I'm Just Glad It Wasn't Me (TAT #5)

Time for Tova Darling's Tuesday Awkwardness Festival, better known as "Totally Awkward Tuesdays." It's fun to play. Just write about an awkward moment experienced by you or someone close to you, link to Tova's Totally Awkward Tuesday post, and put a link to your blog on her blog. Then go to Tova's blog and read everyone else's awkward stories. It's loads of fun!

Today's story isn't really about me, although it was sort of my fault...

A long time ago, I worked for a judge at the Courthouse. A friend of mine worked for a different judge down the hall.

Each judge's "chambers" included a reception area, offices for the law clerks, and - behind another door - an office for the judge, with a private dressing and toilet room. The secretaries and law clerks were not supposed to enter the judge's private space to use the judge's bathroom, but were required to use the "public" restrooms down the hall. (I put "public" in quote marks because although they were shared bathrooms, they mostly were used by employees, not the general public. So they were usually quite clean and not crowded, but they did require a little walk down the hall.)

I used to work on the weekends occasionally, and since the judge wasn't there, out of laziness I would use the private restroom in the judge's chambers, rather than walking all the way down the hall. I mentioned this to my friend once, and she was shocked - truly shocked!! She had never done that! I was embarassed to be seen as some awful rule-breaker, but as I explained to my friend, they clean the restrooms on Sunday night, so it's not like the judge ever had to be exposed to any of my germs or anything, or ever even knew I was in there. So what's the harm?

And then a few weeks later, I came in on a Monday morning to find the carpet torn out of my friend's judge's chambers, furniture all over the hallway, and people frantically running back and forth with cleaning supplies and measuring tapes and fans and boxes and Lord knows what else.

Turns out my friend had decided I was right, there was no reason to use the public restroom all the way down the hall when the judge's bathroom was right there, and so she had used it.

And then the toilet overflowed....

And continued overflowing....

And then it overflowed some more....


And she had to call security to assist her in turning off the water and calling the plumbers.


The carpet was a soggy, ruined mess.

And on that Monday morning, everyone in the building was talking about just how it happened.


* * * * *

I never used the judge's bathroom again.



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Note: Tova published her post early this week, so I followed suit. That way I won't have to deal with it in the morning.

Changes and Choices

So I made a few changes, as you may have noticed.

I went to a three-column format, and changed the color scheme and fonts.

Do you like it?

Is it too much purple? I like it, but it is rather "bright" now. I hope it's not too much.

Also, how many of you have tried the "black boxes" widget? It's lots of fun. I've found some interesting blogs by clicking through the little widget.

Let me know what you think.

Pulitzer Project - New Review Next Week - "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy

For those of you reading "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy with me: I'm planning to post the review sometime within the next week.

So finish reading the book if you haven't already, so you can comment on the book and / or have fun criticizing my review of it.

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The Great Rattlesnake Adventure of 2009

Warning: some of the photos will be a little gross, so if you aren't in the mood for it, come back another day.

Last week, my husband and our friend, we'll call him Jim, took LMS ("LegalMist's Son") camping overnight. It turned into quite an adventure!

They hiked, they fished, they caught crawdads in a trap, they went canoeing, and they killed and ate their dinner. Rather accidentally. Here is what happened:

They arrived mid-afternoon and began setting up camp. Jim had brought his dogs along, and LMS noticed one of the dogs, we'll call him "Dude," looking at something near the edge of the camp site. He wandered a little closer, and then called out, "hey Uncle Jim, what's Dude doing?" Jim looked over and saw that his dog had startled a rattlesnake, which was now beginning to rattle and assume the strike position. Holy crap!

LMS probably saved Dude's life by alerting Jim. Jim called LMS and Dude away. My husband took photos. Here is a photo of the snake in strike position:



They thought the snake would slither away after Dude moved away from it, as snakes usually do. But it didn't. It began moving toward them. They moved to the side. It moved toward them some more. So Jim grabbed his shotgun and shot it.

It didn't die, so he shot it again.

It still didn't die, so he found a large stick to hold it down with, and then cut off its head.

You may not know this, but when you cut off a rattler's head, the head can still move and bite. So now there was this rattlesnake head sort of jumping around on the ground, with its mouth opening and closing. Rather gruesome and scary, like something from one of those cheesy horror movies that you think could never really happen... but it did.

Here is a picture of the snake's head, taken while it was still moving around opening and closing its mouth and trying to bite:



They dug a hole and managed to bury the head without anyone getting bitten.

And, sort of like a chicken with its head cut off, a rattler's body still moves after the decapitation, too, so now they had this rattler body still sort of squirming around.

Here is a picture of the headless body:



Note the large bulge in the middle. Apparently it had just eaten lunch and was lying around digesting when my boys happened upon it.

Jim skinned it and cleaned it (and removed a dead but still intact ground squirrel from the mid-section where the bulge in the photo above was), and they cooked it (cooked the snake - no, not the ground squirrel, too - what are you nuts?!) for dinner along with the steaks they had brought.

At first, LMS declared he did not want any. He was probably grossed out by seeing the whole snake slaughter, skinning, and cleaning process. But after being convinced to try it, he decided he loved it and kept asking for more.

Have any of you ever eaten rattlesnake? I have. They serve it at the "Cowboy Club" restaurant in Sedona, Arizona, among other places. Like chicken or pork or any other meat, if it is prepared well it is quite tasty. I'm sure the guys didn't have any fancy spices or sauces for it, but I also know my husband is a great cook, so I'm sure it was prepared as well as it could have been under the circumstances, and so I'm not surprised that LMS ended up loving it.

