Pale-colored clothing.

Today I attended a CLE (which is short for "Continuing Legal Education" in the world I inhabit) and noticed something interesting (to me, anyway). The room was filled with a collection of the most boringly dressed people I have ever seen in one place. I wore a bright-colored top, but nearly everyone else was wearing shades of beige, gray or white. What's up with that?

And this was despite the fact that it was a seminar on jury trials, which should have attracted the more lively among species of lawyers--the crazy, dysfunctional, high-spirited trial lawyers. But no--you would have thought this was a tax seminar if you didn't know any better.

A small observation, but one that I found mildly entertaining.

In contrast, here are some beautiful colors:

I am nothing if not spontaneous.

Is it a sign of an impulsive personality for a person to reserve a plane ticket on a week's notice (using miles), without calling any friends who live near her destination to see if they will even be in town? Because that's what I did tonight.

I have been yearning to get away for Labor Day weekend, which also happens to coincide with my birthday. However, a case I've been working on has a lot of deadlines in the September time frame and I feared that I would be working through pretty much every weekend in September. So, I made no travel plans, other than a quick trip to Chicago. Today my case went away and when I arrived home, the idea of a jaunt over the long weekend began forming. Because it's on my birthday weekend and because I feel I should reward myself for obtaining a fabulous result with which my client is delighted, I wanted to do something different, instead of visiting a "tried and true" favorite kind of place.

Where am I going, you ask? I will be traveling San Francisco--a place I've never visited before, but which I suspect I will love. And I could not be more thrilled! If I have any skill in life, it is the planning of interesting trips on short notice. For me, this is as essential to existence as the air I breathe.

It obviously was meant to be, as I have called my friend Mike, and he will be in town, so we will definitely get together. I also plan to visit the ex-boyfriend who stopped by Dallas recently, when we had too little time to really catch up. A college friend and her husband and kids live there, too--I am looking forward to seeing them. In between visits with friends, I want to see SF, Berkeley and the wine country (if possible). Specific stops on my now quickly-forming itinerary include the famous Chez Panisse restaurant (which I learned about from Ruth Reichl's book Comfort Me with Apples), Chinatown, the Fisherman's Wharf and Haight-Ashbury.

If any of you have suggestions for other things to do in San Francisco that are more off the beaten path, I would love to hear them! It occurs to me now that if I am actually able to visit all of the friends I have listed, I probably won't make it to the wine country, so suggestions in the SF area are especially welcome.

Putting the feeling into words so right.

Sometimes a really great writer is able to take something about which I have had only a vague feeling and describe that feeling in words so right that they actually take shape and settle into the crevice where the feeling once resided. Susan at Skull Stew did that for me, with the following words, which I would have missed if not for The Archer Pelican:

One day I will find that mysterious element that will make me complete, fill that gaping hole that I try to fill with food and books and the internet. Maybe that missing element will be the satisfaction of finishing a novel. Maybe it will be the forgiveness of those I have wronged. Maybe it will be my forgiving those who wronged me. Maybe I will realize that in letting go of the things I cling to, that I think are necessary for my survival, I will be able to soar high because the weight of that baggage is not holding me down. And on that day I will finally see myself as beautiful, imperfect, kind, cruel, right, wrong, controlling, and passive.

The difference is that I will see those elements of myself as parts, not the whole. And I will love the whole they create, instead of lamenting the hole that used to be there.

As for now, I'm still lamenting the hole.

But the whole is there somewhere. I just know it.

Ahhh . . .

this picture will appear on my other blog as well, but it captures such a wonderful feeling that I wanted to save it here, too:



This is the view from the window of the wonderful place where I stayed in Castellina di Chianti, which is in Tuscany.

There is a huge writing desk in this room.

It is big enough for me to live in.

I want to go back one day.

UPDATE: I just realized it is somewhat unfair of me not to show you the room in which I wouldn't mind living out the rest of my days. Here it is:



Do you like it, too?

Updating Italy travel posts with photos!

At long last, I have begun updating my Italy travel posts from April 2004 with the photos I took along the way . . . check it out of that sort of thing interests you!

Practicing writing

I suspect that many of the few souls who drop by this humble blog are aspiring writers and/or people who enjoy others' writing. If you are one such soul, you may enjoy checking out this blog of the Phantom Professor, where I have been spending some time recently.

The Phantom Professor's site began with tales from an adjunct English professor writing about teaching 19 year old kids who wear Prada and Gucci and drive BMWs, but don't know the difference between "to" and "too" or "its" and "it's." Although she disguised the identities of the school where she taught and those about whom she was writing (referring to some subjects as the "Ashleys" and the "Brads"), it was clear to anyone who has ever so much as driven by the Southern Methodist University campus in Dallas where this professor found her material.

The Phantom Professor was outed and her teaching contract not renewed. But she made lemonade from the lemons, seizing upon writing and editing assignments that came to her, presumably, due at least in part to the publicity surrounding her blog. She also continued to write on the blog, adding interesting stories, some funny, some sad and some hopeful. Her blog is one of my daily visiting spots.

Why am I writing about this, you ask? Well, now the Phantom Professor (actually, Elaine Liner) has graciously offered to conduct an online writing workshop at her blog. I'm trying to make the time to participate in this, in between staying on top of matters and work and pursuing the exciting career opportunities on the horizon. I thought you might enjoy participating as well, or at least reading the contributions of those who are.

This week's assignment was to write an opening sentence and post it in the comments where requested (titled, "Assignment 1: Compelling Sentence). The sheer variety of the offerings (211 at last count) is amazing . . . and some of them are very impressive! Curiously, these words are among those appearing in the "compelling sentences" of multiple authors:

blood
spandex
life
father
rain
eyes
vomit(ed)

Check it out . . . it's well worth a read!

Fifteen Things I've Done that You Probably Haven't

Brett gave me the idea to do this . . . and I relish the task:

1. Worked as a Bus Supervisor for Detasselers in Illinois.

2. Rode on the back of a Jeep in a parade in North Little Rock, Arkansas, while volunteering last fall with the John Kerry campaign.

3. Watched the Turkish version of "American Pie" with a new Japanese friend and Turkish twin brothers after the boys' mother cooked us a traditional Turkish dinner, while on a six week trip alone through Europe.

4. Experienced the joy of my law school friends making a game of using my last name in the titles of a multitude of songs just for laughs, including this one.

5. Accidentally locked my dogs in the bathroom (broken lock) just as I needed to be dropping them off at the kennel before catching a flight. (My saintly friend Dan saved the day by rescuing the dogs and dropping them off at the kennel just as I arrived at my gate). If you're wondering how the dogs came to be in the bathroom, I was trying to load my luggage into the car without them escaping before I could herd them into the car as well, so I ushered the dogs into the small guest bathroom that is just inside my front door for what I expected to be 60 seconds.

6. Traveled to see the Chicago Cubs play in New York, Chicago, St. Louis and Houston, all in the same season.

7. Broke my nose playing softball in my junior year of high school, due to wearing new contacts without any warning to be careful for the change in depth perception they would bring.

