LegalMist

Mountains and Deserts and Trees, Oh, My! - Part III, Trees

2012-01-24T21:44:00.000-07:00

Did you know that Arizona is home to the largest stand of Ponderosa Pines in the world? The pines are in the Coconino National Forest, which covers 1.8 million acres -- and includes the Mogollon Rim [footnote 1].

You can also drive on "Cactus Forest Road" in the Saguaro National Park near Tucson. Although Cactuses technically are not "trees," when there are thousands upon thousands of them all together, it does begin to resemble a forest.

(Barely made it on Tuesday this week! Busy lately...)

* * * * *

Footnote (because I'm a lawyer and lawyers love footnotes):

1. The Mogollon Rim is an approximately 1000 foot high cliff that runs at about a 7000 foot elevation (i.e., it is 1000 feet to the top of it from the 6000 foot elevation area below) for approximately 200 miles across central Arizona at the edge of the Coconino National Forest. (I know, I probably should have put that "Rim" thing in with the "Mountains" portion of this series).

Arizona Trivia Tuesday - Mountains and Deserts and Trees, Oh My! (Part II - Deserts)

2012-01-17T12:02:00.000-07:00

According to the Arizona Fish and Game Department, there are 21 deserts in the world, and parts of 4 of them can be found in Arizona -- all four of the major deserts found in the continental United States.

Here is a map that shows the approximate boundaries of the four deserts with portions in Arizona:

Each of these deserts is slightly different in character.

The Sonoran Desert is probably the one most people think of when (if?) they think of an Arizona desert. It is the green one on the map above, and is in southwestern and central Arizona, as well as Southeastern California and its namesake, the State of Sonora in Mexico.

The Sonoran desert is one of the wettest deserts in North America and averages from 5 to 17 inches of rain per year, depending on where you are and varying from year to year. For example, the Phoenix area averages about 8 inches per year. Most of the rain falls during the summer monsoon season (about a month of intermittent intense but short storms) and the winter "rainy" season (gentler, longer lasting but still intermittent rainy spells).

It is also the largest of the desert areas in Arizona, surrounding cities you've probably heard of like Phoenix, Tucson, and Yuma, and ones you may not have heard of, like Gila Bend, Casa Grande, and Ajo.

The key Sonoran Desert plant is the iconic saguaro cactus, like the one Snoopy's brother, Spike, lived in near Needles, California. When there are lots of them together, I sometimes think they look a little like people standing around at a cocktail party, waving to their friends across the room with one hand and holding their drink in the other:

Other times I think they look a little like Spongebob's pal Patrick - kind of goofy. Of course there are other cactuses, too, such as the prickly pear and the ocotillo. And let's not forget tumbleweeds. Yes, they really do exist, and they are quite prickly.

Critters in the Sonoran desert include coyotes, roadrunners, mountain lions, bobcats, gila monsters, and the Sonoran desert tortoise (not to be confused with the Giant tortoises found in places like the Galapagos Islands). The Desert tortoise is generally 10 to 15 inches long, and can live for up to 100 years.

The Mojave Desert is found primarily in California, but stretches into parts of northern and western Arizona, Nevada, and (according to some but not all maps) possibly Utah, as well. It is the blue one on the map above.

Death Valley, California, is in the Mojave Desert. The Mojave Desert is slightly higher in elevation than the Sonoran, and averages only about 5" of rain per year. The key plant is the Joshua tree, also known as the Yucca palm, a very strange looking plant indeed:

You'll also find Mohave desert tortoises here, which are similar to the Sonoran desert tortoises but are considered a different species.

The Great Basin Desert is often called the largest U.S. desert, covering approximately 190,000 square miles (most of those are not, of course, in Arizona). It is the brown one on the map above, and it stretches from the Sierra Nevada Mountains to the Rocky Mountains, and from the Columbia Plateau in the North to the Mojave and Sonoran Deserts in the South. In Arizona, it is found primarily along the north rim of the Grand Canyon, with some scattered portions south of the Canyon; some experts disagree that this area is part of the Great Basin Desert would call it the Colorado Plateau instead, and consider it a separate region.

Regardless where you think the borders lie, the Great Basin Desert is considered a "cold desert," with its generally higher elevations (at least 3000 feet, generally 4000 to 6500 feet) and northern latitude. It also receives more regularly spaced rainfall, approximately 7 to 12 inches per year.

With its higher elevation, cooler climate, and more regular rainfall, the plants and animals differ substantially from the Saguaros and Joshua trees and heat-adapted critters found at lower elevations. Typical plants in the Arizona portion of this desert include sagebrush, blackbrush, saltbush, and greasewood, with occasional yuccas and very few cactuses. A single blackbrush plant can live to be 400 years old!

Here is a photo of a sagebrush plant:

Animals in the Great Basin Desert include mule deer, with their huge ears, bighorn sheep, and pronghorn antelope (along with the usual desert species such as lizards and snakes). Ranches in the Arizona portion of the Great Basin desert also host two introduced buffalo herds.

A baby Mule Deer:

The Chihuahuan Desert is the one in orange on the map above. Many consider it to be the largest North American desert (as opposed to U.S. desert); others (including the Wikipedia writers and the drawers of the map above, apparently) consider it to be the second largest North American desert, after the Great Basin Desert. It is found in portions of southeastern Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas, as well as large portions of Northern Mexico, including the Northern half of the Mexican State of Chihuahua, its namesake (and also the namesake of a certain small dog).

The elevation is typically higher than the Sonoran Desert, ranging from 1000 to 10,000 feet. Additionally, although total rainfall is similar to the Sonoran desert (ranging from 6 to 16 inches, and averaging around 9 inches per year), most of its rain falls in the summer rainy season; it lacks a winter rainy season.

Thus, the plants and animals are a bit different from the Sonoran desert. Instead of desert tortoises, you'll find hawks and prairie dogs. Javelina, coyotes, and jackrabbits are also common. Jaguars have been reported, too, but extremely rarely, as they are endangered and there aren't many of them.

Agave plants are common in this region. Agave plants are not cactuses - they are actually members of the lily family! - and are also commonly known as "century plants." They grow and accumulate nutrients for many years, usually about 30 years, then they grow a tall flower stalk, flower once, and then die. Flower stalks on some varieties can reach up to 30 feet tall! Some varieties of agave plants are used to make tequila and mezcal.

The agave lecheguilla, a very small agave species, is found only in this desert and is considered an "indicator plant" for the desert. Here are two photos, one flowering, one not:

Although the plant is small, the flower stalks range from 6 to 15 feet.

The Chihuahuan desert is one of the most biologically diverse desert regions; I haven't even scratched the surface of the cool plants and animals that can be found there.

Join me next week for part III - Trees!

Ten Years

2012-01-15T16:28:00.013-07:00

On this day in 2002, three people I loved died. It wasn't this date, though -- It was January 20. But it was the Sunday of the MLK day weekend.

Teri was one of my best friends. We originally met because she was a teacher at the school where my husband taught. She invited us for dinner with her and her husband, and it took off from there.

Teri had an upbeat, positive outlook on life, but in a practical sort of way, without being sappy or annoying about it. When I was in a good mood, she was fun to share it with. When I was in a bad mood, she knew just how to help. She was not one to say, "There, there, it will all be fine!" without further analysis. Instead, she would listen carefully, understand, and then encourage positive action to make things better.

She would call me often, sometimes to ask for advice or a favor; other times just to talk and "catch up."

Sometimes, she would call me at a "bad" time when I was feeling stressed out and overwhelmed and frazzled and, well, just not in the mood for a telephone call. It was almost as if she knew I needed her. Because I loved her, I would push away my impulse to say, "I can't talk now. I have to go." And we would talk. And I would feel better as we talked. And by the end of the telephone call, I would feel calmer, happier, more ready to face whatever problems the day had thrown my way.

She invited my husband and I to the "Magic Castle" in California -- a members-only club for magicians, to give them a venue to practice their new tricks. Somehow, she had a connection who could get us all in, so we went. It was fantastic and amazing. We went from room to room seeing different acts, from card tricks to pulling doves out of a hat to vanishing objects and floating assistants -- all incredible -- and enjoying delicious food and good wine.

We started a book club, and read a lot of great books and talked about them while enjoying more good wine and great food.

We hosted baby showers for each other, and she asked me to be a part of the baby-naming ceremony at her synagogue after her first child, a girl, was born. The ceremony was fascinating. I'm not Jewish, so it was the first time I'd ever been to synagogue, and the first baby-naming ceremony I'd ever seen. I loved it. She named the baby "Maya."

As our babies grew into toddlers, we would get together and let the kids play - they would paint or color or play with toddler toys. My daughter was about a year and a half older than hers, but they got along reasonably well and seemed to enjoy seeing each other. Maya was a bright baby, with wise and beautiful big brown eyes. She was friendly and outgoing and happy.

Teri's husband, Efrain, was a soft-spoken, somewhat shy person around adults, but he could entertain a child for hours with nothing more than a ball or a stick and his incredible imagination and sense of fun. Perhaps because he grew up without much in the way of material goods in Mexico, he had learned to make the most of what he did have, and to make it fun.

He had such patience with babies and toddlers. When my daughter was learning to walk, he'd walk with her all over the house, stooped over so she could reach his hand, never complaining that his back hurt or that he wanted to sit down. She'd smile and smile at her accomplishment: walking with Efrain, showing him treasures in every room.

We loved this family, almost as if they were a part of our own.

And then it all came to an end. Too suddenly. Too soon.

On Friday, January 18, 2002, I arrived home after pulling an all-nighter at work to complete a project, and I faced a weekend of work, too, to finish the next project. I was tired, and overwhelmed, and stressed out, and resenting the fact that work was going to ruin what should have been a three-day holiday weekend.

Teri called, wanting to get together over the weekend, and I had to say I couldn't. We talked a while, but probably a shorter time that we should have. I felt calmer and happier when we hung up, but not quite ready to face the day. So I skipped our daughters' class that day. We had both signed our kids up for a community "play" class, so we could talk while our kids played. I took a nap instead.

I may never forgive myself for skipping that class, and for rejecting her offer to see each other that weekend, because I never saw my friend again.

I worked all day Saturday, and all day Sunday. I worked all Sunday night, and got home Monday morning.