Now this all sounds (and probably looks) rather violent, and I am not advocating random killing of rattlers for fun. They are worthy of respect, and they have their place in our ecosystem just like any other wild animal. But I also don't advocate standing around waiting to get bitten by one, and if it's threatening people at a campsite, I have no qualms about killing it. Better it than my kid, that's for sure!

And I am glad that, once they killed it, they made use of it by having it for dinner. No sense wasting perfectly good food.

My son is so proud of his "Steak and Snake" dinner, and of the fact that he saved Jim's dog by calling Jim's attention to the situation.

And he has really enjoyed the shock value of his story when told to his grandmothers.

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Fourth of July Holiday Wishes

Happy Fourth of July, everyone! Does anyone else remember the big bicentennial celebration in 1976? I was 10, and it was awesome. Best fireworks I had ever seen. (Probably helped that we moved to a big city from a smallish college town, but the 200 year thing had a lot to do with it too.)

Remember bicentennial quarters? I used to collect them, in a round cookie tin. I had hundreds of them. Then one day during my freshman year in college, I discovered that I had about a hundred fewer quarters and six or seven "IOU" slips of paper totaling $25.00 in the tin.... Turns out my friend from down the hall had discovered my "stash" of quarters and used them for her laundry now and again... oooh was I angry!

Last night I was talking with my son about why we celebrate the Fourth of July and the meaning of the fireworks that we will go to see. It struck me that he will most likely live to see the tricentennial celebration (he will be 73 in 2076), and I likely will not.

But I will darn sure enjoy our country's 233rd birthday celebration tonight! We're having BBQ beef, potato salad, baked beans, corn on the cob, and for dessert, some awesomely delicious brownie bites that my husband and I made last night, with a small spot of cream cheese & a chocolate chip on the top of each one. They are soooo delicious.

Then we'll head to downtown Tempe to see the fireworks by the Mill Avenue Bridge at Tempe Town Lake.

I love this holiday!

Happy Fourth of July, to all my favorite Independent Bloggers!

(And happy day to all our friends across the pond, too. I'm guessing you guys don't find much to celebrate about American Independence Day, but I'm so glad we're friends anyway, and I hope you have a great day!)
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Timing is everything

Hope this isn't TMI, but husband & I were ... well, let's just say we were having fun together after midnight ... and the phone rang at a most inopportune time.

I answered, since my daughter is away in Virginia and you just never know what might go wrong... I was hoping it was a wrong number.

It was my friend's husband. My friend is having a baby. She's due in two weeks, but the baby is arriving now. She needed someone to come stay with her other 5 kids while she goes to the hospital to give birth.

So here I am, wide awake at 3 a.m., glad I could help but (if I'm honest) also wishing I were still at home snuggling with my guy. And then again I'm grinning ear to ear, because I'm so glad it was happy news and not bad news, at 2 a.m. when the telephone rang.

If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that babies come when they're ready. They do not wait for it to be "convenient" for everyone else.

I can't wait to meet the new little one.
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Goodbye, Old Friend

I may have mentioned my dog before. He is (was) a Basset Hound. We got him when he was "about 4," according to the folks we got him from, which means he could have been anywhere from 2 to 6 at the time. My daughter was almost 4 at the time, and my son wasn't born yet.

My daughter had been asking for a dog since she was eighteen months old. We would pass dogs on the street or at the dog park and she would say, "I want a doggy." I bought her a stuffed doggy, but that just made her annoyed with me. At the time, she didn't know the words for "alive" or "real" so she said, "No! I want a doggy that walks." So a couple months later, I bought her a small battery operated stuffed dog that walked when you turned on the switch. She was not impressed; I could tell by her huffing and sighing. As soon as she learned to express the concept of "real" and "alive," she told me she wanted a "real, alive doggy."

So in 2002, my husband and daughter responded to an ad in the paper seeking a "good home" for a "loving dog." I'm not sure exactly how these folks came to possess our dear Hound, but they didn't know exactly how old he was - they just knew they couldn't keep him because they discovered after they got him that their kid was allergic to him.

He was friendly and sweet and seemed healthy and happy, so my husband and daughter brought him home. He rode happily in the back seat with my daughter. He leaned over her and hung his head out the window, tongue flailing in the wind. She thought that was hilarious, and laughed the entire way home. She named him "Woody," after the cowboy in Toy Story, which was a fairly new and still very popular movie at the time.

He was an exceptionally good-looking Basset Hound. We would buy a calendar each year, with Basset Hound photos for each month, and our wonderful Woody always looked as handsome as the professionally photographed purebred pooches.

Woody adjusted quite well to us and to our home. At first, I wasn't sure whether to trust him with my daughter. Basset Hounds are not small dogs, even though they are only about 15 inches tall at the shoulders; they really are large dogs on very short legs. They have huge strong jaws, and are stocky and heavy for their size, which made me a little nervous given that my daughter was a very small age 4. He outweighed her by at least 15 pounds. I never fully trust animals around young kids anyway. Even a very friendly and patient animal can "snap" if he is hurt or startled. So I watched him carefully, but he was always very patient and gentle, and never snapped.

She had a lot to learn about how to treat animals. I explained many times how to pet him properly and that she should not hurt him. But as soon as I would look away, she would pull on his very long, adorably droopy ears, or hold onto his tail, or poke at him, or climb on him... I think she didn't mean him any harm, but was curious, and somewhat used to stuffed animals that could be poked and prodded at will. He never responded in anger. She could poke and prod and he would just sit there, occasionally nudging her with his nose. If she hurt him, he would simply get up and walk away. Eventually, she learned to treat him kindly so he wouldn't leave.