8. Perfected the art of "rolling," an activity particular to those attending my small liberal arts college.

9. Achieved the most disproportionate LSAT score and GPA in the history of the universe.

10. Seen the movie "Philadelphia Story" 216 times.

11. Helped my friend Jim meet the woman I think he will marry.

12. Read and loved Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged while a progressive's heart beats inside me.

13. Poked Brett Hull in the shoulder--twice.

14. Road-tripped to New Mexico where, among other things, I bonded with a delightful old man and his grandson while poking around in their antique store, which is housed in an old livery stable that is on the National Historic Register.

15. Met a guy on the Island of Ios, Greece, who looked familiar . . . I learned this was because he studied for the bar exam at the table next to the one where I studied for the bar exam, in the Rice University business school library.

Bonus item:

16. Chided Salman Rushdie for his Yankees baseball ego-centrism.

A different way of looking at things.

One source of angst in my career has been the jerk behavior frequently displayed by opposing counsel. I have been thinking recently about why this bothers me so much, as my encounters with opposing counsel are typically fairly limited--a phone conversation, exchanges of letters, at most a day spent in a deposition together. I enjoy winning, but hate the fights that proceed it.

After many years of feeling bad or angry during the sporadic times when I am forced to deal with rude and/or unethical opposing counsel, I experienced an ephiphany this morning. I realized that what bothers me most about opposing counsel's bad behavior is that I internalize it . . . believing that behavior would not occur if I didn't deserve it or do something to bring it on myself. This defeating thought process of mine certainly isn't limited to the work context, but it is particularly damaging there.

I am currently dealing with a situation that challenges my adopted belief system. Specifically, I now realize a particular opposing counsel is actually trying to divert attention from their own bad conduct (details omitted) by treating me like the problem. It occurred to me this morning while I was agonizing over this situation that the conduct of which they falsely accuse me (misrepresenting conversations) is actually something they have done themselves on multiple occasions. They accuse me of delaying in the case, when in fact they have delayed and then scrambled to get out of the consequences. They have accused me of not agreeing to things, but have not agreed to reasonable requests of mine that any other lawyer would have accommodated. In short, this counsel would rather falsely accuse me of bad acts than admit to these bad acts of their own. Until now, I have been letting them get away with it by responding to their attacks instead of going on the offensive and calling it for what it is--a diversionary attempt at projection.

This realization is so freeing! Instead of beating myself up, I can actually respond to these jerks from a place that isn't personal. As distasteful as the thought may be, I think The Evil Karl Rove actually knows what he's doing when he points the finger right back at those pointing it at him. I shall do the same--calling their B.S. out for what it is, which is an attempt to make me the bad guy when they are in fact the bad guys. Figuring this out makes my day feel more manageable already.

Lines I wish I had written*

This has to be one of the best sentences written recently, if not ever:

The fact is, no room improves with the presence of a litter box, and most of them are seriously compromised.

From The QC Report.

Perhaps I find this line so great because not only is it funny; it is also true, true, true.

I have a confession to make that may bring serious recriminations from blog land: I don't like cats very much. Sure, I have truces and even "acquaintance-level" friendships with particular cats, like the dear departed Jack Benny, who belonged to my friends the Bracys, or their current cats, Coco and Thunder. But I would never own a cat and cannot wrap my brain around what possesses a person to own one.

Exhibit B in my case against owning a cat (right behind Exhibit A, my fierce allergy to cats) has always been the litter box. I find it disgusting and there is no work-around for it, other than having a cat trained to go outside only, which seems impossible, otherwise why would they even have litter boxes? One of my friends keeps the litterbox in her downstairs guest bathroom, where one must tread for shower-taking purposes while staying with her. I adore her and her house, but cringe every time I am forced to step into that bathroom, with its scattered litter all over the floor and the constant aroma of a litter box, whatever its state of use. People think dogs are a lot of work and they're right--I have two who prove this every day--but they don't take a dump in my house. And for that (and other things), I love them dearly!

*Some credit should be given to Eric Zorn, as his "fine lines" feature caused me to think of this totally-different "lines I wish I had written" feature.

Let's laugh a bit, shall we?

I worried a bit today that someone might read my last post and think I'm about to leap head-first from a bridge or tall building. Although writing that post was a surprisingly cathartic experience, I am not about to throw in the towel. However, I am very much in need of a good, hearty, lengthy laugh, so I thought I would share with you some web sites that have made me laugh recently.

This site, called Overheard in New York, is one of my favorite go-to's lately for a good laugh. The site appears to consist of posting funny exchanges that are overheard by folks walking in Manhattan and its surrounds. Many of the exchanges are heard while riding the subway. The premise of this site combines two of my favorite things in the world: laughing and eavesdropping. This post from yesterday is one of my recent favorites:

Woman: Oh, I wanted a large popcorn. I thought you said this size was the biggest?

Movie guy: It is.
Woman: What about the bucket over there? It looks bigger.
Movie guy: It is.
Woman: Well, if this is the large, what's the bucket?

--City Cinemas, E. 86th Street

Another site I have been enjoying recently is called bighappyfunhouse. The guy who runs it loves "vernacular photography," which appears to mean "old photographs about people, places and things one does not personally know." Just as fun as the pictures themselves are the comments that people make about them, so be sure to check out the comments if you stop by for a visit!

Finally, sometimes you just need some Simpsons to remind you how crazy life is. This place has an amazing repository of Simpsons stuff, including a very detailed episode guide and episode capsules.

Enjoy! Have a laugh!

Thoughts about last days.

After my father died unexpectedly on that December day in 1998, I thought a lot about the fleeting nature of life. I turned over and over in my mind the seeming impossibility that a girl could hug her Dad goodbye at Thanksgiving, feeling a bit sheepish when he cried in anticipation of missing her, chat briefly with him upon returning home, then never talk to him again. No one expects to lose a parent at age 29, much less the parent to whom she is closest and who gives all shape and form to the wisp of confidence she carries.

In the days after the numbness passed, I vowed to make every day count. I was more patient with people, even bad drivers. I thought long and hard about whether my life was what I wanted it to be. I clung to and appreciated deeply the saintly friends who stood fast during this loss and the house fire that followed on its heels. I left the firm I had grown to dread driving to each day. I backpacked in Europe for six weeks before starting my next job, savoring every moment and reading books like Atlas Shrugged as if they held the blueprint for how to lead a happy life. But then I was sucked back into the soul-draining cycle that is a life of active litigation paid for by the billable hour, and soon forgot all of the lessons I had learned the moment I cried, "NO!" in response to the unexpected call from my brother.

I was reminded of those lessons recently, when a young man from Dallas disappeared while hiking Mount Everest . . . his family called off the search for him this week and apparently has accepted that he will not return. His name is Trevor Stokol, and he was taking the trip of a lifetime before starting medical school. He wrote a fascinating blog about his adventures; reading it makes me feel as if I was there, conducting the exploration of Asian lands about which I have dreamed for a long time. The part I find most thought-provoking, though, is Trevor's last post before his disappearance:

Wed, 13 July:                        

I am walking to Mount Everest tomorrow, to get 

some good pictures  and play on glaciers.  And 

then... I'M COMING HOME on August 1st. I'm having 

a slideshow open house on the afternoon of 

August 7th, so if you're in Dallas, come on over. 