On Monday, I learned that Teri, her husband Efrain, and their daughter Maya had been killed in a car crash on Sunday evening. I cried a lot and kept repeating "Nooooo, no, no, no, no, no, no, noooo" over and over. I wanted to make it un-happen, but I couldn't.

I wanted to turn back the clock to a time when life was good, and beautiful, and happy... to a time when the only petty thing I had to complain about was work. I wanted to turn back the clock and un-hear the death story (surely this couldn't be reality, could it?), turn back the clock still further, and accept Teri's offer to get together over the weekend, or at least call her on the phone on Sunday to delay her departure from home.... anything so that she would not have been where she was at the death-time, so that death, in the form of a drunk driver, would not have taken her, and her beautiful family, from me.... from all of us.

A drunk driver, Francisco Romero, had been driving his BMW SUV southbound at a speed of more than 100 miles per hour on Pima Road (speed limit 55) near its intersection with the ironically named Happy Valley Road, in Scottsdale, Arizona. He hit a dip in the road at the intersection and his SUV literally sailed through the air and across the yellow middle line, and hit Teri's little Subaru car, which was northbound nearing the same intersection, head on. The SUV bounced off my friends' Subaru, and hit the pickup truck driving behind them.

Teri and her daughter, Maya, were pronounced dead at the scene. Teri's husband, Efrain, died at the hospital a short while later.

The couple in the pickup truck behind Teri's car were also severely injured. A passenger in the drunk's SUV was killed, and another severely injured. The drunk caused a lot of heartache in one blast of stupidity - four dead and three injured, in less than one minute. He was later sentenced to 31 years in prison for those crimes.

Maya would have turned two that week. She was scheduled for a big birthday party with chocolate cake and ice cream. She had not yet tasted chocolate. She never would.

Maya and Teri had visited me at home a week or two before. Maya and my daughter had painted and I had admired their art work. Before leaving, Maya handed me her painting and said firmly, "You keep." I did. I still have it. She'll never paint me another one.

She was such a bright little girl, friendly and enthusiastic and beautiful. Words like "tragic" or "awful" don't even begin to capture it...

The worst thing about losing three dear friends at once was that grieving was ... still is ... so difficult. You start to recover your breath from the shock of losing one friend, and then the memory of the loss of another punches you right in the gut. I couldn't breathe properly for weeks.... and it still takes my breath away today if I'm not careful.

I'd start to dry my tears about Maya and then, Efrain.... sweet, kind, creative, fun-loving Efrain. He was from Mexico, had come to this country on a green card, worked hard, studied hard, earned his citizenship, and then married Teri. His beautiful daughter was the light of his life. When the paramedics arrived at the accident scene, his first thought, despite the pain he must surely have been suffering, was his baby girl in the back seat. "Take care of Maya first," he told them. They didn't have the heart to tell him she was already dead.

I'd start to breathe again and then I'd remember... Teri... she's gone, too... and the wind would be sucked out of me once more. My book club buddy. My confidant. My fun friend. My fellow mom. My massage therapist. A few weeks before Teri died, I had been in a very minor car accident, and had pulled some muscles in my back. She was a certified massage therapist, and she insisted I let her use her healing skills. She was good; the sessions helped a lot.

At the last session, a week before she died, something prompted her to tell me how much she valued our friendship, enjoyed the fact that our families got along so well together, our kids could play together, but that she really loved how we could just talk... Thank God for Teri's openness. I was able to tell her that I loved her, too, was so thankful for her presence in my life... I wouldn't have another chance to do that.

Some memories brought a tiny bit of comfort, a sense that at least my friends had achieved some measure of happiness and contentment before the terrible loss.

His whole life, Efrain had always wanted a yellow VW Bug, like the toy car he had played with as a child. Teri and Efrain had shared one car for as long as I'd known them, but shortly before the accident, she had managed to save enough money, and had bought him his dream car as a birthday gift.

Teri had wanted nothing more than to have a child. She had struggled for years to get pregnant. Maya was her dream child, and I'm so thankful she had the chance to have her baby....

They had recently purchased a home with a pool, and adopted a dog.

And Teri and Efrain were so much in love, with each other and with their baby girl. They were grateful each day for the good life they were able to live.

And as I daydream about the happiness they had found it hits me again, the horrible, awful, unnecessary, and completely unfair loss of such good lives ...

I went to the funeral, in California. The funeral parlor was packed with mourners, each with his or her own special sense of loss, yet I could not imagine a loss more profound than the loss Teri and Efrain's parents faced: not only the loss of their child and daughter- or son-in-law, but also of their dear sweet Maya, their darling and long-awaited grandchild, before she even turned two. Parents should not have to bury their children, much less their granddaughter... How does one even begin to accept that such a travesty is true?

Seeing the coffins was another punch in the gut. Two regular sized plain wooden boxes, and one tiny one for Maya. It was just so wrong. It felt like we were burying them alive; they couldn't really be dead, could they?

I stood in the rain with tears streaming down my face. I was glad for the rain, for the vast gray, gloomy clouds and the cold, damp day. Sunshine and singing birds would have been unbearable.

The cemetery was beautiful. Grassy rolling hills, trees, simple flat grave markers on the ground ... unobtrusive, simple ... one could look around and maybe begin to feel a small bit of peace.

Words were spoken over the coffins. People stood, numb and stone-faced or teary-eyed ... or cried and hugged each other ... or sat in limp helplessness in the mud against a tree .... while others - mothers and aunts and grandmothers - wailed and screamed "NO!" and flung themselves on the coffin. Your choice. So many ways to feel grief....

There was an awful racket as the giant machines were revved up and brought over for the task of lifting each of the coffins and lowering them into the giant hole.

The three coffins were lowered into the gaping pit. Two large ones, and the smaller one between.

The pit was not beautiful. It was breathtakingly awful. Too big. Too deep. Too dark for my friends to endure.

And then, as is apparently the tradition at a Jewish funeral, each of the attendees was handed the shovel in turn to begin the process, which the machines would later finish, of filling the giant grave. I almost couldn't bear it, putting that heavy, rain-soaked earth on top of my dear friends (surely they're not really dead, are they?) but I did and once again the breath was sucked out of me as I realized the finality of it all. They are not coming back.

Someone poured a jar of beach sand in with the mud. Teri had always loved the beach... The thought, unwelcome, "as if it matters now."

No one knew quite what to say or do. Nothing could make any of it any more bearable. So I stood, and cried. Someone came to me for a hug, but I felt no comfort. There is no comfort at such a time for such a loss. Not from humans, nor from God.

Two, Please

2012-01-12T09:00:00.002-07:00

Do you remember the moment your daughter became a teen instead of a child?

I remember the moment it happened to me -- when I moved irrevocably from childhood to teenager in my stepmom's eyes.

We were shopping, and I held up an awesome[see footnote 1] shirt and said, "Wow, I love this! Will you get it for me?"

Her eyes widened as she looked at the shirt, and she replied, with just the smallest hint of a sarcastic tone, "Oh, absolutely, but you'll need two of them!"

"Two? ...Why?" I asked.

"Well, so you'll have one to shit on, and one to cover it up with."

See how she did that so masterfully? She said yes, but I knew she meant no, and she even cursed! Every kid knows that parents don't curse in front of their kids, so even while she was insulting the crap out of me (or at least, my taste in clothing), she was also complimenting me by letting me know she now considered me an adult - someone she could curse in front of.

She was (still is, really) a master of contradictions and subtlety and using humor to defuse otherwise potentially tense situations.

* * * * *

Footnote 1 (because I'm a lawyer and lawyers love footnotes): Translation of the word "awesome," as applied to clothing, for those without teenage girls: "hideously ugly and horribly trashy, and even if you are laughing at this post you are secretly hoping your beloved innocent daughter or granddaughter never wants to wear anything remotely resembling it."

Arizona Trivia Tuesday - Mountains and Deserts and Trees, Oh, My! (Part I - Mountains)

2012-01-10T09:00:00.005-07:00

The highest point in Arizona is Humphrey's Peak, elevation 12,637 feet. It is 128th on Wikipedia's list of the 180 highest mountain peaks in the U.S. Humphrey's Peak is part of the San Francisco Peaks range, just north of Flagstaff, Arizona. The peaks were named after St. Francis of Assisi, not after the city of the same name.

Humphreys Peak was named after Brigadier General Andrew Atkinson Humprheys, a Civil War hero who led Union troops at Gettysburg, Fredericksburg, and others. He later became the U.S. Chief of Engineers and directed the famous "Wheeler Surveys," the U.S. Geological Survey that explored and surveyed the Southwestern U.S. in the 1870's.*

The Arizona Snowbowl, which is Flagstaff's ski resort and not a college football game, lies on the Western slope of Humphrey's Peak. Yes, you can go skiing in Arizona!

*****

Semi-interesting (for geography nuts, anyway) sidenote related to Humphrey's work with the U.S. Geological Survey: "Baseline Road" in the Phoenix metropolitan area is so named because it is sited along the "baseline" of the Gila and Salt River Baseline and Meridian.

What the heck is that, you ask? (Or maybe you didn't ask, but I'm going to tell you anyway).

The U.S. Public Land Survey System was established in 1785 to survey and parcel land so that portions of it could be released for sale to (or homesteading and eventual ownership by) private owners.

The surveying system was used to subdivide the land for sale to private owners in most of the United States, excluding the original thirteen colonies and a few other states in which the land already had been divided and sold before the survey system was established. The system selected points of origin for surveying land which would include both a true north-south meridian of longitude (called a "principal meridian") and a true east-west parallel of latitude (called a "baseline").

Baseline Road runs along the true east-west baseline that was established to serve as the basis for the land survey for most of Arizona. The entire Phoenix metropolitan area, and indeed most of Arizona, is laid out in a grid emanating from Baseline Road.

A part of Apache County in Arizona is laid out in a grid emanating from the Navajo Baseline and Meridian, which originates in New Mexico, and a very small portion of land near Yuma, Arizona (on the California/Arizona border) is measured from the San Bernardino Baseline and Meridian, in California.

Fascinating stuff, right?

More Email Fun

2012-01-09T09:00:00.001-07:00

Received in my email inbox recently -- a look at the ridiculousness that is our beloved American Standard English language:

We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and there would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim!