Woody also learned the particular joys of children. They are messy eaters, so all he had to do to get yummy snacks was hang around under my daughter's chair while she ate dinner. And they also love to give treats to dogs, so all he had to do to get treats between meals was look at her with those soulful brown eyes, and she'd run for the treat jar and give him a snack. I think that was part of the reason why he was so willing to put up with her poking and prodding - he knew she was a great food source!

When my son was born, Woody was immediately fascinated with the little guy. I think he was glad to have me home for maternity leave, too, and he would sleep at my feet as I held my son, or sit in the kitchen with me while I made lunch. And as my son grew, and became mobile, Woody was as gentle with him as he had been with my daughter, putting up with all the pokes, prods, and pulls as my son learned how to properly pet and play with a dog. And he always kept the floor under my son's high chair clean and clear of all crumbs and dropped food.

Woody loved to play - he would chase balls (and sometimes bring them back), play tug of war, and run and chase and run some more. The kids loved to throw the ball for him, then chase him around the yard; he loved outrunning them. He would tease them, too, letting them get almost within range of him, then darting off to run in circles some more.

He loved to walk with us (on the leash of course), anywhere we wanted to go. He'd prance down the street, tail in the air and nose to the ground, seeming to say "It's right this way guys, I can smell it... this way now, let's go!... Yup, here it is, I can smell it now!" And we invariably got comments wherever we went: "What a beautiful dog!" "Wow, is he a Bassett Hound? He's so perfect!!" "Oooh, can I pet him?" "Wow, he's sooo friendly!!" He would wag his tail and lean happily against whoever was petting him while gazing up into their eyes with his beautiful and soulful brown eyes. He loved being out and about.

He also loved to go to the dog park and play with the other dogs. He was always friendly and never got into fights or even growled at the others. He would sometimes get frustrated when he couldn't keep up with the other dogs running around because his little legs were so short. Then, he'd run behind them barking, "woof! ... woof! ... woof!" Very cute.

He also loved to play at the park with the kids. Sometimes he'd follow them up the stairs to the slide, then slide down after them. Other times, he'd just sit or lie in the sand and watch them climb and swing and run around.

When I left my job and opened my own law firm, I began working mostly from home. Woody loved that. He would sleep on his blanket near my feet most of the day, and bark to alert me when the mailman came by or when anyone knocked at the door. I loved his "big-dog" bark - it made me feel somewhat safer while I was home alone. Sometimes we'd go for walks in the morning before it got too hot; other days, when the weather was nice, I'd sit out back for a while and read cases and drink my coffee while Woody chased the birds in the yard or slept in the sun. Mostly, I worked at my computer and Woody slept on his blanket on the floor.

Woody was not a perfect dog. One of his favorite activities was knocking over the garbage can to get to the "treats" inside. He could also stand with his paws on the edge of the kitchen counter (he was quite tall when standing on his short back legs - he had quite a long body) and reach nearly to the back of the counter with his tongue, so you could not leave any food on the counter. We always had to leave him outside when we were away because he couldn't be trusted inside by himself. Once, my husband and I made the mistake of leaving a half-eaten pizza on the coffee table in the living room while we went to the kitchen to get beverages. The pizza was gone when we returned. And he knew he wasn't supposed to sleep on the couch or on our bed, but if I walked into the living room or bedroom after being in the kitchen for a while, I often would find a warm indentation in exactly the shape of a curled-up doggy on the couch or bed... while Woody appeared to be asleep, innocently, on the floor several feet away. Yes, he could be rather sly...

But he was always a faithful friend. He always greeted us when we came home, happy to see us. If you were sad, he was there to comfort you. If you were happy, his tail was wagging too.

Last summer, he started getting a little... slower. He stopped knocking over the garbage, and completely stopped climbing on the bed and on the couch. We took him to the vet, and it turned out his spleen was severely enlarged. Over $1000 later, he was our spleen-less wonder-dog. He took several weeks recovering from the surgery, but he did perk up a bit. He still did not climb on the bed (can't say I was too disappointed about that one), but he enjoyed his walks again and followed us happily around the house. He seemed happy for the holidays, anyway.

But the hair didn't grow back on his pudgy pink belly where they had shaved it for the surgery. And after an initial few months of seeming better, he slowed down again. So this spring, it was back to the vet, who said he seemed to be having troubles with his liver function and thyroid, plus he had high blood pressure. She said we could try additional x-rays and surgery if we were so inclined, to determine if cancer was the problem, but she didn't really recommend it, because if it were cancer, the surgery and chemotherapy would be very expensive and likely would not substantially extend or improve the quality of his life. She prescribed several different medicines and supplements, which were supposed to help if it was not cancer, as well as an antibiotic and some pain killers.

Woody loved the treats he got with his morning and evening pills. Four treats every morning and four treats every evening. But again, after an initial couple of months in which the pills seemed to help, he just seemed to be slowing down again. And over the past couple of months, he slept more and more, ate less and less, and seemed less and less happy. Another trip to the vet, more prescription pain medicine -- but there was no way to cure him, no way to make him young again. He continued to lose weight. And in the last couple of weeks, his face just looked gaunt; his ribs appeared and felt prominent despite his puffed-out belly.