There will be tea.

Here's to living dreams!!

Trevor

That post speaks for itself, I think. I'm just going to sit with this for a bit.

Steve Jobs rocks.

So I stumbled upon this really fascinating web site, via the blog list on this very big, happy and fun web site. And the fascinating web site led me to another web site, at which I found the text of Steve Jobs' speech at this year's Stanford graduation ceremony. For some reason, my linking capabilities have become finicky and will not permit me to link to that page. So instead of linking, then posting a blurb from the speech, I will steal the entire speech. Only it isn't stealing, because as I have said, I'M MAKING IT CLEAR THAT IT IS STEVE JOBS' SPEECH.

Enjoy.

'You've got to find what you love,' Jobs says

This is the text of the Commencement address by Steve Jobs, CEO of Apple Computer and of Pixar Animation Studios, delivered on June 12, 2005.

I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.

The first story is about connecting the dots.

I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?

It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.

And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.

It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:

Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.

None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, its likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.

Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

My second story is about love and loss.

I was lucky ? I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation - the Macintosh - a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.

I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.

I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.

During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I retuned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.

I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.

My third story is about death.

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything ? all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.

This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope its the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960's, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.

Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

Thank you all very much.

Rose-Colored Glasses

My world feels a bit more manageable these days, due to a nice weekend and a determinedly brighter outlook. On Friday, I left work early to meet a former boyfriend for dinner . . . he was in town on business. We ditched plans to revisit the site of our last date (10 years ago!) in favor of a dive bar that serves great pizza. The extra benefit of this place is that it is owned by a Cubs fan who ensures that one can see any televised Cubs game while it is being played. In the days before the smoking ban, you couldn't see past your table for all the smoke in the place, but it now is a beautifully shabby, comfortable and smoke-free place. We had a fabulous time catching up before he was off to catch a flight, laughing about the people we were and learning a lot about the people we have become since then.

As I put the top down on the car and made my way northward for a surprise 50th birthday dinner for a friend, I thought a lot about the person I was when I last saw this man . . . a young woman full of ambition and lightheartedness and laughter, and utterly free of fear of failure, or of what the future might bring. I saw only possibilities then and barely thought twice about choices I made, trusting that things would turn out for the best. I vowed to dig down and find that old self now, because I really liked her and I think she is exactly the friend I need right now. Tonight she bugged me until I finished updating my resume, saved my writing sample, began the cover letter and touched base with a few of my references, all with an eye toward applying no later than tomorrow for that dream job I've had my eye on for weeks now.

Here are some photos that reflect my happier state:

My fairytale-like neighborhood (from the porch off my bedroom), in the magic light following yesterday's rain:



My street as it really looks (also from porch):



And my street with a faux-mountain that is really a cloud:



Sweetheart roses, my favorite:



And "where all the magic happens," as Kate's grandfather would say:

Being kind to oneself.

I still feel a bit paralyzed and skittish, but some nice things happened today. First, I was comforted by the kind words of readers who do not know me personally, but certainly knew what I needed to hear after last night's "Valley of Despair" post. Not only that, they were nice enough to take the time to share it with me. I need to show myself as much kindness as you have, I realize.

Also, I learned today at work of a really big win that I obtained for a client. Ironically, it is in the case that took me to Oklahoma City for a week earlier this year, where I was so miserable that I finally decided to change my life in a major way with respect to work and where I live. I am proud of my accomplishment and my client and colleagues are delighted with it as well. The win does not affect my desire to reach for something different and more fulfilling, but it does help fend off the self-doubt that has been gnawing at me so badly in recent days.

That's all for now . . . going to bed early as the first step in the new "Do Not Sabotage Thyself" plan.

Emptiness

Do you ever feel totally empty and paralyzed? I feel that way right now.

I want so desperately to reach out and cling to that new life that embodies all of my hopes and dreams. I want it so badly that I can practically taste the happiness I will feel when I find fulfillment. I can picture it. I can imagine its effect on all of my senses. However, instead of grabbing this happiness, I hobble through each day, forcing myself to focus at work and succeed in a way that no longer fulfills me, hating the person I become in the process, then coming home to drown my fears--of change, of failure, of ridicule for not measuring up in the career I have had so far--in a glass of Chardonnay.

I'm not sure how much longer I can go on this way. I am scared. I feel weak. I feel pathetic.

Respect for Ryne Sandberg, the newest MLB Hall of Fame member.

I am feeling sentimental because Ryne Sandberg, my idol in the world of baseball, was inducted into the Hall of Fame today. Not only was he inducted, he gave a speech that was so pure and solid and right--just like him--that it made me nod my head in agreement. During his speech, I shed tears of joy for his moment and tears of sadness because I miss seeing him play every day. Showing how well he rolls with the punches and the sincerity of his appreciation for the fans, in response to a fan who yelled, "We love you, Ryne," he said without missing a beat, "I love you, too!"

Just as Ryne did not waste opportunities as a baseball player, he did not waste a great opportunity as a Hall of Fame inductee. The opportunity he seized was the chance to make a statement bigger than the moment. While appreciative of the honor, Ryne reminded us, humbly, of why he received it. In a word: respect. His respect for the great game of baseball, and for his managers, his teammates and Cubs fans. Ryne said he was astounded throughout his career when people expressed admiration for the things he did, such as showing up at the ballpark regularly and on time, the Gold Glove defense, the full-scope offense that included the long ball as well as the ability to bunt and otherwise get on base. He was astounded because in his view, that was just his job and he owed nothing less to the sport, his team or himself.

This is a message as foreign as the Greek language to players like Gary Sheffield, who threatened any team that receive him in trade from the Yankees that he would dog it if he was acquired involuntarily. Likewise, the message of respect is totally foreign to a player like Kenny Rogers who, despite making millions of dollars every year to play the game he supposedly loves, is an angry, violent bully who threatens and try to intimidate news cameramen who are merely doing their jobs, for much less money. It is foreign to players like Sammy Sosa, who was poised to become the "next Ryne Sandberg" in Chicago Cubs history, but instead corked his bat and , when the team was eliminated from playoff contention on the next-to-last day of the 2004 season, refused to play, left Wrigley Field early and lied about leaving. Ryne knows about these guys, too. He spoke not very subtly about how the players of this great game are different today, asking when it became enough to hit home runs without contributing to the offense in other way, or caring more about spotting "the little red light on the dugout camera" than turning a double play.

The question is, will the Sheffields or the Sosas or the Rogers of the world hear about Ryne's speech and take it to heart? So far, I haven't been able to find a single story online about that aspect of his speech, other than perhaps a Jerry Crasnick story on ESPN.com. I don't know if Crasnick wrote about this because his story is only available to "insiders" who pay extra (how appropriate). Nonetheless, I hope Ryne's message gets out and that players take it to heart. Because the respect that Ryne exemplifies, and of which he spoke so eloquently today, is what will preserve the game for years to come. Without it, baseball will become nothing more than the NBA or the WWF, despite the feeling one gets when emerging into the sunshine on a beautiful day at the ballpark and the devotion the game inspires in generations of fans who love nothing more than to watch their favorite players chase that little white ball with 108 stitches.