There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger;
Neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
English muffins weren't invented in England.

Boxing rings are square,
And a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
And why is it that writers write, but fingers don't fing,
Grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?

You can make amends but not one amend?
If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them,
What do you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?

In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?

We ship by truck but send cargo by ship...
We have noses that run and feet that smell.
We park in a driveway and drive in a parkway.
And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same,
While a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

Your house can burn up as it burns down,
You fill in a form by filling it out,
and an alarm goes off by going on.

In closing..........

If Father is Pa and/or Pop, how come Mother is Ma but not Mop???

*******

If anyone knows the original author, please advise -- I'd be happy to give credit where it is due, but I have no idea who originally wrote this piece.

Friday Feature - Free Range Kids

2012-01-06T09:00:00.001-07:00

It's been months since I've done a "Friday Feature." But this blog is a good one, and I want all of you with kids or grandkids to go read some of it, so here's my "shout-out" about it:

I've been reading the Free Range Kids blog a lot, lately, because it has helped me to "let go" of my kids a bit more, and, more importantly, to let go of the irrational fear that previously accompanied any "letting go" that I did.

We are fed a steady news diet of scary stories about kids who are abducted, molested, and/or killed. We are also fed a steady advertising diet of new "safety" products that the advertisers tell us are absolutely essential to keep our children safe in our apparently completely unsafe world.

Parents have become afraid to let their kids out of sight. They have become "helicopter parents," monitoring every move their kids make, driving the kids everywhere they go, hanging around at every kid birthday party, interfering in every activity their kids engage in ... They buy their 8 year olds cell phones so the kids can call them... why, exactly? Presumably so they can call "if there's any trouble." But the only time the kids are even out of sight, typically, is at school... where, usually, cell phones are not allowed!

All this, despite the fact that, statistically, kids are safer now than at any prior time in history.

I remember, as a 10 year old child, riding my bike along a fairly major street, without a helmet or other safety gear, several miles to the school I attended. My parents were gone when I left the house, and still gone (at work or school) when I returned home. I was a "latch key" kid, I guess. But I didn't feel neglected so much as empowered.

My parents gave me enough money to ride the city bus to and from school each day, and some days I did, but I learned quickly that if I'd ride my bike, I could use the money for other things, like soda, ice cream, comic books, toys, movies, and more.

I remember after school and weekends and summers being allowed to roam free with my friends after school and again after dinner for hours at a time without so much as checking in, and the only rule was I had to be home by dark, which in Florida in the summer was 9 or 10 p.m.

Sometimes we pushed that a bit. It would be *really* dark... Sometimes I ignored my mom calling for me from the door of our house. I'd get yelled at when I got home, those nights, and a lecture about how she was worried about me, but it didn't stop her from letting me play with my friends other nights.

We'd ride our bikes after school and on weekends for miles and hours - without helmets, knee or elbow pads, or other safety gear.

I rode my bike a couple miles past my school to a farm on the outskirts of town to take horse riding lessons each week. By myself. And then rode home again.

We'd count our pennies and dimes, and when we had enough of them, we'd ride to the movie theatre and see "Rocky" or "The Bad News Bears" or whatever else was new and exciting.

We'd go to the local 7-11 and buy comics and candy, then hang out at one of our houses eating and reading.

I'd climb to the top of the best climbing tree in my yard - the one with lots of branches close together - and watch the people and cars pass by below, smiling because they didn't know I was there. I fell once, climbing down. Knocked the wind out of me and got a few bruises, but I didn't complain -- didn't want to be banned from tree-climbing.

I'd often go to friends' houses who had moved to other neighborhoods. Sometimes my parents would be so kind as to give me a ride; usually they told me to ride my bike -- it was only a couple of miles.

My friends and I would dig up bugs in the yard, and we learned the hard way that the beautiful large furry red ants were not actually ants but wasps.

We'd go for ice cream at the Baskin-Robbins and sample all 31 flavors before deciding which one to buy. I'm sure the employees hated us, but we had a blast.

We'd walk to the nearby park playground and play, for hours at a time, unaccompanied by any adults, on the merry-go-round, see-saws, and other play equipment that is now considered "too dangerous" and has been removed from most playgrounds across the country.

Schools had playgrounds back then, too - and they generally were not fenced in and locked off, but were open on weekends and summers for community kids to use.

We'd walk to the public swimming pool unaccompanied and swim for hours. If you passed the test (swim this far, tread water for this long...), you'd be issued a card that said you could go in the deep end of the pool even though your parents weren't there. You had to pass the test, because you wanted to jump off the high dive which, of course, was in the deep end of the pool.

All of this was when I lived in Florida. I moved from there the summer I turned 12.

When I was young, I flew often, alone, to visit grandparents, aunts / uncles, and other relatives. I started with non-stop flights and people meeting me at the gates, and worked my way up to changing planes and even changing airlines on occasion, and meeting folks at the baggage claim area.

When I was 17, I drove from Virginia to Alabama and back on my own in my 1965 Mustang (which I've written about previously, here), with nothing more than a map to help me navigate. This was before the days of cell phones and GPS systems. Fortunately, in the good ol' USA, you can go most anywhere just by following the signs on the interstate highways, as long as you know the major cities along the way.

These days, I worry that I'd be arrested for child neglect or endangerment if I let my kids do half the things I did as a kid.

I love the Free Range Kids blog, because it supports what I think is my better impulse, to allow my kids the same freedom to explore, to grow, and to develop self-confidence that I was given.

Too many kids these days reach adulthood without knowing how to navigate to their local convenience store alone, much less across the country by plane or auto. This needs to change. Kids are more competent than most people give them credit for.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not "anti-safety." I'm not advocating abandoning bike helmets or car seats. These are useful safety precautions that do not impede everyday life.

I am, however, increasingly frustrated with our society's infantilization of kids. Kids should be expected and allowed to develop appropriately, which includes developing self-reliance and the confidence to navigate, by themselves, in the world.

I recognize that some of the activities advocated on the Free Range Kids blog may be outside your comfort zone. I'm not advocating that you go straight from telling your 8 year old that she can't go outside without you to sending her across New York City on the subway unaccompanied. That would probably freak her out, anyway.

I am also not advocating that you send your child out to ride her bike in the street if you live on a major highway or in gangland central.

But for the vast majority of my readers who likely live somewhere in a decent urban, suburban, or even small town neighborhood, your kids will be fine if they ride their bike down the street, or walk the dog a few blocks without you. Try it! Once they get past feeling terrified by this new freedom, they will love the feeling that you trust them and that they can do it on their own.

I am, quite simply, advocating incremental change. Change toward allowing our children more freedom and responsibility, and trusting that they can handle it and will not suffer for it.

Read the blog. Teach your kids how to stay safe (hint: it's not about running from all strangers, but about knowing which neighbors you can trust and which ones are "creepy" and avoiding the "creepy" ones; it's not about staying on the sidewalk or in your yard at all times, but about learning how to cross the street safely).

Then trust your kids more and give them some well-deserved freedom.

New Feature -- Arizona Trivia Tuesdays

2012-01-03T08:45:00.004-07:00

Little-known fact: the western-most battle of the Civil War was fought in Arizona, near Picacho Peak, which is a smallish mountain (2000 ft elevation) between Tucson and Phoenix, south of Casa Grande, Arizona.

The battle took place on April 15, 1862, and was a skirmish between a Union cavalry patrol consisting of 13 men and their commander from California and a party of 10 Confederate pickets from Tucson. (A "picket" is a group of troops placed forward of a position to warn against an enemy advance).

Accounts of the action vary depending on who you consult, so I won't try to give you a "play by play" of this very short (approximately two hour) battle, or even declare a winner.

Nevertheless, the consensus seems to be that three Union soldiers were killed; three were wounded; and three Confederate soldiers were captured.

Happy New Year 2012

2012-01-01T00:01:00.001-07:00

May you all have a healthy and prosperous year in 2012.

And may you all remember to share that good fortune with those who are less fortunate, in whatever way and with whatever time you are able.

And may that sharing, health, and financial good fortune bring you much happiness and joy.

Remember, you have only one life, and only one year 2012. Make the most of it!

Remember Your Black-Eyed Peas for the New Year!

2011-12-31T12:00:00.003-07:00

Just my friendly annual reminder to re-fuel your luck for the coming year by eating your black eyed peas first thing on New Year's Day (12:01 a.m., right after the champagne toast, is my favorite time for it).

For further explanation, please see this prior post.

For a recap of the bad luck I experienced the one year I forgot to eat the darned peas, please see this prior post.

Don't let this happen to you! Eat your black-eyed peas!!

Merry Christmas 2011!

2011-12-25T00:01:00.001-07:00

* * * * * *

With acknowledgment to Nan at "All the Good Names Were Taken," which is where I first discovered this little gem.

This Is How I'm Doing Christmas This Year....

2011-12-24T12:23:00.002-07:00

.... the "right" way. As in, the one on the right, not the one on the left!

Happy Holidays everyone!

Loving Christmas

2011-12-13T11:25:00.004-07:00

I love Christmas. Or at least, I love the *idea* of Christmas.

The idea of Christmas is that we'll decorate and have time to enjoy looking at the pretty lighted and decorated tree.

The idea of Christmas is that we'll bake cookies and have time to enjoy sharing them with our family and friends.

The idea of Christmas is that we'll shop for and buy that one perfect gift for each person on our list, and will have time to enjoy watching them smile when they open the beautifully wrapped package to find the love-gift inside.

The idea of Christmas is that we'll spend time with family and friends and show them, by our actions (including our presence at their holiday party and/or their invitation to attend ours), how much we love and appreciate them.

The idea of Christmas is that we'll celebrate, in whatever way our particular Christian religion, or lack thereof, specifies, the birth of the Christ child 2000 years ago, and will have time to reflect on the values that are important to us because of that event, such as love and kindness and charity and acceptance and compassion.

* * * * *

The problem with the idea of Christmas is that the reality of Christmas gets in the way.