So last Monday, my husband and I had to face reality. Woody was not going to get well again. He did not look happy. Over the weekend, he had just seemed to be in pain, despite the pain medicine we were giving him twice a day. And on Monday, his breathing was labored and irregular. My husband and I talked about it and made what has to be one of the hardest decisions one can make: time to euthanize our beloved friend.

My daughter is out of town, camping with some relatives in Virginia. Sadly, she did not get a chance to say goodbye to her faithful friend. I hope she will forgive me. My son cried a lot, and said his goodbyes, and then we took him to his grandmother's house, and then we took Woody to the vet one final time.

As I walked him out to the car, he wanted to walk around the yard and mark his territory one last time, so I let him. Poor Woody tried to pee on the fire hydrant in the corner of our yard, but fell over sideways. He's persistent, though. He tried again -- success! -- then walked to the car. I had to help him in. Long gone are the days when he could jump in by himself. No more standing and hanging his head out the window, tongue flapping in the wind. No, this time he just laid on his side, on the back seat of the car, looking sad and withered.

At the vet's office, we petted him and told him what a good dog he had been and how much we loved him. He sat for a while, then lay down on the blanket they had for him, and didn't move again. They gave him the shots, and we comforted him while the drugs put him to sleep and then stopped his heart. It is not easy to watch your beloved doggy die. I wish I could say he seemed peaceful or happy as he died, but the best I can say is that he seemed ready for it, and at least he won't suffer any longer.

I'll never see him again, and I miss my little friend terribly. I miss having an automatic vacuum / floor sweeper to clean up after the kids when they make a mess at dinner time. I miss having a dog to walk. I miss having a dog who barks when someone is at the door. I miss hearing my son shout with joy ("Woody!!") when we come home from running errands. But most of all, I miss Woody's friendly presence and sweet brown eyes watching me while I sit here at my computer doing my work and reading your blogs.

* * * * *

Dear Woody, you were a true friend and a good dog. Thank you for being so patient with my kids, and so loving to all of us. We will all miss you terribly and remember you fondly.

Goodbye old friend, goodbye.

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Interesting Factoid

Another busy week. I had to put my dog to sleep on Monday (I'll write about that later). And Wednesday through Friday this week, I'm attending the State Bar Convention, which is not nearly as much fun as it sounds.

But the seminar on gender issues that I attended yesterday had a faculty member with an interesting perspective on the topic under discussion, as well as a great deal of legal experience. She is the first person in Arizona history to have argued cases before our highest court as both a man (several years ago) and a woman (more recently).

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Pulitzer Project Book Announcement: "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy (2007 Pulitzer Prize Winner)

I have a book announcement for those of you who are following along with my attempt, inspired by the Pulitzer Project blog, to read and review all of the Pulitzer Prize winning novels.

Next up: "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy (2007's Pulitzer winner). If you want to join the discussion on that one, get it and read it soon.

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The Ice Cream Man

Fancy Schmancy's post yesterday reminded me of one of the true joys of my Florida childhood -- the Ice Cream Man.

At least once a week, on those sticky hot Florida summer days, he'd slowly cruise through our little neighborhood, jolly music playing loudly. Every kid on the block would run inside and beg mom and dad for money, or raid his or her piggy bank, or check under the couch cushions, and then chase frantically down the street to catch the truck. The driver was invariably friendly and would stop when he saw the kids running behind him. We never missed the ice cream truck. (Well, maybe once that I can remember, when I had a sprained ankle and couldn't run.)

We'd run up to the truck and stare with wide-eyed awe at the pictures of all the yummy treats plastered all over the side of the truck. Then we'd debate the merits of the bomb pop versus the fudgsicle or the orange cream or the sno cone.... We'd dither and hem and haw and finally make a selection, then turn over our fistful of loose change and wait to hear the magic verdict on whether the money was the right amount -- "Great! Here's your popsicle!" or "One bomb pop, coming up!"

The thing is, we always caught him, and it was always enough money, and the juicy or creamy or icy treat was always awesome. I don't remember ever being disappointed by the ice cream man.

When I first moved to my Arizona neighborhood, I discovered that the ice cream man was a little.... different. First of all, he cruised through the neighborhood at approximately 35 miles per hour.

Keep in mind, the speed limit is 25.

Before we had kids, my husband and I heard him coming and tried, a couple of times, to run inside and get money and catch him, but he was long gone before we got inside -- forget finding money and coming back outside to catch him. Heck, he barely slowed down for stop signs; I don't know why I thought he'd stop if he saw some grown-up chasing after him. For over eight years, I never saw him stopped with kids around the truck selling ice cream. We became convinced it was a front for a bunch of drug dealers, or (less paranoid interpretation), that he was merely driving through our neighborhood on the way home and wasn't actually interested in selling ice cream here.

So when our daughter was a toddler and saw and heard the truck, we told her it was the "music truck," and that he just drove around the neighborhood playing music for everyone. Being a toddler and trusting her parents as the authority on everything from the Easter Bunny to Santa Claus, she bought that story hook, line, and sinker.

For a couple of years, whenever she heard the ice cream truck, she'd say, "Mommy, listen! It's the music truck!" And I'd say, "Ooh, yes! Isn't that nice?" and smile, and we'd both go on about our business.

And then for a couple of years, he didn't even come through the neighborhood. I had forgotten about the ice cream / music truck.