Update: It took a little while, but here is a pretty good story by Barry Bloom of MLB.com that at least mentions this aspect of Ryne's speech. Looks like Phil Rogers of the Chicago Tribune got it, too.

I received a very important communicae tonight.

And I want you to keep it close to the vest, but I feel I must share it with you, most trusted internet reader:

Dear Friend,

I am Ivan Yarovoi, I represent a top company executive in Russia. I have a very sensitive and private brief from this top executive to ask for your partnership to re-profile funds over 15,000,000.00 euros. I will give the details, but in summary, the funds is in a bank in Russia and Western Europe, and this is a legitimate transaction. You will be paid 5% as a management consultant to our company, if I am able to reach terms with you. If you are interest, please write back by email (EMAIL ADDRESS OMITTED) and provide me with your trusted personal telephone number, and email address and I will provide further details. Please keep this close to your chest as much as possible; we cannot afford any political problems.

Write me back. I look forward to it.

Best regards,
Ivan Yarovoi(Mr.)

I ask, what girl would not be totally flattered by being chosen to assist with such an important mission?

At the Homestead . . .

While I try to make time to write about the sordid tale of my employment history during what I shall fondly call "the school years," some things have been happening around my house . . .

I entertained my friend Jill:



and her mother-in-law Pauline (visiting from England):



We drank wine and laughed on my much-loved upstairs porch. (I have no explanation for the ghost-like effect on these pictures, other than perhaps the wine?) We had a fabulous time! It wasn't too hot, despite being July in Dallas, and the sunset was gorgeous. We swapped interesting tales of our lives; rather, they provided interesting tales and I offered mere stories. Pauline told an excellent story of her one-year move to Scotland and all that involved. I especially loved the part about how her postman did not understand that a red flag sticking up on the mail box means there is mail there to be picked up by him; instead, he raised the flag after leaving mail for Pauline and Mick. This worked out well, as they could look out their window down the hill and see when there was new mail to retrieve. Genius!

Also, my dogs have become Houdini wannabees. On a near-weekly basis, Mr. Lopez, who tends to my lawn like a magician himself, comes up with creative ways to fortify my back fences to withstand my dogs' tireless efforts to escape. They have repeatedly broken through Mr. Lopez's Alcatraz-like renderings. Given the tenacity of their endeavors in this regard, one would never know that they lead the lives of luxury that they do.

DO THESE DOGS LOOK UNHAPPY, I ASK YOU????



Unhappy looks or no, Kip and Orley apparently think there is something out there in the wide, wide world that would appeal to them more than the raggedly landscaped place that is my back yard. This week alone they have twice broken through near-fortresses erected by my neighbor, Patti, apparently after she has captured them and returned them against their will to their rightful home. What I can only guess (based on the newly built pile of rock) was today's foiled escape effort resulted in extreme exhaustion:



I feel somewhat sheepish regarding this recent escape attempt. I did not think my pets were capable of breaking through Patti's fortified pile of clay planters, bricks and driveway rocks, so I did not even attempt to improve upon it after she erected it during the most recent escape. But upon my return home tonight following a not-bad day at work and a sushi dinner, I found an even more elaborate combination of planter, rock and brick. Thankfully, my dogs were panting on the other side of the fence, apparently having been freshly repenned by the saintly Patti. I interrogated them in an effort to find out who the instigator was, but Orley just looked at Kip and Kip pretended to be sleeping:



So the mystery continues.

P.S. More than anything, I am grateful to Patti for capturing and returning them. I don't know what I would do without these scoundrels.

Jobs that won't make my resume

Something I heard recently made me think back on all of the jobs I held before I became a lawyer. The list made me laugh, even without writing snarky comments about each job. I continue to remember other jobs, but here is the list as I recall it right now, in semi-chronological order:

Babysitter
Newspaper thrower
Detasseler/Crew Leader/Bus Supervisor
Photographer’s “Girl Friday”
Waitress at the Golden Coins
Tourism and Convention Bureau temp
Winner’s Circle (off-track betting place) temp
Poolarama clerk
State psychiatric hospital intern
Juvenile probation intern
Nanny for an FBI agent's family
Juvenile detention center worker in central Texas
Barbeque sauce factory worker
Bennigan’s hostess
Catering assistant

I plan to write a bit about these jobs, but first I wanted to sit with the list as it is.

My love affair with a baseball team.

No, this isn't a sordid tale typically found in Triple X movies . . . it is a sentimental little piece I wrote on my favorite Cubs blog tonight. I thought I would save it here, too.

Being born into a family that lacked baseball fans, I was a bit late in finding my way to the roller coaster we call life as a Cubs fan. I now find it strange to think of how many of my life events match up with big events in the life of the Cubs. I was born in the Western suburbs of Chicago in September of 1969, just in time for the Mets' late-season comeback to crush our team out of contention. My Dad was a car-racing fanatic and my Mom liked football, so no one introduced me to the Cubs at that time. Milt Pappas' no-hitter v. the Padres, in which he missed a perfect game by one strike, came on my third birthday. I played girls' softball as soon as I was old enough, and started thinking about baseball, too.

I began watching the Cubs games every day on WGN during the summer of 1983, just before I began high school. I remember this because my mother had just returned to work and it was the first time I was allowed to watch TV for hours on end. I hung on every pitch of every game, fell in love with Ryne Sandberg and honed my skills at second base on my summer traveling softball team in his honor. The next year, the Cubs went to the playoffs, Ryno was MVP, Sutcliffe won the Cy Young and the Cubs lost to the Padres in the NLCS. It was my first taste of the disappointment that comes with being a Cubs fan. But I stuck with the team, loving the infield combination that was Durham, Sandberg, Bowa/Dunston, Ron Cey and Jody Davis. Andre Dawson won the MVP the year I graduated from high school and moved to Texas for college.

After I left the Chicago area, the Cubs started night baseball and lost another playoff round to a California team, the Padres. I followed them the best I could from Texas, without WGN and in the pre-internet days, by going to my college's library to check the newspaper for the baseball scores. My Dad began keeping up with the Cubs a bit so that he could keep me up to date during our weekly chats, even though he wasn't very interested in baseball.

I did not do as good a job of staying in touch with the Cubs during the early 90's, when I was immersed in law school. But I did my best to keep my hand in the world of baseball by catching the occasional "Two Dollar Tuesday" Astros game, at the Astrodome in Houston, and tried to see at least one game a year at Wrigley during quick visits home. The baseball strike cut the season short the summer after my law school graduation, so instead of doing a post-bar exam tour of baseball parks, I backpacked overseas with some friends. During the trip, I eagerly purchased a copy of "USA Today" at the newsstand of every train station we visited to see if the strike was over yet. Upon my return, I was working so hard as a young lawyer that I had neither the time nor the funds for cable TV. But I started to get the hang of my new career and splurged on a cable subscription, resuming my helpless love affair with the Cubs just in time to see the early years of Sammy Sosa's time on the North Side.