Between work and daily life (which do not bother to slow down or stop just because it happens to be Christmas) and the added tasks of the season such as shopping and cooking and decorating and baking and wrapping and the never-ending obligatory holiday parties, I usually end up stressed out and frazzled by the time the day actually arrives, so that minor annoyances are then catapulted into catastrophe-land and I end up feeling less than loving, kind, charitable, and compassionate toward the relatives and friends who have gathered at my home and are trying to show me how much they love and appreciate me by doing 8000 annoying things and talking to me all at the same time so I can't even hear myself think and getting in the way of the cooking and baking that is happening, not to mention knocking over the decorations and spilling wine on the couch....

* * * * *

This year, I'm really trying to honor the idea of Christmas, so forgive me if I skip some of the decorating, shopping, wrapping, baking, and party-attending so that I can relax and enjoy the few decorations I will put up; and enjoy watching just a few friends and close family members open their pretty but less-than-perfectly wrapped and decent but not-necessarily-perfect gifts; and relax while attending one or two holiday parties, instead of rushing madly to attend bunches of them.

This means some of you might feel "slighted" as I don't attend your party or don't get you that one perfect gift (or any gift at all, really).

It's not that I don't love you. It's just that I also want to relax and enjoy this Christmas season. I want to love Christmas again -- and not just the idea of it.

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T08:00:00.001-07:00

In these tough economic times, I am especially thankful for many things -- things that many people these days do not have, and suffer much for not having them.

I am so very thankful that my children are healthy and that we have health insurance for them, for those times when we need it.

I am thankful for the jobs that my husband and I have, and have been able to keep, even amidst layoffs and hiring freezes and businesses closing all around. My business has suffered, but at least I have work to do and I am quite thankfulr for my few remaining clients who are able to pay their bills. I am thankful that my husband and I are able (barely, these days, but we are able...) to earn enough money to pay for the home we live in, the cars we drive, and food for our table.

I am thankful that we have family members, both near and far, who care about us and about our children.

I am thankful for the good public schools that my children are able to attend, and for the knowledge and life skills those schools teach them. I am especially thankful for my children's wonderful teachers, who so clearly care about their students and continue to do a great job every day, despite having been forced to take pay reductions this year in order to keep their jobs.

I am thankful for the many good friends and kind neighbors all around me, and am glad that none of them (so far) have lost jobs or houses or their health this past year.

I am thankful for the wonderful Thanksgiving feast we will enjoy -- and glad that my wonderful husband will have a "year off" from cooking it, as my Mom has volunteered to host dinner this year.

And, as always, I am eternally and especially thankful for good wine and great chocolate!

Happy Turkey Day from sunny Arizona!

Credit Card Companies Are Not Your Friends

2011-11-16T08:00:00.002-07:00

While surfing the internet last week, I ran across a pretty creepy article.

In case you were still under the delusion that your credit card company, or any of its representatives, actually cares about *you*....

Click here to read the New York Times article.

It is chilling, really, to read about how the credit card companies have invested tons of money to train people to *act* as if they care about you, and to use psychological profile information against you, so that they can suck as much money as possible out of you while you feel "grateful" for their "kindness."

Example: Even when the collection agent knows the company would settle for $10,000, he uses psychological manipulation to sucker the poor schlub into paying $12,000.

Example: The "kind" woman at Bank of America (I'll call her "Vampiress" here) so thoroughly convinces the poor woman whose husband just deserted her, leaving her to try to raise two kids and pay the huge credit card debts alone and on a virtually non-existent income, that Vampiress is "just like her" and understands her situation and actually cares about her, that the woman becomes devoted to paying B of A and pays the entire $28,000 balance (half of which was probably interest and fees, rather than actual borrowed money). Vampiress, meanwhile, never informs the poor woman that B of A would readily have cut her debt in half and reduced the (probably near 30%) interest rate if only she would ask. And of course the woman never asked, because she didn't want to "hurt" Vampiress's feelings.

And -- they are using information about *what you buy with the card they have issued you* to determine whether you are a "good" or "bad" credit risk -- and to raise your rates accordingly if you buy things they think indicate you are a bad risk. For example, if you buy beer at particular bars, your credit rate likely will increase. On the other hand, use your card to buy home repair items, and they figure you are a good risk and leave your rates alone. I guess technically it's not an "invasion of privacy" since you're using their card to buy the stuff and so they are only looking at their own records, but... wow. Seems like they ought, at least, to be required to inform you about what things you buy might make your interest rate go up!!

After reading the article, all I can say is:

Holy crap, people! Credit card companies are NOT your friends! Nor are any of their employees or representatives!

The companies are evil blood-sucking leeches, whose only goal is to suck every penny out of you that you will pay. The people they hire to pretend to befriend you are doubtless down on their luck, too -- or else they are also evil. I can't imagine any other reason why anyone would sit through the training described in the article and not run screaming from the building instead of consenting to work for such guileless monsters.

Your best option? Use the cards as much as you like, but pay the balance every month, faithfully. Never roll over a balance to the next month.

What if you owe money on several cards and can't pay the balances in full? Call all the companies and ask them to reduce your interest rates. Some will, some won't, but it never hurts to ask. Then, focus on repaying the cards as quickly as possible. Credit card interest is the worst kind. It's generally not tax-deductible, and often the rate increases based on one late payment -- or even based on one late payment to a different credit card company!!

What if you owe lots of money on lots of cards and have no hope of ever fully re-paying the balance (or at least not within some reasonable amount of time, such as 5 years)? What if you are starting to feel that at least half the money you owe them is amounts they have tacked on in interest charges and late fees for those times when you paid a day or two late -- or paid a different bill late? For that situation, I have the following public service announcement:

Remember, credit card debt -- unlike child support, alimony, and student loans -- is unsecured debt that is dischargeable in bankruptcy.

So, if you are having even some minor difficulty paying your credit card bills, consult a bankruptcy attorney. Get a realistic assessment of your options. If it looks like your financial troubles are unlikely to improve in the very near future, or if it appears that, even when you get a job and/or start making more money, you still may have trouble with those ridiculously high credit card interest rates, you probably want to file bankruptcy. Don't be afraid. Just do it.

Do it now, *before* you are behind on your mortgage and car payments and haven't bought clothes for 3 years and have drained your retirement account, all to try to keep up with those ever-increasing card payments with their ridiculous fees and exorbitant interest.

Do it now, *before* you default on the cards for a year and get sued and potentially allow the credit card companies to reduce the debt to a judgment, which can then be secured by a lien on your home.

Do it now, *before* you send thousands of dollars to the evil credit card companies that you could have been putting into your retirement account or your kids' college funds.

Just do it.

Remember: The Credit Card Companies Are Not Your Friends.

In most cases, when you file bankruptcy you can keep your house and car and all or nearly all of the money in your retirement accounts, as well as most or all of your stuff, and you will get rid of that ridiculous credit card debt so you can go back to buying clothes for your kids and making your mortgage payment without raiding your retirement accounts.

Look into it now. Before the credit card companies successfully lobby Congress to make it harder for you to get those leeches off your neck.

* * * * * *

The foregoing should not be construed as legal advice, nor as advertising for any particular attorney or for attorneys in general. It is, instead, practical advice based on my own particular observations about the evil-ness of credit card companies.

Screw them, before they screw you.

And then learn to live within your means and quit using those credit cards!! After all, you really shouldn't have run them up in the first place....

Eleven

2011-11-11T11:11:00.004-07:00

If you are reading this just as it is posted, it is now 11:11, 11/11/11 -- also known as 5-11. If you missed this in the morning, no worries. Just check your watch again tonight at 11:11 p.m. It'll be 5-11 again!

If you like to count seconds, or if you are "into" symmetry, then at eleven seconds past 11:11 a.m. or p.m., you can make it a very symmetrical 11:11:11, 11/11/11. I guess that would be 6-11.

And if you want to be even more neurotic, then at 11:11 and 11 seconds on 11/11/1111, we could have called it 7-11, except that back then they probably didn't measure seconds quite so much... and besides, there's already a convenience store by that name and there might be trademark infringement issues if we go that route.

********
I'm sure you've all read similar stories already today. I could have posted this in January or last week, but I wanted to post it at the magical 5-11 time. So, sorry if it's old news by now!

********

All nonsense aside, please remember to thank a veteran for his or her service on this extra-special Veterans' Day!

More Email Fun

2011-10-24T05:31:00.000-07:00

A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six year olds. After explaining the commandment to 'honour' thy Father and thy Mother, she asked, "Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?"

From the back, one little boy answered, "Thou shall not kill."

Ta-tas Matter

2011-10-19T11:20:00.004-07:00

Back in the early days, B.L.S. (Before Law School), I worked a clerical type job.

The other clerk (I'll call her Fannie, because that was not her name) had bodacious ta-tas; mine are merely adequate.

Fannie was incompetent. Blindingly, ragingly incompetent. Not just "couldn't do her job" incompetent, but "actively destroyed work done by others" incompetent. As an example, she was supposed to enter some data into a database one day. Not only could she not do that correctly, but she ended up accidentally deleting everything else that had been in the database. The computer repair guy spent hours and hours trying to recover everything. At least once a week she had some sort of problem with her computer. Every day, the boss had to spend at least an hour explaining some procedure or another to her. He didn't mind so much, though. It gave him a chance to stare at those bodacious ta-tas in the (always) very low-cut and tight shirt.

By contrast, I showed up, did my job well, got great compliments from everyone I spoke to on the telephone, and managed never to destroy work done by someone else, or to make the computer guy have to waste entire days trying to fix my errors. Whenever I did have a question (rarely), I'd ask one of my co-workers. I tried asking the boss once, but he glared at me and said I should figure it out for myself because it's "not rocket science."

Fannie was late -- often hours late -- at least three times per week, and would call or sometimes just show up hours late, with wild excuses every time.

Each excuse individually would have been a reasonable excuse for being late - flat tire, power went out and alarm clock didn't work, sink flooded, dog escaped, transmission quit, bus was late, locked her keys in the car, lost the keys to her car, her mother called to say her aunt Matilda died, her aunt Matilda died ("Again?" "Oh, no, that wasn't Aunt MAtilda last month, that was Aunt BAtilda! Isn't it funny how my Mom and Dad had sisters with similar names?") ... but honestly, nearly every day it was something. That woman had more "emergencies" than anyone else I've ever known. The boss would always say, "Oh, that's ok, I understand."