Then one day when our son was about 3 and our daughter about 8, we were standing outside with the kids, talking to some neighbors, having just returned from the store. I had my bag; my husband had his wallet. We both had cash on us. Our daughter said, "Mommy, listen! It's the music truck!" Our neighbors looked quizzically at each other and, apparently deciding we were the worst parents on earth and that our kids needed to learn the real truth, said, "What?!? Oh, you mean the Ice Cream Man! Ooh, let's stop him and get some ice cream!"

And our deception was revealed. Our daughter was clearly annoyed with us for deceiving her. She looked at me like I had just told her there was no Santa Claus. (Perhaps that was the moment she figured that out?).

And then the truck stopped. The kids saw all the ice cream illustrations on the side of the truck and began squirming with excitement. They hemmed and hawed and then made their decisions: A bomb pop for the little guy; chocolate dipped vanilla ice cream bar for his big sister. (The neighbors, those sneaks, didn't even buy anything at all!)

I have to admit, it was a sweet moment, and brought back good memories of my own childhood and the joys of the ice cream man. (And the man actually sold us some ice cream! Amazing! It's not a front for drug dealers! The truck has real ice cream!! This is good to know!)

...But now every time the kids hear the music, they beg for money.

** sigh **
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Pulitzer Project Book Review - Gilead - Marilynne Robinson - 2005 Pulitzer Prize Winner

Please read the spoiler alert before reading this review.

Gilead is written as a letter from an old man, John Ames, a Reverend in a country church, to his young son. The Reverend married a younger woman late in life, and is now afraid he will die before his son matures, so he writes a book-length letter to his son, in a conversational style, talking about current happenings and past events in the history of his family and the town he lives in; his thoughts on life, God, religion, spiritual matters, other people, historical events, and the meaning of things; and about his love for the boy and his mother. The book jumps back and forth between past and present, and can feel a little disjointed at times. This made it seem authentic, in a sense - random stories and thoughts, just as you would write if you were writing a long series of letters, rather than editing a book - but can make it hard to follow if you're not paying close attention.

The book is well-written in the sense that the author describes things with such detail you can really see them there in front of you (and yet the details seem to flow naturally and are beautifully evocative, rather than mind-numbingly thorough). I was entranced by some of the spiritual discussions and by the Reverend's firm insistence that life itself - our human existence on Earth - is a thing of beauty to be treasured despite any difficulties or earthly "ugliness," rather than as a struggle to be endured until we can rush to "heaven" or some other more beautiful / spiritual place after death. This viewpoint certainly differs from that of some other religious leaders and was refreshing in that sense.

I loved the author's beautifully stated observations about American life and religion, human nature, and the beauty of the world. The Reverend's musings and stories are interesting, amusing, and thought-provoking, and the "letter" itself contains enough interesting events and describes interesting persons well enough that you actually get a sense of their character....

but...

maybe it's my fault because when I started out, I tried to read this book an hour at a time while taking my kids to piano class or gymnastics or whatever, sitting and waiting... and with rather constant interruptions, so it was slow going (probably about 15 minutes of actual reading time for each hour I sat with the book). And so I thought the "letter" was ok, but I kept wondering why Reverend Ames seemed to so dislike and distrust his namesake / godson, who is his best friend's son? I kept thinking I missed something along the way, and so I kept turning back the pages and skimming prior chapters, trying to find what I had missed. This led to a very disjointed reading of the book.

Finally, I had to set it aside. I just felt too confused and frustrated by it.

I picked it up again two months later, when I had a chunk of free time, and started from the beginning, determined this time not to miss the critical piece of information about why the Reverend so disliked his godson, and promising myself that if I wasn't enjoying the book this time, I'd just give it up and start a different one.

This time, I read it in a few hours over the course of two relatively distraction-free days and actually liked it. (This seems to be a trend for me with these Pulitzer winners - I don't quite "get it" the first time through - it takes a second reading for me to pick up on the themes and facts that make the book interesting and/or "prize-worthy." Apparently my "English Lit" skills are a little rusty.)

As it turns out, we don't learn why the Reverend so dislikes his godson until very near the end of the book. I wasn't as frustrated this time, though, since I knew I hadn't missed anything, it just wasn't there yet.

I won't spoil the fun stuff by talking about the amusing stories in the book. I will say I found the end touching, and not in a fairy-tale happy ending sort of way (and the following may spoil the end for those of you who haven't read it).

The book explored the biblical and spiritual themes of the prodigal son, God's love despite human sins, redemption, reconciliation, forgiveness, pride, and spiritual growth. The book also deals, at a more mundane / earthly level, with stories of abolitionists and racial tension, recognizing that many religious leaders were also leaders in the abolitionist movement and that the abolitionists were, by necessity, a rather unlawful bunch. For example, the Reverend's grandfather, also a Reverend and an abolitionist, is painted as a very fallible and strong-willed character, a very religious man but with quirks and sins and human fallibility. And the book explores the sometimes strained relationship between fathers and sons - including Reverend Ames's relationship with his father, and his father's relationship with his father (the Reverend's abolitionist grandfather).

These themes are brought together in the character of the young John Ames. We eventually learn that he fathered a child when he was young and left town in shame, after refusing to marry the young mother or to support the child. His father, Reverend Ames's best friend (and a Reverend in a church of a different denomination), loves his son unconditionally in spite of this major human failing, and yearns for his son's return. Reverend Ames, the younger Ames's Godfather, does not understand this unconditional love, despite his attempts to apply his biblical understanding of the story of the prodigal son. He tries to understand, but he just doesn't, which is obvious because he so dislikes the younger John Ames and mistrusts him so thoroughly when he returns to visit his father.