Of course, 1998 brought Kerry Wood's 20-strikeout game, the great Sosa/McGuire home run race and a first-ever Cubs tiebreaker win for a playoff spot. These exciting events were the subject of many of my Sunday evening talks with my Dad, in which we continued to bridge the 1,200 miles between Illinois and Texas. By this time, I think he was a little in love with baseball, too. The year of 1998 is now burned in my memory as beginning with Harry Caray's death and ending with my father's death. But the baseball moments we shared in that magical season are among my fondest memories of time spent with my Dad.

My time spent watching the Cubs--whether they were having a good season (2001) or a bad one (2000)--was a bright spot in the rough years that followed. My brother and I tried to support each other and he attended the Cubs game with me whenever I was home for a visit. He is no sports fan, and I realize now what it meant for him to spend 3 hours with me at Wrigley when he could not have cared less about what was happening there!

Then, in the glorious year of 2003, things fell into place, both for me and the Cubs! Finally, I stopped being annoyed by Ron Santo's interminable stories during the broadcast and instead began not wanting to experience a game without him. I listened to every game on the internet, and remember vividly that last day of the season, the double-header day when the Cubs finally clinched their playoff spot. My best friend had her first baby the same day, and I excitedly purchased a plane ticket and playoff tickets the moment the spot was clinched. I flew home the next weekend, greeted my friend's new baby and attended 2 of the Cubs' games against the Braves. I had never seen Wrigley in person with a playoff spirit before, and the feeling was electrifying and emotional and almost holy. After the 2nd game I saw, which we lost, I even had the good fortune to meet Carrie Muskat (I explained to her how she had my dream job, just before she walked into the Cubs' interview room) and to rub elbows with John Cusack (there to offer moral support to the team after the game) and Michael Jordan (who accompanied the team on their plane to Atlanta). What a surreal time that was.

We all know how that season of 2003 ultimately ended. I was devastated . . . so much so that coworkers sent flowers! But the next year, the Red Sox won it all, almost as if the universe was sending the message to all Cubs fans that it is too soon to give up. And I found myself captivated by the Sox's run, enjoying every game almost as if it was our team bringing tears to the eyes and a head shaking in disbelief with each amazing win.

I don't know what the future will bring for the Cubs or for Cubs fans, including me. But the history of the Cubs is so intertwined with my own life history in my memory that I don't know how I could ever separate the two now. I think we're stuck with each other for life.

Random Thoughts

Here are a few things I have been pondering recently:

On writing: I think half the battle of writing is having the discipline to make a mental note of the interesting things one encounters, so as to be able to write about them. I run across a million interesting things a day, but in the chaos that is my life, most of them fly right by and are never noted here. In contrast, a hallmark of the blogs I love to read is that the writers of those blogs pay excellent attention to detail, then write about it in an interesting way.

On working out: Today was supposed to be the second consecutive day of my actually visiting the place to which I pay a chunk of money every month and then, upon my arrival, working out. As you can see by the fact that I am still sitting here typing, that is not going to happen. Why not? Well, when I worked out yesterday, it felt great both during and after, and I was really glad that I graced them with my presence once again. Shouldn't that make you want to work out, you say? Well, yes, it should. But I woke up later than I wanted today, then let myself become sucked into my computer, which meant I did not get out of here in time to work out. I am now slightly panicked regarding all I must accomplish at work today. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I will work out tomorrow, mark my words!

Pajamas: I have a confession. I am addicted to pajamas. Not just any kind . . . the kind with pants and a top that are so cute you could almost . . . almost wear them out in public. I say this because there have been many occasions when I have wanted to wear my pajamas in public, but maybe once when I actually did. This is because I think that no matter how many times one tells oneself, "No one will know these are my pajamas," yes, they know. So instead I am the guilty owner of a gajillion pair of pajamas, the newest of which I purchased yesterday during my visit to Target in the Hood. (Pink--not usually my color of choice, but I was feeling girly--and made of the softest knit ever). As much as I love the Super Target, there is an indescribable satisfaction one finds in shopping at the Target in the Hood . . . I wish I knew what it was. The only thing this Target lacked was a wading pool for my dogs . . . something I have had a tough time locating this summer. Please do not make me go to Wal-Mart in search of this item . . . please, I beg of you. No Wal-Mart.

In the spirit of the real name of my blog,

which is "eyebrow-raising folk," I have an observation to make. There truly is a job for every possible interest and for every possible person with every possible interest. Yesterday at the airport I met a man who sells asphalt plants for a living. Not asphalt--asphalt plants! Who would have thought this was a specialized job? And he doesn't even sell franchises for asphalt plants . . . just the plants, individually.

Introspection.

Today I had another day trip out of state for work, once again to the site of my epiphany regarding what I want to do with my life (at least for now). I was lucky enough to dash back to the airport and catch a flight that brought me home at a decent hour. I even found a seat in the front row, and had little enough luggage that I could sit there! While the two men next to me conversed, I immersed myself in the surprisingly interesting in-flight magazine. Apparently, my immersion was so total and noticeable that after I replaced the magazine in the holder, my seatmate actually pulled it out to see what I had been reading.

I landed just in time to have creative thoughts about what to grab for dinner, dash home and become nicely settled in to listen to tonight's Cubs game. Thankfully, I was here in time to here my once-annoying, now-beloved Ron Santo (a Cubs radio announcer) say, "he wore a piece, and he looks great." I will let you imagine what story led to that remark--it is more fun that way.

So while I was waiting for my business meeting, I made some calls related to my new life plan . . . references and networking and such. My efforts were quite fruitful! This was very uplifting and it seemed especially appropriate to take care of these tasks at the site of my epiphany. Tonight I feel a bit dreamy about the new plan. . . and I am feeling a bit wistful, as I wish my Dad and Grammie (also known as my maternal grandmother) were still here so that I could talk this new plan over with them. It is at times like this that I miss them especially deeply, so much so that I have tears in my eyes just thinking about them. But thinking about them also empowers me. I know my Dad would not want me to spend a moment of my life not doing the work that will make me happy, or at least working toward doing that work; I know my grandmother could not imagine me failing at anything I take it in my head to do. It is amazing how powerful the memory of two people can be.

One of the most important events in the dark age the US has experienced since 2000--and WHAT YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.

You may have heard today about U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor's resignation. After you have moved past the sharp-intake-of-breath-and-sinking-feeling phase, with which I am familiar due to personal experience, you may ask yourself, as I did, "What can I do?"

Well, David NYC at the Daily Kos web site has some ideas:

Whatever happens with the Supreme Court nomination battle that is about to ensue, it's going to happen fast. Here are some things you can do right now:

• If you have a cell phone, sign up for People at the American Way's Mass Immediate Response site. This way, you'll be able to receive text message action items instantly as events break. (If you signed up during the nuclear option fight, you'll need to re-sign up.)

• Also sign up with the Save the Court, another PFAW website devoted specifically to this issue.

• Recruit friends and family members to the cause.

• Write to the President, telling him he should choose a consensus candidate to replace O'Connor.

• Contact your Senators to tell them the same thing.

• Sign MoveOn's "Protect Our Rights" petition.