I had some sympathy for her tardiness, even though it annoyed everyone else. I have a tendency to be 5 minutes late everywhere I go, too -- I always think I can accomplish more in a given amount of time than is really possible, and I always think there shouldn't be any traffic, even though I know there will be. At that job, though, I carpooled with some folks who were very punctual, so I managed to arrive every day at least 15 minutes early.

Until one day we really did have car trouble -- something minor, I forget what it was, but we had to stop and one of the guys fixed the problem on the spot and we drove on -- and so instead of being 15 minutes early we arrived one minute early.

As I walked in the door, the boss called me over. He lectured me about how I really ought to try to arrive early and not be breezing in right at 8:00, because really I should be sitting down and working already, not hanging my jacket and stashing my purse.

I laughed because I literally thought he was joking. He glared at me and lectured me about how serious he was and how important it is to be on time, especially since part of my job involved answering the telephone and we open for business at 8:00 a.m. and on and on ... and on and on ... and then the kicker: I ought to take my job more seriously, like Fannie!

I searched his face for some sign that he was in fact kidding, so I could come back with a smart-ass remark like, "No problem, I'll be sure to show up by noon tomorrow." But no, he was seriously annoyed.

So I lost it. I told him I was one minute early, I wasn't late, that I would have been "actually working" by 8:00 a.m. after hanging my jacket and setting my purse down, BUT FOR THE FACT THAT HE JUST SPENT 5 MINUTES lecturing me because I was "only" one minute early. I explained that I'd have been 15 minutes early as usual but for the fact that we had car trouble -- WHICH WE TOOK CARE OF AND STILL MANAGED TO BE ON TIME TO WORK -- that my time prior to my scheduled 8:00 a.m. work time was my time and it was none of his business what I did with my time and that IF it ever happened that I was actually late, he could then feel free to lecture me, but UNTIL THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED, he really ought to save his lectures for Fannie the problem child and effing LEAVE ME ALONE.

I turned and walked away, set my purse down and answered the ringing telephone with an exceedingly pleasant, "Good morning, how may I help you?" and studiously avoided looking his direction at all.

I knew he was extremely peeved at me for "talking back," but I really didn't care at that point. I knew my time there would be short-lived. The next eval would not be pretty. I immediately began looking for another job, and left within a month.

So never let anyone tell you bodacious ta-tas don't make a difference in the workplace. They do. They definitely do.

Black Is Beautiful

2011-10-17T17:30:00.001-07:00

When I was very young, in 1970 or so, my mom took me with her sometimes to the office where she was a student intern. The receptionist there was always friendly and would talk to me or offer me pencils and paper for coloring when I was bored waiting for my mom.

One day, the receptionist had a little sign on her desk that said "Black is Beautiful."

I said, "I don't like black. I like blue the best!"

The woman laughed. My mom was mortified and apologized to the woman and took me aside and explained that the sign meant that black *people* are beautiful, and that it was meant to counter the general and wrong view that black people were some how "less worthy" than white people.

I was confused because I hadn't realized she was a "black person." When I thought about her at all (which was very rarely, really, since I was a kid and didn’t think often about others), I just thought she had a nice smile and a kind personality and pretty brown skin. And I was embarrassed for saying I didn't like black, because that wasn't what I meant!

I think that was the first time I realized that some people considered different skin color "bad." It made me sad because the woman was really nice.

Sometimes people claim that kids don't "notice" skin color until we teach them to. That's not really true, though. It wasn't that I didn't "notice" her skin color. I did, just as one notices hair color, height, and the shape of a nose. It's just that until then, I had never thought it could be a bad thing or even a defining characteristic of a person. I noticed, but without judging.

I hope our society will one day stop teaching kids that anyone's physical characteristics are "bad" or make a person "unworthy" or "less" than others.

And I thank my parents heartily for not teaching me such awful lessons.

ZZ Top Still Rocks

2011-10-07T09:57:00.008-07:00

I scored free tickets to see ZZ Top last Friday night at the Comerica Theatre (formerly the Dodge Theatre) in Phoenix.

ZZ Top -- who would have thought they were even still around, much less touring ... but they are, and they are ... and they ROCK!

The show was fantastic.

Well, a little odd, too, but fantastic. Odd how, you ask?

First, I'm not that much older than I was when I first rocked out to "I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide," "Cheap Sunglasses," and "Jesus Just Left Chicago" among other awesome ZZ Top hits. So why did everyone in the audience look so damned old?!?

(And act so old! The dude next to me was sitting, looking tired, and complaining to the people in front of him that they should sit down. WTF? You're at a concert -- stand up and dance, or at least bob your head a little! Really!)

The warm-up band (Philip Sayce) must have noticed this, too, because it opened with a song called "One Foot in the Grave." Oddly appropriate, I suppose...

Second, the video screen behind the band didn't add much to the show and sometimes seemed, well, just weird.... floating spark plugs (for "Got Me Under Pressure")? floating wrenches ("Jesus Just Left Chicago")? floating hubcaps ("Waiting For the Bus")? Was this an auto-parts store ad, or what?

But the show itself? Rocked. Ignore the lame video screen and focus on the act itself, and you'll be pleased. The band looks essentially the same as they did in the 1970s and 80s-- two dudes with suits, hats, sunglasses, and the trademark long (if a bit grayer) beards, and the un-bearded drummer, Frank Beard. Three "Beards," one way or another.

And they sounded great -- played all their classics with their best blues sound. And played a straight-up tribute to Jimi Hendrix ("Hey Joe") along with an explanation that they appreciated Hendrix's recognition of them when they were just starting out (in 1969!).

Here's a sample -- from a different show, for sure, but it'll give you an idea of it:

Sharp Dressed Man by ZZ Top

More ZZ Top music on iLike

And they're good people, too, not narcissistic bastards like some aging stars can become. During the show, a fan waved a copy of their first album. Guitarist Gibbons waved the man up to the stage, chatted with him a minute or so, and then all three of the band members autographed it. Then he pretended to auction it off, talking fast and sounding for all the world like a real auctioneer -- "OK, the bidding starts at $1000, over here do I hear $1000, $1000 over here.... Nah, I'm just kiddin'!" And he gave the album back to the fellow, to loud applause.

Later in the show, a kid dressed in ZZ Top attire -- black suit, hat, sunglasses, fake beard -- was invited up on stage to share the spotlight for a few minutes. Gibbons teased him, saying he had stolen his Halloween costume.

All in all, a down-to-earth, fun performance.

Ya' just gotta love that great little "Beard band" from Texas!

* * * *

They have shows coming up in October in Nevada, Colorado, New Mexico, Kansas, Alabama, Texas, Illinois, Iowa, and West Virginia. Maybe you, too, can catch the awesomeness with a side of odd. For more info, click here.

Received in the Email Today...

2011-10-06T20:28:00.004-07:00

The children had all been photographed, and the teacher was trying to persuade them each to buy a copy of the group picture:

"Just think how nice it will be to look at it when you are all grown up and say, 'There's Jennifer, she's a lawyer,' or 'That's Michael, He's a doctor.' "

A small voice at the back of the room rang out, "And there's the teacher, she's dead."

Worried...

2011-09-26T09:18:00.005-07:00

My grandfather died two years ago. My grandmother died this past May.

My uncle from Japan visited here in May. It was good to see him; I hadn't seen him for nearly 20 years. He was one of my favorite uncles when I was a kid -- about 10 years older than me, and about 10 years younger than my mom, he was old enough to drive and young enough to be lots of fun.

My uncle from Texas visited here in August. It was good to see him, too; I hadn't seen him for about 20 years, either. He was another of my favorite uncles when I was a kid, a year apart in age from my favorite uncle from Japan, and also lots of fun. He plays the guitar and sings (has made money at it, at times over the years) and even taught my son a couple of chords on the guitar while he was here.

My grandparents raised good kids. Both of my "favorite uncles" were kind and playful and funny, and just generally good with younger kids.

When they visited here, my kids loved them just as much as I did when I was a kid. They haven't changed a bit, my favorite uncles. Still kind and funny and playful, they both know just how much to tease and when to let up and how to keep a kid laughing and smiling. It was fun to watch.

My uncle from Japan went back to Japan, and I haven't heard much from him since then. It may well be another 20 years before I see him again. He has his own family, friends, job, issues.... I'm sad my kids won't know him better, but I'm glad they at least got to meet him.

My uncle from Texas, though.... I'm worried.

When he visited, he had sold just about everything he owned. He bought a van, and had decided to drive from Texas through Arizona to California and up the Pacific Coast Highway to San Francisco, and then continue north to Oregon or Washington or perhaps even as far as Vancouver. He wasn't quite sure where he planned to settle. His plan was to camp along the way and basically live out of his van. He had his four cats with him, and a decent amount of money in the bank to support his travels, but not enough to live on forever. The plan was to eventually settle somewhere, rent an apartment, get a new job....

He has worked most of his life in the computer field, but he wanted to try something new -- selling food at art festivals, for example. Something totally different. It sounded a little radical, but he isn't married, has no kids and no responsibilities other than his four cats, so if he wanted to follow a dream, why not?

He had built some shelves in his van to store his few remaining belongings, food/cat food, camping equipment, and other supplies, and also a roof rack to carry some clothing / luggage.

He had his computer with him, and his cell phone. He planned to stop at McDonalds and/or Starbucks along the way to use the free wi-fi and communicate with friends and/or check on his mail (which he had forwarded to a UPS store, which could then ship things to any UPS store nationwide as needed). He did not, however, have any sort of car charging cord for his cell phone or computer.

For the first couple of weeks after he left here, he called my mom every two to five days. He would let her know where he was and what his next plans were. Last she heard, he was at the Grand Canyon, camping, hiking, and exploring, and was thinking of exploring the North Rim and then taking a different route to California than he originally planned, but might head back to Flagstaff and then on to California.... sort of uncertain plans at that point.

That was almost four weeks ago.

He hasn't called since then. He hasn't responded to my mom's emails or calls. Even the ones where she is increasingly worried and saying, essentially, please call to let me know you are still alive.

When my grandmother was alive, he used to talk with her at least once a week by phone, sometimes two to three times per week. He didn't keep up with anyone else in the family, but he would call her.

Of course, she isn't there anymore.

On the one hand, it's not unusual for my uncle to go years without calling me or my mom.