Near the end of the book, the younger John Ames tells the old Reverend Ames that he has a son about the same age as the Reverend's son, and tells him about his desire and efforts to marry the mother of his son whom he loves but has been unable to marry (because in the 1950's interracial marriage was not allowed), and Reverend Ames comes to see the beauty, strength, human frailty, honor, and worthiness of his Godson, and comes to accept him despite his past sins and failures. There is a scene in which Reverend Ames formally blesses his Godson before his Godson leaves (probably never to return), and you can almost feel the years of misunderstanding and mistrust and doubts and frustration falling away, replaced by great love and compassion and understanding.

Meanwhile, the young John Ames's own father, who has always loved him despite his sins (the "prodigal son" theme), never learns of the redeeming qualities the senior Ames discovers near the end of the book. There is a suggestion that, if he knew of his son's struggle to marry the woman he loves despite the racial issues and of his mixed-race grandson, he might in fact be less accepting or loving than he has been - an interesting contrast with the Godfather / Godson relationship, and an interesting comment on the concept of "unconditional love" being doled out disproportionately to those who don't "deserve" it.

I was somewhat disappointed that the story of how the Reverend came to marry his much-younger, ethnic wife was not explored or explained further. I would have liked to have seen the racial themes explored more thoroughly, and also would have liked more insight into these characters. Why was the wife so drawn to the Reverend? Why was the Reverend so drawn to her? (We get a little information about this second question, but not much at all about why she insisted that he marry her). And although the Reverend muses some about his son and tosses in a couple of stories about the child, we never get much of a sense of the kid's personality. Perhaps exploring these areas in more detail would have made the book "too long." But I think it would have made the book more interesting and thus would have been worthwhile. As it is, I felt the description of the relationship between the Reverend and his wife was rather "flat," and I kept thinking the kid would have loved to read more about how his father and mother met and fell in love, instead of reading strange stories of abolitionists and this younger "John Ames" that he may never see again.

All in all, this was not my favorite book ever, although I liked it. I won't be telling all my friends they should rush out and read it. But I won't tell them not to, either. If you have the time to read it over the course of a couple of days so you can keep the events and people straight in your head and not feel as if you're missing something, and if you enjoy rather random musings about God, religion, and life; and character studies; and life-vignettes, then by all means, go for it. If you're looking for an action-adventure story or a romance or even a more thoroughly drawn historical fiction type novel, move along down the bookstore aisles and find something else.

If any of you have read it, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments section.

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Children's Museum of Phoenix

I'm back. I had a horribly busy week at work. It was almost like working at a big law firm again, meaning I was working from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. every day, taking a break for dinner, then working again until midnight or later, sleeping a few hours, and getting up to do it all over again. My kids saw me for two hours a day. Good thing my husband is on his summer break from teaching so he could entertain them. So I apologize for the total lack of posts for over a week. Perhaps while I'm on vacation in a couple of weeks I'll try to write some "extra" posts that I can use when I'm too busy to sit down and write.

I still don't have time to write much today, as I have all the law office administrative things to tend to this week -- monthly billing, updating the trust account records, and so forth -- plus I need and want to spend some time with the family to make up for my almost total absence last week.

But I did want to share with you these photos I took at the Children's Museum of Phoenix recently. The museum is relatively new (founded in 1998), and just this year it moved into a beautiful old, restored former school building (the Monroe elementary school, originally built in 1913) in the Phoenix downtown area. I hadn't been there before. My kids and I went with my friend and her kids. We had a blast.

The museum itself is more play-space than art exhibit oriented, although there is art throughout, as well. There are three levels to the museum, and the entry / lobby area has huge vaulted ceilings and is very spacious, light, and airy. There is a huge play tent-and-tunnel feature for the little kids, plus some funky foot-powered segway-style moving machines and little carts for the kids to ride.

Here is a photo of the art that hangs in the main entry lobby, made from used CDs. They were so pretty, shimmering in the light. The photo doesn't really capture it. (Perhaps I should have had my daughter take the photos....)



Here is a close-up:



Also in the main entry area, they had a tangled tubular thing that blew air, into which kids could put brightly colored scarves. The scarves would blow all around through the tangle of tubes and come out through one of the tubes at the top; the kids would try to guess where the scarves would emerge, and try to catch them as they fluttered down. They loved it. The parents loved it, too. Here's a photo of the scarves coming out of one of the tubes:



Upstairs, they had a "restaurant" where the kids could use play food and a play kitchen to make and serve food for their parents. (I liked this role-reversal... perhaps I'll have to try this at home). Hanging from the ceiling was a huge sculpture made of bent flatware. I wonder if the sculpture was made at the spoonbenders convention?



Here is a close-up of part of it.



Funny. I suddenly have the urge to go open my flatware drawer and play with my forks...

There were other fun, interactive things at the museum. An 8 foot high racetrack / ramp for foot-long go-cart looking race cars. A pretend grocery store where the kids could play cashier, shopper, shelf-stocker, manager, whatever.... An ice cream stand... A trike-racing track... An entire room set up with wooden balls rolling down ramps and tracks, hitting various wooden and metal objects along the way to make pretty sounds; the overall effect was very musical, and it was great fun to drop the balls onto the various tracks and watch them go.

And they had some other art, too, such as these tie-dye tapestries, with origami bird-mobiles hanging in front of them:



We were there for only about an hour, so we didn't get to see everything. The kids have been asking to go back, and we will sometime soon.

