, written by John Bunyan, who wrote Pilgrim’s Progress while serving a jail term for preaching without a license. We sang the old fashioned version:
Who would true valour see,
Let him come hither;
One here will constant be,
Come wind, come weather
There’s no discouragement
Shall make him once relent
His first avowed intent
To be a pilgrim.
Whoso beset him round
With dismal stories
Do but themselves confound;
His strength the more is.
No lion can him fright,
He’ll with a giant fight,
He will have a right
To be a pilgrim.
Hobgoblin nor foul fiend
Can daunt his spirit,
He knows he at the end
Shall life inherit.
Then fancies fly away,
He’ll fear not what men say,
He’ll labor night and day
To be a pilgrim.
(Actually, I may have drifted off because I don’t remember singing the part about the hobgoblins or foul fiends . . . or maybe we sang a slightly more updated version . . .)
Yesterday’s reading in The Lectionary had a great prayer, which also included the word “pilgrim:
Almighty God, thou didst lead thy pilgrim people of old with fire and cloud; grant that the ministers of thy church, following the example of blessed Enmegahbowh, may stand before thy holy people, leading them with fiery zeal and gentle humility. This we ask through Jesus, the Christ, who liveth and reigneth with thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God now and forever. Amen.
And it had this wonderful story of an American Saint, Enmegahbowh – A saint from the original inhabitants of our country:
ENMEGAHBOWH
PRIEST AND MISSIONARY (12 JUNE 1902)
[James Kiefer has no bio for Enmegahbowh. Below is a biography from A Pioneer History of Becker County Minnesota by Alvin H. Wilcox (1907). Enmegabowh was the first Indian ordained in the Episcopal Church.]
In 1851, the Rev. Dr. Breck, a great missionary, whose name must be known to every reader of the “Soldier,” [“Christian Soldier”] began a mission at Leech Lake, among the Ojibwa Indians of Minnesota. This mission, from various circumstances, had only a partial success, and in the winter of 1855-56 troubles with the government agents roused the Indians to such madness that Dr. Breck was forced to leave, and the mission buildings were burned.
Two years later the Rev. Mr. Peake went to Crow Wing to establish another mission, and young Indian deacon, John Johnson, his Indian name Enmegahbowh, came to assist him. This man had beeen a catechumen under Dr. Breck, and had been baptized by him. He must have been born to some position in his tribe, as he had been set apart for a “Medicine Man” in youth, and his Indian name, Enmegahbowh, meant “The man who stands by his people,” a significant name, which in time proved to be a true one.
In 1861 Mr. Peake resigned the mission into the hands of Enmegahbowh. Crow Wing was then a settlement of very bad repute on the frontier. In 1862, the year of the Sioux outbreak, Hole-in-the-day, a leading Ojibwa chief, a bad man, full of craft and cunning, collected five hundred warriors, and prepared for a general massacre of the white people. Enmegahbowh, having prevented, by his influence, some other bands from joining these, was made a prisoner, but succeeded in escaping, and, through the midst of great perils, made his way to Fort Ripley, and by his timely information, such measures were taken that bloodshed and a more fearful massacre than that of the Sioux were prevented.
For a few years the mission work seemed at a stand still. From Canada Enmegahbowh received earnest invitations to go where comfort and hopeful work awaited him, but Bishop Whipple encouraged him, standing in the forefront for an unpopular cause and a hated people, and Enmegahbowh would prove the fitness of his name — he would not desert his people.
At last the government made new arrangements, and seven hundred Ojibwa were moved to what is called the White Earth Reservation, a tract thirty-six miles square in northern Minnesota. Of these seven hundred about one hundred and fifty were French half-breeds, or Roman Catholics. Amongst the remainder Enmegahbowh labored earnestly, the government now aiding in the work by encouraging the Indians in civilized ways. A steam sawmill was built at White Earth Lake, where Indians were taught to run the machinery, and from which lumber was furnished for building purposes. Eastern churchmen assisted the mission, and a church and parsonage were built.
At the time of the consecration of the church in August, 1872, quite a party of the clergy and laity, through the kindness of Bishop Whipple, were enabled to visit White Earth.