On the other hand, the situation has changed. The family member that he did contact regularly is gone, and he set off into the wilderness, essentially, with no really set plans... and started off by calling my mom pretty regularly, and then just stopped. Also, all of the siblings are still in the process of settling my grandmother's estate, and he knows that some paperwork still needs to be filed that will need his signature, so he had promised to stay in touch to make that process easy.

It has left my mom (and now me) wondering if something awful happened. Did he have a terrible car accident? Did he get injured or killed (snake bite? bear attack? fall?) while hiking in the woods or the canyon, and have no way to call anyone because his cell phone battery was dead? Did he get mugged and injured or killed, with all his things stolen?

Or is he simply being a bit of a loner and enjoying the solitude?

When my mom first told me last week that she hadn't heard from him and was worried, my first reaction was, hey, he went years without calling you before, try not to worry....

But she's right. It's different this time. He doesn't have his parents to contact any more. He is not married and does not have kids of his own. He quit his job and moved out of his apartment in Texas, so he doesn't have co-workers or neighbors to notice if he doesn't come and go as usual. He recently broke up with his girlfriend. He doesn't get along well with his other two brothers, so he probably would not call them. My mom and my kids and I were the last family members he contacted, as far as we know.

I'm sure he has friends, and might even have talked with them. But we don't know their names or any contact information for them, so we have no way to know if he has kept in touch with them.

And although it isn't unusual for him not to spontaneously call, it is unusual for him to not return a telephone call within a few days. Unless (maybe?) he's camping in the woods for two weeks with a dead cell phone battery and no internet access.

I hope he's ok, and just enjoying the solitude.

But I'm worried he is dead somewhere and we may never even know where. Or when. Or how. I'm worried I may never hear his voice again, may never see his smile...

How does one know when to start calling the missing persons organizations, or the police, or... who? And which ones would I even call? He could be in Arizona, Nevada, California, Utah, Washington, Oregon or possibly even Idaho or Canada at this point, depending on whether he stuck to his original plans or changed them.

How long do you tell yourself not to worry, before you start to really worry?

Am I being ridiculous to even think there could be a problem? I'd hate to start a huge "manhunt" for a guy who was just wanting a few weeks with no telephone calls in the woods.

Or am I being ridiculous not to have called the police already? I'd hate to think he died waiting for help after falling or being bitten by a snake, all because I was too timid or too stupid to make the call.

God I hate not knowing what to do.

**************************
Update: Thanks to all for your kind comments. We finally heard from my uncle. He made it to San Francisco with no problems at all. And since he is no longer potentially traveling across a huge, extremely hot, very underpopulated desert / mountain area, I'll be a lot less worried about potential disasters. He still wouldn't promise to check in regularly, but at least there's less cause for worry. At this point, I'm sure he'll be fine. Hopefully he'll let us know when he settles somewhere.

Fine Parenting Moment #3129

2011-08-22T12:06:00.004-07:00

Overheard at the dinner table, just prior to dinner last night:

Daughter (tunefully): "Lucy in the sky-y with di-i-a-monds... Lucy in the sky-y with di-i-a-monds....... ahhhhh, ahhhhh...."

Husband (inquisitively): "Who sings that song, anyway?"

Daughter (informatively): "The Beatles!"

Husband (sarcastically): "Yeah. Let's keep it that way!"

Daughter (you can imagine the tone and facial expression here): "Nyyaaah!"

* * * *

I shouldn't have laughed, but I did.

* * * *

Arizona Trivia

2011-08-05T08:00:00.000-07:00

Today's Arizona trivia lesson features the lovely town of Snowflake, Arizona.

Lots of people think the town name came from its co-founders, the Snows and the Flakes. Almost, but apparently not quite, true.

According to the town's official web site, Snowflake, Arizona, was founded by a Mormon, William Flake, in honor of a Mormon Apostle, Erastus Snow. Thus, the name: Snow-Flake, drop the hyphen and it's Snowflake - an ironic name, since the town doesn't get much, if any, snow.

There are still Snows in Arizona, and Flakes. Jeff Flake, for example, is Arizona's Congressman for the 6th Congressional District.

Lots of people think he's sort of "flakey." (hahaha. sorry...)

G. Murray Snow is not, however, considered "flakey." He was a well-respected judge on the Arizona Court of Appeals (and a super-nice guy, too).

Dumb Stuff I've Done

2011-08-02T08:00:00.002-07:00

Did I ever tell you about the time I got a speeding ticket, then signed up for the "diversion program" driving class to take care of the ticket, and then got into an accident on the way to the driving class?

Yeah, I did that. Really.

(Can you spell "E-M-B-A-R-R-A-S-S-I-N-G"??)

The police officer who showed up to take the accident report asked where I was going at the time of the accident. He rolled his eyes and laughed at my (truthful) answer. Ouch. Not going so well, here...

But in the end he did agree the accident wasn't really my fault, and so he did not give me another ticket. (I'm persuasive when I need to be. It's part of what makes me a good lawyer).

When I arrived at the class, one of the other students asked, loudly enough for everyone else to hear, "Wait! Didn't I see you outside? Weren't you the one who was in that accident I passed on the way in here?!?")

(Can you spell "A-S-S-H-O-L-E"??)

So I replied, "Yeah, well, I'm here to learn to drive better, but I bet you'll always be an ass."

. . . . . . .

(OK, no, I didn't really say that. I just wish I had. But the rest is true ... )

Friday Feature - Throo Da Looking Glass

2011-07-22T08:00:00.001-07:00

I often check in at "Best Posts of the Week," scroll through the listings, and click on anything that sounds interesting. I rarely read all the posts in any given week - there are too many, usually - but I always stop in and read some of them. So this is a shout-out for BPOTW, as well as for my featured blog. It's fun to see what's out there, and I often discover new blogs I like.

This past weekend, I discovered a new favorite blog: Throo Da Looking Glass. It features gorgeous and interesting photographs, generally one per day, with usually minimal, but insightful, commentary. It's exactly what I need some days -- a few moments of beauty to brighten my outlook.

Check it out!

GIKC, 1924 - 2011

2011-07-11T08:40:00.001-07:00

My Grandma died in May, just about exactly two years after my Grandpa died. (I never called them "Grandma" and "Grandpa," but that's what they'll be for purposes of semi-anonymity in this post.)

I miss her presence in my life.

That is what she had become. For the past 10 or 15 years or so, she had not wanted visitors. Maybe it was too hard, any more, to cook and clean and be the gracious hostess. She was a bit of a pack-rat, and so maybe it was hard to present a clean home for guests. Maybe it was partly because when her son, my uncle, killed himself in the mid-90's, it just made her feel less open to the world. Too much hurt out there, or something... Or maybe it was too hard for her to contemplate clearing away the clutter of her books and papers, the manuscript she was working on, only to have to pull it all back out later, in the loneliness after the guests left, and reorganize her papers, and her thoughts. Maybe she felt she had earned the right, in her 70's and 80's, to be a bit of a hermit, to hang up her "hostess" hat and put on her philosopher hat, to see the world on her terms, and her terms only. She never said why, she only ever said it was "not a good time to come... maybe next year." Only next year was never a good time, either.

So, she was a presence. A voice on the phone. A pretty face in a photograph. She would call occasionally to talk (not so much to listen, really). She sent occasional letters or handwritten cards, presents for the kids... my Grandpa used to send occasional pictures, but I got no more of those, after he died two years ago.... He always saw her as beautiful, and she was. She talked with my Mom daily, and so I kept up with her life, her triumphs and troubles, her ... self. But I had not seen her for years before her death.

Still, I miss that presence dearly.

* * * * *

I visited my grandparents each summer when I was a kid. Some of my favorite memories are from the time when they lived in a fantastic house in Florida, near one of the best beaches in the world. I posted a photo of me in front of the house with my bike, here (scroll down to number 4). I think I wrote in that post that I never quite forgave my grandparents for selling that house and moving to Atlanta. Well, I've forgiven them now. Atlanta opened a whole new set of opportunities for both of them, and they shared its delights with me, just as they had shared the delights of small-town Florida with me when they lived there.

My Grandma was young, though she seemed "old" to me at the time -- she was only about 40 years older than me -- and in Florida, she would take me to the beach, and shopping, and out to fun restaurants for lunch, or out for ice cream, or for walks around the neighborhood.

She taught me the value of neighborliness and caring for others, as she took small baked treats and brought me for short visits and lively conversation with the elderly woman next door, who was confined to her bed.

Although my Grandma was what they called, at the time, a "housewife," she also devoted a pretty large chunk of time to helping my Grandpa with his insurance business. He was very successful in his chosen career, in part because of her good advice and savvy business skills. She had her hands full, between my Grandpa and that huge old house. Also, two of my uncles still lived at home, attending high school. But more than any of the titles you might give her based on her day-to-day life -- wife, mother, secretary, office manager -- she preferred to think of herself as a philosopher. She loved to contemplate ideas, to think about the deeper meaning of things, and of life in general.

In high school, my Grandma's guidance counselor had told her that it was "too bad" she was a girl, because otherwise she "could have gone far" with her intellect. In her later years, she really resented the fact that she had been discouraged from pursuing intellectual interests based on her gender, but at the time I think she accepted it as "the way things are," and so she married my Grandpa when she was 18. They were married for 67 years, until he died two years ago.

They had a sometimes difficult, but very devoted, relationship. He struggled with alcohol off and on throughout his life, and that caused a lot of stress in their marriage. He often was not a happy drunk. But despite the difficulties, she always cooked and cleaned and cared for him, and helped him make his way in the world of insurance sales. He, in turn, provided well for her and his growing family, financially, and respected her for her intelligence.

I remember sitting in their grand old kitchen in Florida, and later in their smaller kitchen in Atlanta, or riding in the car with them, while my Grandpa would read articles from the paper and ask to hear her thoughts about things. Sometimes he would share things he thought were amusing. Other times, he seemed to want to spark a debate with her. And still other times, he just wanted to know her opinion.

She shared her opinions freely and forcefully, on any and all topics. She was not a shy, retiring person, but a force to be reckoned with. If you disagreed with her, you had best be prepared to make a good, logical argument about it. Usually, it was easier to just do what she said.