There's not a lot that would interest kids much older than 8 or 10 (the Science Museum across the street would be more exciting for the older crowd), but the younger ones had a blast, and my 10 year old could have happily spent hours rolling balls down the musical ramps and putting scarves in the air-blowing tubes; she was sad when it was time to go. And there were benches and chairs throughout for the parents to sit on while their kids romped and played. If you're in Phoenix and want to do something fun for a couple of hours in air-conditioned comfort with kids from age 1 to 10 - or if you're really into spoonbending - I'd recommend this museum.

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What Is WRONG With These People?!?

I'm in tears today.

In the news: a mother in New Mexico smothered her three year old boy, she says, because she "didn't want him to grow up feeling ignored and unloved, the way she did." Apparently she knew she was a bad mom because she spent all her time partying instead of parenting, and she had no desire to change her ways.

But did she not think of leaving the child with some caring family members? Or putting the child up for adoption if she truly has no caring family members?

No, she'd rather kill him.

And in 1994, Susan Smith sent her van into a lake with her kids strapped into their car seats... they drowned, of course... why? because she didn't want kids anymore.

Did she not think of letting their father, who loved them and wanted them, raise them? She could have walked away and the kids would have been better off -- a little sad that their mother was a flake, perhaps, but not beyond repair, and not incapable of a happy life. Did she think of that?

No, she'd rather kill them.

I dealt with a criminal case on appeal once, in which the mother had killed the child because, she said, she did not want him to have to suffer abuse during parenting time with his father.

Did she not think of calling child protective services? Consulting an attorney regarding changing the parenting time provisions? Obtaining counseling for the child to help him deal with any problems he might have with his Dad?

No, she'd rather kill him.

Then there was Andrea Yates, who killed her four boys and infant daughter by drowning them in the bathtub. She killed them, she said, because she "was a bad mother and wasn't raising them properly," and she had some misguided notion, based on her strange brand of religious fervor, that they were doomed to hell if she continued "raising them wrong" and so they'd be better off dead.

I think everyone agreed Andrea Yates was actually psychotic, had real mental problems that weren't treated properly... I'm not sure what to think of that case, actually... sometimes I almost feel sorry for Andrea, medicated to a state of sanity and in prison deeply regretting her actions; other times I think, even if she was crazy, couldn't she just walk away instead of killing her kids?

Those poor kids. All of them. Can you imagine anything worse than having your own mother kill you? Your mother whom you trust and adore and rely on for everything? Maybe it's worse to be raised by such a psychotic person, I don't know.... but there are so many people who would love to adopt a child, it just breaks my heart to think of these poor dead kids who could have been happy, and made some childless person happy...

Are all these women as crazy as Yates was? Or are they just evil? Or just too stupid to think of a better solution than murder? What is wrong with our society that mothers feel justified in killing their kids?!?

People, please listen. These are very simple instructions:

If you are ever thinking that your kids would be better off dead, YOU ARE WRONG. So, stop right there and go check yourself into a mental hospital. Ask for help. Now!

Perhaps your kids would be better off without you (especially if you are abusive or psychotic or just plain dysfunctional), without the abusive spouse, or without both of you. But that does not mean you should kill them.

Instead, you should either get enough of the right medication that you can function (and then take the med's, for cryin' out loud!!), or if you can't get your act together, walk away! Give the kids up for adoption maybe, or let your (ex-)spouse or your parents or your spouse's parents raise them. But don't kill your kids.

I can't stand any more heartbreaks while reading the news.
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Never Heard Anyone Say *That* To A Judge Before...

Today I represented some clients in a very tough negotiation. It was a family money dispute, the most difficult type of negotiation. With business clients, it's just about the money, and so very often it is easy to structure something both sides can live with. But with family, it's about emotions --about how your mom must think and feel about you when she demands interest on that loan; about how your dad must feel about you if he refuses to repay that money he borrowed; about what grandpa felt about each of you if he left one of you more money than the other in his will.... emotions run high.

The differences seem small. You think, they're only off by $5000 and 2% interest, can't we just split the difference? but no, no they can't, because giving that 2% interest means mom doesn't love you, and giving that $5000 means your son has forgotten everything you ever did for him in his whole life. With business clients, you'd be done if you got within $5,000 just by reminding them of the hourly fee you are charging to sit there. With family, it's just... harder somehow.

The Judge mediating today's settlement negotiation came into the room after speaking with the other side. He said the other side had essentially agreed to accept the terms we had just proposed (after 4 prior rounds of offers and counteroffers), except that they wanted one additional term.

My client deliberated and finally said, "OK, but you tell him that he has to kiss me now since he just f---d me!"

Never heard anyone say that to a Judge before....

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Some Friday Photos

Here are some photos my daughter and I took at Phoenix's Desert Botanical Garden. They are currently hosting a glass sculpture exhibit, by artist Dale Chihuly. Apparently he makes glass sculptures and exhibits them in botanical gardens all across the U.S. (and probably other places, too), so maybe you can see some near you sometime. Or you can just check out the photos below.

We went to see the sculptures twice, once during the day, and once at night. They are quite interesting and beautiful. I was surprised that my kids were actually interested in seeing them a second time, but they both agreed the glass was "way cool" and they wanted to see it at night. I thought it was worth a second look, too. Since most of you live too far away to visit these yourselves, and anyway the exhibit ends May 31, I thought I'd give you a quick tour of the "highlights."

First up, a giant blue "orb" hiding behind the prickly pear cactus - very cool:





Here is a photo of a boat full of glass balls....