• Contact members of the media and tell them you think Bush should nominate a consensus candidate. PLEASE be polite, be brief (200 words or less), and don't do copy-and-paste jobs - put things in your own words.

• Stop by Hunter's thread and make suggestions for potential nominees.

A Sign?

What could it mean that, as I was driving to the airport to leave for a business trip on Friday, the chorus to this song was playing on every one of the three country stations pre-set in my car radio--all at the same time:

Lyrics:

Monday, hard to wake up
Fill my coffee cup, I'm out the door
Yeah, the freeway's standing still today
It's gonna make me late, and thats for sure
I'm running out of gas and out of time
Never gonna make it there by nine

Chorus:

There's gotta be something more
Gotta be more than this
I need a little less hard time
I need a little more bliss
I'm gonna take my chances
Taking a chance I might
Find what I'm looking for
There's gotta be something more

Five years and there's no doubt
That I'm burnt out, I've had enough
So now boss man, here's my two weeks
I'll make it short and sweet, so listen up
I could work my life away, but why?
I got things to do before die

Repeat Chorus

Some believe in destiny, and some believe in fate
I believe that happiness is something we create
You best belive that I'm not gonna wait
'Cause there's gotta be something more

I get home 7:30 the house is dirt, but it can wait
Yeah, 'cause right now I need some downtime
To drink some red wine and celebrate
Armageddon could be knocking at my door
but I ain't gonna answer thats for sure.
There's gotta be something more!

And just before I heard this song on every station, I was fantasizing about my resignation meeting--without yet having another job lined up. If that isn't a sign of the need to go, I don't know what is.

Books, books, books!

Brett has tagged me to provide answers to these book questions, so now, after a brief vacation delay, I will answer his queries to the best of my abilities:

Number of books I own:
This is an uncountable number. My guess would be 282, give or take a few that I have loaned but that have not been returned, but this is purely a guess. Yes, I have a book addiction. I have been trying to whittle my collection down by donating books or selling them at Half Price Books, but it seems that before I can do that, my dog engages in his own brand of recycling by eating the books. He has a remarkable ability to find them in dog-proof (or so I thought) places where I have hidden them! And it hurts me to see books that have been chewed.

Last book I bought:
The Wonder Spot, by Melissa Bank (a second effort by the author of The Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing). As often occurs, this was an impulse purchase in the airport on the way home from my recent business trip. I don't know what it is about the airport, but I am VERY prone to impulse purchases of reading material there.

Last books I read:

· Be Happy at Work: 100 Women Who Love Their Jobs, and Why, by Joanne Gordon

· Bridget Jones's Diary, by Helen Fielding (re-read)

· Newcomer's Handbook New York City, no specific author

· Take Big Bites, by Linda Ellerbee

· A Thousand Days in Tuscany, by Marlena de Blasi

Five books that mean a lot to me:
Anne of Green Gables, by L.M. Montgomery. I received this series of books as a Christmas gift from my aunt and uncle when I was about 10 years old. Before Christmas Day was over, I had already read the entire first book and cried my eyes out over the death of Matthew, Anne’s adopted father. I had always been a reader, filling pages and pages of lines with books I read during my library’s summer reading program. But I think it was the way this book involved me that let me know I will be a reader for life, and was a preview of the magic powers of escape one can find in a book.

The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand. This is the first book I remember that had a profound impact on me. I read it while travelling alone in Europe, during a six-week hiatus I had negotiated before starting a new job. I was somewhat stunned at leaving my first firm ever, but knew it was time. The book inspired me, reminding me that life is too short to settle or compromise one's ideals. I have read it again many times over the years, and it always reinvigorates me.

Bel Canto, by Ann Patchett. I loved this book, with its great story and simple writing. But the reason it means a lot to me is that I actually attended a reading and book signing by the author, where she actually made some personal remarks that inspired me. In my book she wrote, "Read everything, write well, have a thrilling life." It was around this time that I started actually believing that there could be something different in store for me, a dream that is just now coming to fruition for me.

Tender at the Bone, by Ruth Reichl. This book entertained me, with its descriptions of food and wine intertwined with the very interesting story of the author's life. It also showed me that a low-key writing style like mine can actually support a book!

Constitutional Law by Nowak and Rotuda. I read this in law school while taking my favorite course of all time (in which I made my best grade of all time--a sure indicator of my interest!). Nothing else interested me quite so much . . . I love both the procedural and substantive aspects of constitutional law. And now I hope to make it my career!

Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Friday night.

After a business day-trip out of state, following a hectic post-vacation week at work, I couldn't wait to get home tonight. This is the guilty pleasure of the single 30-something girl . . . coming home, washing one's face, putting the newly-long hair up and slipping into comfy clothes. So here I am lounging with a nice glass of Chardonnay, dogs at my feet, and my favorite series of all time, you guessed it--Sex and the City--in the DVD player. I'm not even letting it scare me about what life in NYC will be like. Oops, I'm not supposed to talk about that.

Soooo . . . tomorrow I plan to be decadent . . . with maniacal house-cleaning, a hike with the dogs at the nature preserve, a pedicure and massage, a movie and a fabulous dinner. And that's only Saturday . . . . ahh.

Busy, busy, busy at work

since returning from my vacation, which you can read more about here.

I have only written about the first few days, but hope to catch up this weekend!

Almost there.

No, not yet "almost" for the new life. Although I have learned that the amount of bullshit one can tolerate in the average workday increases exponentially when one knows that the days in which one will have to tolerate such things are numbered.

"Almost there" refers to my VACATION. Yes, rip rock rollin' vacation, a whole week of it!!! And it won't involve seeing family members . . . to the contrary, it will be an excellent mix of solitude and time spent with old friends and new friends, with a liberal dash of baseball-watching thrown in for good measure. Oh, and cute hip hotels like this:



and this:



In light of how little sleep I've had in the last few weeks, I fear that I may sink into one of the lovely beds, with curtains drawn like a cave, and never emerge.

But I know I will see fantastic things that will draw me from my room, such as this place:



and this temple:



and another kind of temple:



Okay, that's all for you! Just a taste, the tiniest lick of the spoon covered with frosting, because I am going to have some smashing photos from this trip! I can't wait . . . one more day.

A Musical Morning

Damn this new VAIO. I had a beautifully written post nearly crafted, and the finicky touch pad took it away from me, forcing me to start again. ArgGGGGGGGGGGGGGh. I will try again, because I will not let that touch pad defeat me, but please know this post will not be as wonderful as it would have been, BUT FOR THE TOUCH PAD.

Okay, so yesterday I was on my way to the place where I work out. (A rare occurrence--how rare, no one really needs to know). I saw the first of two musical "situations," shall we say. It was a guy who could be an Anthony Michael Hall stand-in (circa The Breakfast Club), sitting in his white compact car at a red light. He was frenetically bobbing his head to some music that I could not hear. But boy, was I curious about what exact type of beat was causing this boy to groove so.