She wanted the best for those she loved, and she had a keen memory for details, and this often came across as a controlling nature. If she were your boss, you'd say she was micromanaging you. It could be frustrating to deal with her, because she always thought she knew the best way to handle a situation, and would be angry if you didn't do it "her way." But given time, she always got over her anger and returned to loving you, even when you didn't do things her way -- and regardless of whether your way worked out ok for your or not.

She loved to take me places and show me new things: the beautiful and/or controversial art at Atlanta's wonderful museums; the joy of music in the park at dusk, while watching the fireflies blink on and off; the view from the top of Stone Mountain; the varied treasures one could find at flea markets and antique shops... and she would have my uncles take me to "kid places" like Six Flags Over Georgia, or a baseball game, or the Star Wars movie. She encouraged a broad range of interests and activities, but did not feel compelled to participate in all of them.

She was a wonderful cook, and always a gracious hostess. Whenever I would visit her, she would make her latest favorite recipes for me and my Grandpa to savor, and would offer up a selection of books she thought I might enjoy (she knew how much I loved reading), and would have the softest bedsheets on the bed, with the TV remote on the nightstand... heaven, for a kid. One could become quite spoiled, visiting my Grandma.

She and my Grandpa also were adventurous in their choice of restaurants and would patronize everything from fancy fine-dining establishments, to local "hole-in-the-wall" family-owned ethnic restaurants, and even chain restaurants. The only requirement was that the food be delicious. And that requirement could be overlooked on occasion if the place was fun for a kid.

She and my Grandpa took me out to enjoy some of the finest food and most-fun restaurants Atlanta had to offer. Everything from the best-ever home-style BBQ, cornbread, and collard greens at a small diner that was always crowded on Sundays after church, to virgin daiquiris at the revolving restaurant at the top of the 76-story tall Peachtree Plaza hotel (a very exciting experience for a kid from a small town in Florida), escargots at a fine French restaurant, or curry at their favorite family-owned Thai restaurant down the street.... And, let's not forget Morrison's cafeteria, which has since closed its doors. How I miss Morrison's. They had the best macaroni and cheese, and always good fresh fruit like watermelon, and great fried chicken, pot roast, prime rib, or broiled fish, veggies cooked perfectly (not overcooked and mushy), and delicious chocolatey desserts.... I loved Morrison's, and have never found another cafeteria that comes anywhere close to the quality and variety Morrison's provided daily.

I think I mentioned already, my Grandma loved to read and to discuss philosophy. But she wasn't above enjoying popular culture, either. I remember sometime in the mid-'90's, she was delighted to discover old re-runs of "Cheers." And she became a devout Atlanta sports fan in the early '90's when Deion Sanders was making headlines playing for both the Falcons and the Braves. She was fascinated by his abilities, and her enthusiasm for his achievements and for sports in general was contagious.

* * * * *

One of my uncles has been charged with finding a publisher for the philosophy manuscript she worked so hard on during the last years of her life; it was the culmination of a lifetime of studying and dissecting philosophy, religion, scientific thought... The thing she wanted most was to be remembered for her ideas, her philosophy. I can't wait to see her words in print, to learn what her final thoughts were on the meaning of life.

* * * * *

She died a harder death than she had to, I think. She fell and hurt herself a couple of times over the past year, and refused to go see a doctor or go to the hospital, I think in part because she did not want to leave her writing, her life's work, until it was done. None of us knew how bad the injuries really were until she finally admitted that she had taken to bed and started hiring people to come help her with various things. She'd pay someone to get the mail and do her shopping, another to come by and bring her food and help her to the bathroom and back, another to care for the dogs... By the time she decided to go to the hospital (I started to say, "by the time we convinced her to go..." but that would be inaccurate. No one ever "convinced" her to do anything; she was determined to be in control of her own actions at all times), it was too late. She was too weak to withstand the surgery she needed in order to save her life. So the doctors sent her back home, with hospice care, to die.

It is not the death I would have chosen for her, if I had a choice.

When my uncle and his wife (my wonderful aunt) appeared at her bed side, my Grandma first fussed at them for coming and tried to send them away, but later she told them she was glad they had come. Thank God for small miracles. Thank God they were available, and able to come and care for her. Thank God she accepted their gift of time and love.

* * * * *

My Grandma told me a story once, about her riding the "Lady Bird Express" campaign train [fn 1] in the '60's across the South, and filling in as a "body double" for Lady Bird Johnson when Lady Bird was tired. She would wear one of Lady Bird's outfits and stand on the back platform of the train waving at the crowds as the train rolled slowly through towns where no stop or speech was scheduled. I have no way to verify if this is true, because of course the official campaign staff have never stated that anyone filled in for Lady Bird, but I suspect it is true because it is the kind of thing my Grandma could have pulled off.

* * * * *

For over 30 years, I've been able to say, "Atlanta? Yeah, my grandparents live there." Well, I can't say that any longer. They are both gone now, and Atlanta will never feel quite the same for me again.

* * * * *

Sorry for rambling so much. I am having a really hard time with this one. I just can't capture my Grandma's spirit and essence quite the way I want to... It's too mixed up with too many losses. The loss of ... My Grandpa. My uncle. My Florida Childhood. Atlanta "back then." Family harmony (see my prior post entitled "Write a Will. Please, Write a Will."). And of course, my Grandma herself, in a way lost slowly over time as I was able to see her less and less over the years; but in a way, suddenly gone forever...

... it's just too hard.

* * * * *

I'll always remember my beautiful, challenging, smart, kind, difficult, adventurous, controlling, charming, graceful, and wonderful grandmother. The world is a worse place without her.

* * * * *

footnote 1: Here is a link to a short online blog post about the Lady Bird Express campain train. Johnson had passed the Civil Rights Act, which was hugely unpopular in the South. Nevertheless, Lady Bird Johnson campaigned on a "whistle stop" train tour for her husband across 8 Southern states - without him - in an effort to drum up support for Johnson and for his domestic and civil rights policies. She faced many hecklers and jeers, but she delivered her message calmly and gracefully.

"Dust Storm 2011"

2011-07-06T08:33:00.002-07:00

Here is a video that shows what yesterday evening's dust storm looked like here in the Phoenix, Arizona metropolitan area.

These dust storms are so cool. They literally look like a wall of dust moving across the city. One minute, you can see buildings and roads and people and cars; a couple of minutes later, it's all just obliterated, hidden by the great moving wall. They are huge -- I heard this one stretched 30 to 50 miles long (depending on who was reporting), and was approximately a mile tall. They move fast. This one moved across the Phoenix metropolitan area in about an hour.

There were some very cool videos taken from news station-owned airplanes and helicopters, and shown on CNN and other networks -- if you saw them, I'm sure you were impressed, but I didn't want to violate copyright laws to post them. This was a really good "amateur" video I found, and available on YouTube to be embedded here. It really captures how quickly day turns to night, how fast it goes from "beautiful evening" to "holy cow, I can't see more than 10 feet in front of me!"

They grounded flights and refused to allow planes to land at the airport for a while last night, because you couldn't even see the control tower and there was no way to fly planes through the dust soup.

I went to the post office yesterday evening - the one on Van Buren street that is open until 9:30, God bless the USPS - left my house around 7 p.m. I got lucky and found a parking spot within 20 feet of the door (never happens!). When I came out of the post office, I couldn't even see my car; there was a thick blanket of dust blocking the view of just about everything. It looks a lot like fog, actually. You can see fuzzy parking lot lights and car headlamps in the distance, and vague outlines and shapes through the "mist." It would be beautiful, really, if only you could stop feeling and hearing that "crunch" whenever you touch your teeth together.... mmm-mm, nothing else quite like eating dust while trying to breathe.

When I found my car, after walking in its general direction for a few seconds while trying not to trip over unseen objects in the parking lot, it was completely covered in dust, mixed with a little water from the rain that was just starting to fall. It looked as if someone had stolen it while I was at the post office, and had gone joy-riding off-road in the desert!

Click around on the web and find some more cool videos of the storm (and others from years past). It really is quite interesting, and yes, fun, to watch.

My Juke Box Hero

2011-06-26T12:08:00.004-07:00

My husband bought a jukebox - dirt cheap! - from a fellow who said his girlfriend wouldn't let him keep it anymore. I am thinking the fellow ditched the wrong thing, because it's a real 1970s vintage box of fantastic topped with awesomesauce, and it works perfectly, too!

Here's a link to a photo: http://www.jukebox-world.de/Forum/Archiv/AMI/AMI_R-82.htm

It's the "Black Magic" one, on the right.

It came loaded with 100 records -- everything from Frank Sinatra, Conway Twitty, and Elvis, to the Beatles and Journey. Some great one-hit wonders, and some classics of country and rock-n-roll, many of them on the classic original labels like Decca, Parrot, and Apple. Too cool!

Write a Will. Please, Write A Will.

2011-06-14T11:14:00.005-07:00

My Grandmother died last month. For purposes of remaining somewhat anonymous, I'll call her Grandma here, although I did not call her that while she lived.

I feel bad about not writing sooner of her death, and my feelings about it. After all, I wrote of my Grandpa's death the day I learned of it, which is to say the morning after he died. And I'm not writing about her today, either, because I have something I have to get off my chest first.

My Grandpa died with a will, and with a spouse. This vastly simplifies things. He left everything to his spouse under his will, and it was not a large estate, so there were no probate issues, no estate to settle, no taxes to be figured and paid... everything was just... easy.

My Grandma, however, died with no spouse and no will. She also never re-titled some of the assets from my Grandpa (car, bank accounts...) into her name. This vastly complicates things. First, you have to figure out who the heirs are. Because one of her sons killed himself years ago, his "children" (they're adults, now, actually) are entitled to share in the estate. They share the portion of the estate that he would have taken, had he lived.

Plus, there is no executor designated in a will, so you have to get the siblings to agree on who should be the personal representative of the estate.

And you have to figure out what, exactly, constitutes the "estate." There are insurance policies that pass outside the probate estate. There are bank accounts with POD designations that pass outside the estate. There are bank accounts with co-owners named on the account itself, that pass outside the estate to the co-owners of the account. At least, this is what I am learning about the law of the state she died in. Please don't take this as good legal advice for every state or every situation.