... and one of some tall-ish blue glass sculptures that almost seem to wave in the wind like an odd bulbous prairie grass (get it, "blue glass / blue grass"?) ...




Next, a photo of some strange white bulbous sculptures among the organ pipe and prickly pear cacti:




Here we have the giant neon yellow ... what - saguaro cactus? phallic symbol? ... you decide. This one is visible as you drive up the road to the garden's entrance, and acts as a beacon, luring the multitudes in to see the exhibit:




And here is an "arty" photo my daughter took of her brother in front of the giant neon yellow phallic sym- ... er, saguaro cactus:




Here are some interesting tall blue skinny ones with tops remiscent of the "crested saguaro" cactus:



Here is a giant round-ish sculpture, reminiscent of a sea anemone, or perhaps medusa, with all the snake-like tentacles sticking out all around:



And here is a close-up of the same sculpture:


Beautiful, odd, awesome, different, pretty, cool, neat, elegant, strange ... these are all words I heard used to describe the glass sculptures during our visits. How would you describe them?

Tova Darling's Totally Awkward Tuesdays

It's Tuesday, which means it it time for Tova Darling's Totally Awkward Tuesdays event, in which we write about something awkward that happened in the past, and link to Tova Darling's blog, and post a link to our blog on Tova's blog.

I was going to pass on the awkwardness festival this week, given the situation with my Grandpa dying and all. But since Tova Darling says it may be the last TAT for a while, I'd better join in. Plus, my Grandpa always had a great sense of humor. I know he'd approve.

Tova's story reminded me of a rather awkward job interview that I had, when I was in law school.

First, a little background. After college, I took a couple of years off and worked for a while, then decided to go to law school. By the time I was interviewing for law firm jobs during my third year in law school, I thought that ancient undergrad history was pretty irrelevant. The law firms tended to think otherwise.

So I was being interviewed by Ms. Blonde Bombshell ("BB") and Mr. Tall, Dark, & Handsome ("TDH") from one of the larger law firms in town. I think they send their most attractive partners and associates to conduct interviews in an attempt to make the interviewees feel even more inadequate. I also think the law firms get together and think up the dumbest questions possible to ask potential recruits, just so they can compare notes later and laugh at the dumb answers they get, because just about every interview I had featured at least two or three really stupid questions, often the same two or three really stupid questions.

These two interviewers appeared to be two of the most socially conservative - prudish, even - people I had ever met. I base this on the way they dressed -- conservative even for lawyers -- and the way they spoke.

On the way into the room, I bumped my elbow, hard, and said "ow, shoot!" as I rubbed my elbow. A couple minutes later, Ms. BB dropped her pen and her interjection of choice was "oh fudgesickles!" as she retrieved it. Fudgesickles? I recognize it would be entirely inappropriate to drop the F-bomb, and fudgesickles was preferable to that, but really, fudgesickles? In my experience, that word is used only by people who are soooo prudish that even "darn" is too strong a curse word for them. I would not fit in well with that crowd. So this interview was not off to a good start.

And these two really took the cake for dumb questions. They asked me a lot of things that were irrelevant and perhaps even illegal. The interview went something like this:

BB: What clubs did you lead or participate in during your undergraduate years?

Me: Well, I worked my way through college, generally working 30 hours per week, so I didn't have time for a lot of clubs, but I was vice-president of the Italian Club and I also volunteered for "Reading for the Blind" once a week.

TDH: What hobbies have you pursued during law school?

(This was a stock question used by all the interviewers at every big firm in town. I'm still not sure whether I was supposed to say, "none, the law is all I am interested in" to show that I would never let my personal life interfere with my work, or supposed to name six things to show I am "well-rounded." I always took it as the interviewers' attempt to find something fun to talk about, to sort of "ease you into" the interview because, really, who the hell cares?!? All that the big firms *really* want to know is whether you are willing to work 80 hours per week without complaining.)

Me: (Stock answer for these dumb questions) I enjoy music and hiking.

(I did not get the usual follow-up questions about that -- what kind of music? where do you like to hike? The better interviewers would make it into a conversation: "Oh, really, I like hiking, too! Have you hiked ___ trail?" To which I would respond either "yes, it's beautiful there, isn't it?" or "No, I haven't tried that one yet, where is it?" And so forth...)

There were a few other stilted questions, with no follow-up, demonstrating either that these interviewers did not know how to make conversation or that they did not care to have a conversation with me. Either way, not a good sign..... And then, the kicker:

BB: Are you married? Do you have kids?

Me: (Flabbergasted because they are not supposed to ask these questions): Uhhh....

TDH: BB, I don't think we're supposed to ask that! (Turning to me) Sorry about that...

Me: Uh, that's ok...

... awkward silence ... (are they waiting for me to answer it anyway?)

And then the final kicker, the one that ended the interview:

TDH: Who is your favorite famous person?

Me: (Flabbergasted because this is possibly the dumbest interview question I've ever heard, stalling for time because I was so taken aback by the prior question that I literally couldn't think of *any* famous people at all, and finally going for shock value because I have now decided I don't want to work for these numbskulls). Uhhhh... I dunno.... It's so hard to choose.... There are so many fantastic famous people.... Uh.... Axl Rose?

.... awkward silence ....

TDH: (Obviously hugely disappointed by my answer). Oh. I guess I thought you would say "Thomas Jefferson" since you went to the University of Virginia for your undergrad degree.

Me: Oh. Oh, well!

And that was that. I did not get an offer from that law firm.

Thanks, Tova, for helping me remember these awkward moments!

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