I was still pondering him when, just a mile or so away, I stopped at a red light of my very own. While sitting there, I noticed a man with a portable keyboard, standing at the side of the road. (I am NOT making this up!) He appeared to be playing the keyboard. Not one to miss a musical moment twice, I turned down my low-brow sports/fun radio station and rolled down the window. (I digress: is it still "rolling" when your window is electrically controlled with just the touch of a button?) Anyway, with the window down, I heard some nice music emanating from this man's keyboard! He realized that I was actually listening to his music and he seemed pleased, not wanting the moment to pass. The light changed. I wasn't quite ready to go yet, but I did.

So here's the strange thing. Tonight I was driving home really late from work, taking a totally different route than I was on when I saw this man yesterday, and there he was, at the red light! For a moment I thought he might be a figment of my imagination. But I know he was real. Maybe he couldn't sleep. Maybe he thought, I'll go play some music for the people who worked late tonight. Maybe he was there as a reminder to do what you love, no matter how crazy it may appear to others.

Day Two of Brief-Writing at the Cafe (AKA the "Neighborhood Starbucks")

There are days when my heart seems closer to the surface than on other days . . . like today.

On my way to Starbucks to continue my brief-writing outside the total isolation of my home, I saw the man who walks his dog past my house every day. When I first noticed him walking past my house, shortly after I moved to the neighborhood nearly 5 years ago, he had with him a beautiful Golden Retriever kind of dog. I noticed this winter that the Golden was walking more slowly, so much so that he/she wasn't even on a leash for their walks anymore. I noticed when I saw the man today that I had not seen him in a long time. And I'm not sure about this, but I don't think his dog was with him today. I hope that isn't the case, and that I just overlooked the dog's presence in my haste to get caffeine.

At Starbucks they played my favorite song in the world (with the possible exception of the James Taylor/Ray Charles rendition of "Sweet Potato Pie"), Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah." This version, which I hear at this place from time to time, is done a capella (not typically my favorite). But it still sounds beautiful, Jeff Buckley being what he was and the song being what it is. This song stirs deep feelings in me that began with the boyfriend who introduced me to it, but have continued even beyond the time when he was present in my life. Today these feelings remind me that I am more than a churner-out of briefs and that soon the work I am doing will stir feelings in me to match even those I am feeling today.

On a less navel-gazing note, a future Saturday Night Live character was born at Starbucks today--the Very Loud Talker. This skinny guy in preppy clothes parked his SUV out front and, before coming in, gazed at himself in the reflection of the window of the SUV in the next parking spot over. While odd, this did not prepare us for his "indoor behavior," which is to SPEAK AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS TO PEOPLE STANDING JUST A FEW FEET AWAY FROM HIM. He seemed to have no clue that he was blowing out the eardrums of those nearby or that he was acting in any way out of the ordinary. It wasn't just his volume, though--he also spoke loudly of matters best left for quiet, delicate conversation. Methinks he was never told as a young boy, "Use your inside voice, honey." His effect on us was so stunning that everyone looked at each other after he left, still reeling in shock from the experience. You know it's bad when the Starbucks barristas actually ask, "Is everyone okay over there?" upon his departure.

Eyebrow-Raising Folk

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Funny how certain kinds of quotes

catch one's eye when the timing is right. Most recently, I latched onto these statements made at Oberlin's commencement ceremonies by Dr. William F. Shulz, Executive Director of Amnesty International U.S.A. (excerpts below):

But though truth takes a myriad of forms, there is one truth that remains beyond dispute--a truth this institution has also sought to elucidate--and that is that all blood flows red, that more profound than all our differences is our common suffering and that what will save us and save our planet is a recognition of the frailty we share. That truth is under threat today from the enemies of democracy and the champions of it; from the purveyors of morality and the disdainers of it. But it is still true.

To see beyond appearances, beyond pretense and stereotype, beyond bombast and bravado, right into the authentic heart of misery, into the common bonds of suffering--the remarkable capacity that we human beings occasionally display to identify with another's pain, despite all of our brutality, to exercise a moral imagination, despite all of our pettiness--it is that upon which human rights are based and the salvation of the world depends.

And then there is a final article of faith this College has always sought to propagate and that is the conviction that history is not finished; that the future is not fated; and that with our privilege, with our degrees, comes our responsibility to build a more benevolent nation, a more hospitable people, a more welcoming world.

Somewhere in one of the great art museums in Europe hangs a large painting of Faust and the Devil sitting at a chess table. Faust has made his pact with the Devil and now his face is contorted in anguish because he retains on the chessboard but a knight and a King and the King is in check.

One day a great chess master happened into the museum and naturally this painting eye caught his eye and he sat down in front of it and stared. Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. And still the master stared. And then suddenly, leaping to his feet: "It's a lie!" he shouted at the top of his lungs for all to hear. "It's a lie, I tell you. The King and the knight--they have another move. They have another move."

And that, my friends, is the final message this school would have its graduates deliver to a bruised and battered world--that, no matter what orthodoxy may claim or ideology may bluster, history is not finished, the future is not fated, what comes next is in our hands, so that in the face of hardship and injustice, of suffering and of death, we say, "The story is not over. The end is not here yet. For it is not just the King but the knight, not just the Queen but the rook, not just the Bishop but pawn, not just the wealthy but the pauper, not just the powerful but every starving, lonely, frightened person in the world, every single person, every single one of us, who has another move. We all have another move.

Pat Buchanan once famously said that America was engaged in a "culture war." For once, he was right. We are engaged today in an enormous struggle for the soul of this country. It is a struggle between those who would close down culture and those who would keep it open. Between those who welcome the preeminence of one nation and those who give their fealty to the common interests of the globe. It is, in short, a struggle between those with a parched vision and those with a generous heart. This institution has always pledged itself to one side of that equation and, to you who graduate today I leave you with one very simple message: "Wear the mantle of these values proudly; then give no quarter; fear no shadows; and make the mountains tremble."

His last statement brings tears to my eyes. If only I could . . .

Woodward and Bernstein

With the recent Deep Throat revelation, my interest in Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein has been rekindled. I have obsessively read articles about them, finally stumbling upon this very juicy one, by Alicia Shepard in the Washingtonian.

The entire article was well-written and interesting, and this quote in particular caught my attention:

Annie Groer, Post reporter who went to Montgomery Blair High School with Bernstein: There are those who say Carl squandered gifts or frittered away a fortune. But one can’t say he’s led of life of quiet desperation. In the end, I think his regrets will be sins of commission rather than omission. You regret what you did, not what you didn’t do. I’m for that.

I think it is because I feel the first sentence could apply to me. Now I want to ensure I don't live the rest of my life in such a way that the second sentence applies to me . . . may my sins be those of commission, not omission.

My New Mantra

Via Eric Zorn's blog today:

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle . . . Plato

Anyone who has tangled horns with me in the years since my father's death will understand why I want so very badly to live this phrase. Dad surprised me by dying six and a half years ago, when he was 56 and I was 29. Afterwards, I was, unsurprisingly, numb for a period of many months. I felt soft and vulnerable after that, not unlike the interior of an exposed wound. I was sensitive and patient, didn't sweat the small stuff and readily excused the frailties of others, knowing that they meant nothing when one could die tomorrow. Sadly, that feeling wore off at some point (I'm not sure when) and left me smack in the middle of what has now been a years-long phase of alternating between being a winsome, belly-laughing person who is all-too-beloved by my friends and a tantrum-throwing too-big-to-be-a-toddler girl who is highly pissed off at losing her father when she wasn't expecting it.