The consecration was on Thursday. Friday morning, the chiefs signified to the bishop their wish to meet with him in a council, which was therefore held, that afternoon, on the hillside in front of the church. It was a picturesque scene — the lovely landscape, the sunlight glancing through the tall oak trees on the bishop and Enmegahbowh, who sat in the centre, the chiefs and five or six clergymen grouped around. Behind the bishop three chairs were placed for the ladies of the party — the first time, I think, that ladies were ever admitted to an Indian council.
The chiefs spoke in turn, as they had themselves arranged, and were interpreted by Enmegahbowh. — Christian Soldier.
The Rev. John Johnson was born in Canada and died at White Earth on the 12th of June, 1902, at the age of 95 years.
God had someone in mind who was already set aside by his people to serve him, and he had the most wonderful name for a priest – The one who stands by his people. How cool is that? His heart was ready, when he heard the words, and he served mightily.
Very Strange Weather in Qatar and Kuwait
As I was writing a post, I noticed – Holy Cow! It’s 113°F / 45°C in Doha. Checking Kuwait, Holy Moly, it’s 115°F / 46°C. That is Holy Smokes Hot, that is hot hot hot, right?
Thirty seconds later, I look – and my little weatherunderground sticker says it’s “only” 106.9 °F / 41°C in Doha, and “only” 106.9°F / 41°C in Kuwait.
How amazing is that – the temperatures dropping so fast, in BOTH Kuwait and Doha, within seconds?
Transporting Pets in and out of Kuwait
Moving can be overwhelming, but the worst part can be worrying about how to get your pet in or out of the country you are going to/ leaving.
If you are coming or going to Kuwait – you are in luck. There is a wonderful woman, an animal lover and supporter of the Animal Friends League in Kuwait, who provides pet importation and exportation services, Pet Passage. She walks you through what you need in terms of paperwork, and helps you get the documents you must have to bring your pet in or take it out.
Pet Passage
petpassage@yahoo.com
Tel: +965 6697-5644
If you are calling from another country, yes, the phone number is correct; Kuwait phone numbers have one more number than most other countries.
The Kitty Ritz Pet Hotel in Kuwait
I’ve been wanting to tell you about a wonderful place we found in Kuwait, the Kitty Ritz.
(this is a photo from the KittyRitz website)
The Qatari Cat stayed at the Kitty Ritz for three weeks last December. Located on the top floor of a building in Salmiyya (and yes, it’s walk up all the way), the Kitty Ritz has separate “rooms” for each cat with a bed, cat dishes and cat litter box. You can bring your cat’s favorite blanket, favorite toy and even food, although they will provide your cat’s favorite food if it is available in Kuwait.
They have cat social play, where cats who are good with other cats can mingle and play outside the cage for a while. If you cat is not so good with other cats, he can be outside later, with no other cats.
The cost was reasonable, not cheap, but not so expensive we wouldn’t keep him there.
We weren’t really sure how The Qatari Cat would do. He is spoiled. He is an only cat. He is pampered. We weren’t sure how he would handle being around a lot of other cats, strange noises, strange smells. It’s kind of like sending your child off to kindergarten. You have to drop off, say a cheery “bye bye!” turn your back and LEAVE before you lose your courage, or worse – start crying.
One of the things we loved was that they sent us photos of The Qatari Cat. Now the truth was, The Qatari Cat was not a happy camper. In the first photo they sent us, he was in his cat “room” looking totally fuming mad, like “go away and LEAVE ME ALONE!”
In the second photo, sent a few days later, he is having a bath, and he is mad as hell. You might think this is tragic, but actually, it was hysterically funny. We knew he had survived, we hoped the people bathing him had survived, and we knew he wasn’t bored.
By the third week, there were photos of him out with the other cats. He was adjusting.
When we picked him up, he was all sweet-smelling and clean, and oh-so-happy to see us.
The Kitty Ritz has some of the happiest, healthiest looking cats I have ever seen staying in a cat hotel. It is nice and warm, the people truly like cats and are sweet with them, and it smells CLEAN. We knew they took good care of him, and we knew he had a good time. For the Qatari Cat – he might look angry, but the very worst thing is being bored and lonely. The Kitty Ritz was just the place he needed to be.
You can find them online, fill out their simple questionaire, and send it to them as an attachment via e-mail.
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