When these tantrums occurred, I would watch, stunned, as if standing outside myself. I was perplexed to see the embarrassingly furious person (me) taking her unidentified anger out on some poor soul, but was utterly unable to stop the carnage. This caused great heartache for me and sometimes, I am sure, extreme embarrassment for my friends who witnessed it. It always resulted in hurt/annoyance for the person on the other end, I have no doubt. Because that person was typically a stranger, I was not around to see the aftermath. But always--without fail--I was disgusted with myself afterwards, wondering what went wrong and how I could stop it from happening again.

I only recently realized why I am so easily angered. My guess is that there is no one cause. Partly anger at losing my Dad. I am trying to work through this, with partial success.

Another probable cause is my anger at being left with my mother as my only parent; she is like an alien being I do not understand, and whom I am not altogether sure actually loves me. I am altogether sure that she does not see in me what my father saw--while he saw my faults, he loved me despite them, the one person in my life in whom I have found the unquestioning acceptance I crave so deeply. I have tried to deal with this by expecting less of her, without much success. I then tried to discuss my issues with her, with even less success. She was willing to discuss briefly, but obviously does not understand my concerns. I am figuring out what to do with this, but don't know yet.

The other part of the equation is the one most recently discovered--my total lack of fulfillment found in the work I do--that can only be changed by a total career and lifestyle change. As I have referenced in other posts on this blog, I now know what I need to do career-wise and am finding some peace in having come to that realization. But while I bide my time until I can make that move, I still feel like a tiger pacing in its ugly and outdated concrete cage at the zoo, wondering what it will take to escape. In the meantime, I want so badly to stop swiping my paw through the bars while people who had nothing to do with my capture stroll by on their way to see the elephants. Hopefully, Plato's wisdom will help me in my efforts.

P.S. If any of my "victims" happens to read this nearly-invisible blog, please accept my humblest apologies. I am so sorry for any pain I may have caused you.

Next steps: sharing the news!

So I have started sharing my new life plan with some close friends. They are all excited for me and have reinforced the notion of, "Why didn't I think of this sooner?" In a good way, of course! Trouble is, I'm now feeling like a variation on Billy Crystal's character in "When Harry Met Sally," in which he said, "I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." Now that I know what I want to do with the rest of my life, or at least the next phase of my life, I want it to start right away. I was thinking this was a 1 1/2 to 2 year plan, but now it's looking like a 1 year plan, at the lengthiest. Whew--I can't wait!!

Other signs.

I noticed yesterday that my plan for a new life has added a certain lightness to my step. I was able to focus at work like never before, staying productive throughout the day. In recent times, my attention would wander and I would check out web sites of interest regarding news, progressive politics, etc. Yesterday, I just wanted to plow through my pile of work so I could finish it as soon as possible. I feel a calmness rarely experienced before. When I look in the mirror, I no longer appear ugly to myself. If I wasn't experiencing this personally, I would think it was all made up, like some "MIRACLE CURE!" But it's true. My entire world view is different right now. I need to live up to it!

First steps.

Today I took the first steps toward pursuing a dream . . . working to establish a financial launching pad for a cross-country move and a new job. I assessed my debts (not as bad as I would have thought), shifted as much as possible of this debt to low-interest credit cards and used most of my spare cash to cut the balance significantly. I should have the rest paid off shortly.

After two out-of-town trips in June, I will also be able to start socking away the cash and keeping my nose to the grindstone at work, in hopes of receiving a nice bonus this year that I can also invest. I think in the past I have spent money based on the thought that it was my source of happiness . . . now that I have this dream, I don't feel the need to spend on other things. In fact, I look around and feel as if I have more than I need, and an impulse to simplify. Even the weekend has made me feel rich with time, while other weekends have flown by so quickly. I planned out the things I need to work on this week so that my priorities will be easy to establish.

In other news, I joined the organization for which I want to work in two years. My goal is to know everything there is to know about them and their activities long before I apply. Today was a good start!

Amazing.

Two days after making the decision to do something different with my life, I am noticing some interesting changes in the way I do things. One is that I am no longer living only in the upstairs of my house. I was spending all my time in my bedroom (which certainly is a beautiful and spacious room), and almost none in the downstairs, where my living room, dining room and kitchen reside. I have no idea what this means, but there has been a marked change. Perhaps I realize that the future will be taking me away from this house I have renovated, which I truly love and of which I am very proud, and I am trying to soak up the moments in it--all of it--before leaving. I feel a bit wistful about that, but obviously this lovely house is not making me happy.

Another change is that on this lovely Saturday morning, I woke up and was immediately productive, taking care of many overdue errands without even a thought of putting them off. In the recent past, I could while away entire Saturdays paralyzed from actually doing anything of substance. Today--my first day back in town since making this decision--felt very different to me.

I know this decision is the right one. As I drove out in the country to retrieve my dogs from their kennel, I thought about what the future holds for me. The hopefulness I felt at the thought of doing these things that have been gnawing away at me--living in a different place and doing work that seems lasting and meaningful--was so profound that it brought tears to my eyes. Even my daily work seems so much more bearable now, with the knowledge that it is only for a time, and not for all time. I don't know why it took me until now to realize that the life I am living no longer fits me. But I'm glad I figured it out when I did.

Wisdom.

I also posted this on my other blog, lisaswanderingfeet . . . it merits the very rare double-post because I think this may very well be my mantra for the next several years:

There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost. The world will not have it.

It is not your business to determine how good it is; nor how valuable it is; nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.

You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You merely have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate *you*. Keep the channel open.

No artist is pleased . . .
There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction; a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.

Martha Graham
Martha: The Life and Work of Martha Graham

My friend Jay shared this quote with me the other day. We were discussing my realization that my career is the source of the deep level of dissatisfaction that has been gnawing at me for some time. Now that I am working for a law firm I truly love, with people I truly like, I know it isn't the setting (at least, not this setting), but the work, which is at the root of this dissatisfaction. I like certain aspects of my work and have met some truly wonderful people through it, not the least of which are my clients. I feel blessed and continue to find an intellectual challenge after all these years. But I discovered recently that my work does not inspire in me the sort of soul-deep passion that leads one (okay--me) to relish to the tips of her toes the experience of placing Kerry-Edwards stickers on every kid she could find in North Little Rock, Arkansas.

I need to find that passion in something I do every day, something that has the added benefit of paying the bills and keeping my dogs fed. While I have toyed with the thought of a career change more times than I can count, I can tell that this time, something is different. Something inside me has shifted in a major way. The world looks entirely different to me this morning even though the view from my porch has not changed at all. Perhaps this is the kind of life-change that could only begin late at night in a hotel room in downtown Oklahoma City, when one's entire world view is somewhat skewed by the fact that she has spent five days shuttling between hotel and law firm conference room, seeing nothing but a brown and desolate downtown outside the windows. However it happened, I feel the most hope and vitality I have experienced in a long time.