That pretty much left the furniture, for my Grandma's estate, and a couple of insurance policies she held on the lives of others, payable to her, which may have some sort of cash-out value and will be payable to the estate. Oh, and the car, too -- which has to be retitled to someone and it can't be my Grandma since she's no longer living, so then you have to decide who must handle that and what should happen to the car. Will it be sold? Will someone just keep it?

And then you have to try to figure out what the furniture, car, and other assets are "worth," and how to dispose of them.

The siblings end up disagreeing over this. Some want to have some furniture and/or the car, others want to simply auction it all off and split the proceeds. And if some people take items of sentimental value, does the "value" of those items (and what about shipping costs?) come out of that person's share of the proceeds? If so, how do you value it?

And if you're going to auction it, who pays for the costs of transportation to the auction house? If the estate is paying to transport things to the auction house, should it also pay to transport things to any sibling who wants to have them? And if it takes time to pack and transport the things to the siblings who want them, or to the auction house, who pays for the extra storage costs (rent at the home where the items are located, or transportation to and storage costs at a storage facility) while you wait for the auction, or transportation to the siblings, to occur?

And if some siblings go to the house and help sort and pack items, while others claim they are too busy or live too far away to assist, do the siblings who help get reimbursed for their travel expenses from the estate? What about lost income? See, if a personal representative were appointed, they would be entitled to some sort of compensation by statute, but what about when one hasn't been appointed yet?

And will there even be enough money to pay the tax accountant after all the expenses are paid? If not, who will pay that?

And what about the fact that Grandma left money in IRA accounts to three of four siblings, but not the other? Was that intentional? Or not? Should the siblings try to "equalize" the estate by giving more proceeds of any sales to the fourth living sibling? If so, does that sibling get more of a say in what happens to the furniture / household items? Can that person "demand" -- or can others demand on his behalf -- that everything be auctioned to maximize his cash? And what about the children of the fifth (dead) sibling? Do the siblings try to equalize their inheritance, too? Or do they just accept that Grandma maybe didn't want those heirs to have the same amount of cash as the others?

And so the siblings end up disagreeing over these things, and even though none of them are particularly money-hungry, and none of them want to leave the others without an inheritance, and it's not a lot of money anyway, the disagreements over the details leave everyone having the same fights they, as siblings, have had all their lives. Fights over whether this or that person is "too controlling" or "doesn't care about anything but money" or "isn't stepping up to be responsible and help with the work, or the decision-making."

Feelings are hurt, usually unintentionally. Relationships, never perfect among these siblings to begin with, are damaged further.

It is hard to watch. These are all people I love -- my Mother, my uncles.... and it's not that anyone is saying "it's all mine you shouldn't have it." Nothing that extreme. Just minor disagreements over how to handle things, and who gets to decide, and what is the best way to maximize this minimal estate, combined with 40+ years of sibling rivalries and personality conflicts.

Please, people, don't put your children through this. Write a will. If you have significant assets, contact a good estate planning attorney and set up living trusts and pourover trusts and whatever else you need to protect your assets while also making sure they go where you want them to go after you die. Tell people what you want to happen to your stuff, and direct that the expenses should be paid from the estate if possible, and/or direct that anyone who wants what has been left to them should pay for their own transportation costs or costs of sale or other disposal. Your choice. But make a decision!

If you've raised your kids well, they'll appreciate the direction. Some feelings may be hurt, and some of your kids might be mad at you for giving the silverware to someone else -- but most likely they'll work it out or accept that you handled it the way you thought was best. At least they won't be ruining their relationships with each other just trying to decide what you would think is "best" or what "should" happen.

Well, I can't guarantee they won't. Sometimes people's feelings are hurt, or they're money-hungry and so they challenge the will. But at least they have a chance to avoid the fight, by simply following your directions.

Without a will, it appears there's almost no chance of avoiding conflict, even when all involved have good intentions.

The Idiot

2011-05-19T15:00:00.001-07:00

This story, by Lola at Women: We Shall Overcome (awesome blog), reminded me of an incident that happened to me a few years back.

My husband and I needed something or other from Home Depot. On a Saturday. Oh yeah, you know that's fun, right?

So we drove to the closest one, which happened to be in a very crowded strip mall in Mesa, Arizona, and then we drove around the parking lot for several minutes looking for a parking space.

Finally, success! A car with a person getting into it! So I stopped in the lane and waited for the person to finish getting into her car and back out of her space.

I don't know why, but after getting into her car and starting it, the woman sat there a while, not moving, before veeerrrryy sloooowly beginning to back out of the space.

Meanwhile, a car pulled into the lane and stopped right behind me. Then, a man approached from the left side and behind my car (coming from the store exit) and walked around the front of my car and approached the driver's door of his car, which was parked directly to my right.

And then the man got into the car to my right, started his car, and put it into reverse. . . . And then he started backing up.

I couldn't pull forward or back because of the other cars in the lane, so I hit the horn -- twice quickly and then a loud long blast!

My husband yelled out his open window, "STOP!!"

A man and woman were walking, and then running, up the row and they were waving frantically and yelling "STOP! STOP!"

But the man backed right into my car. Kind of hard. There was a very large dent in the passenger door. We were lucky my husband wasn't injured.

And then the man, hereafter to be known as "The Idiot," got out of his car and yelled at me, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?"

WTF? I tried to remain calm, but it is difficult when faced with such irate stupidity.

So I yelled back at him: "What am I doing? What the hell are you doing? You just backed into MY car! And you knew I was there!! You had to walk around my car to get into yours!!"

"Well you should have moved by now!"

"WHAT?!? Didn't you look behind you before you backed out of your space? You're damn lucky you didn't just run over a person walking!!"

[Under my breath: "God what an idiot!!"]

The Idiot then started to get back in his car, saying he was leaving. I reminded him that Arizona law requires drivers to share their license and insurance information whenever they are involved in a collision. He refused to give it, insisting that the collision wasn't his fault. (Uh, yeah.... right....). Someone called the police on a cell phone, but then someone else said they wouldn't come because it was private property. I don't know if that's true, but the police did not arrive at any time before we left, so maybe it was true.

The Idiot wanted to leave and demanded, loudly, that I "Move that piece of shit car so I can get on with my life!!" . . .

. . . That was the moment when I realized I had the upper hand in this negotiation.

So I smiled, and calmly told him I'd move my car right after we exchanged license and insurance information, as required by Arizona law. I got out a piece of paper and made a big show of (very slowly) recording the make and model of his car, the license plate number, and the VIN from the dashboard.

He yelled at me the entire time -- things like, "This is all your fault, you bitch! Get away from my car!" and "I'll have you arrested for false imprisonment if you don't let me leave!" I told him he was free to go anytime he wanted; but that I wasn't planning to move my car until I had obtained the information I wanted and/or filed the police report. After that I ignored him and wrote down the information. I did not touch his car. The witnesses offered me their names and telephone numbers. I wrote those down, too.

The man yelled some more about what a moron I was and how the collision was all my fault. I smiled politely and said, "Yell all you like, I'm not moving my car until after we have exchanged insurance information, as required by law." I slowly wrote down my own license and insurance information for him. He looked like he wanted to hit me, but the witnesses were still standing there, and my husband looked like he might hit back, so finally the man broke down and got out his license and insurance information, cursing the entire time.

I wrote it down. I moved my car. He drove away. The police still hadn't arrived, so I parked my car in his spot and my husband and I did our shopping and then we drove home.

His insurance later paid to fix my car, with no questions asked. Didn't even need those witnesses. I had the feeling from his agent that this was not the first time The Idiot had done something ... idiotic.

Heavenly Objects and Sh-- Like That

2011-05-18T11:15:00.004-07:00

Received this in my email inbox today, and thought you all might enjoy it:

I'll never look at shooting stars in quite the same way again...

* * *

Footnote (because I'm a lawyer, and lawyers love footnotes): Is anyone else reminded of the Bad Company song? ... How's it go? Something like: "Don't you know that you are a shooting star... ?" Never knew they were actually calling the dude a giant piece of $*!+ did you?

Stupid Blogger

2011-05-13T10:43:00.001-07:00

So I hadn't written anything since April 20. Then I finally posted something Wednesday. I checked in yesterday to look at comments and surf around a bit, and Blogger wouldn't let me read the comments or even log on.

And now today the post and comments are just gone.

Stupid Blogger!

So, thanks to those who commented, but sadly, I didn't get to read your words...

My Wednesday posting wasn't one of my better ones, so no great loss for mankind there. But I was reading some great posts on other blogs Wednesday night; I hope those aren't gone, too.

I love technology and computers. But it sure sucks when they malfunction.

Stupid Blogger.

**********

UPDATE:

The post has reappeared, but so far the comments have not....

Sad News and Puppy Training

2011-05-11T23:13:00.000-07:00

So much going on lately... so much to write about... I hardly know where to start.

First, I'll mention that my grandfather died two years ago. See this post. And now my grandmother is probably dying. We were all surprised that she lasted past Mother's Day and past my grandfather's "death day," May 10. Perhaps she will surprise us more, with a miracle, and heal herself and rise from her death bed to live another 10 or 20 years. More likely, she will continue to decline and eventually die from the kidney infection and kidney stones that are currently inoperable because she is too weak.

This breaks my heart. I'll write more later about it. Right now, I just can't manage it.

* * *

My uncle, the one who lives in Japan not all that far from the Fukushima nuclear plant, came to visit. He was cleaning out his storage locker in L.A., where he and his wife placed all of their stuff before moving to Japan nearly 20 years ago. He has paid to store the things all this time, but has finally decided it is time to part with most of it, and quit paying for the past. He rented a truck and brought me his piano and some other items that he wanted to "keep in the family," as well as a few boxes of papers and memorabilia that he asked me to store for him indefinitely.

It was great to see him. He is as much fun with kids as I remember from my own childhood, and my kids absolutely loved having him around.

He is also having marital problems and spent a lot of time while here talking with my mom and me about the issues in his marriage.

This also breaks my heart. I'll write more later about it. Right now, I just can't manage it.

* * *

We got a new dog about 6 weeks ago. Another St. Bernard. She is about a year and a half old, and absolutely beautiful. We got her from some folks who were about to have a new baby and said they just could not handle a big dog, too. Particularly a not-very-well trained one.

She is housebroken and sits on command. But when we got her, she had a terrible habit of jumping up (not a good thing for an 80-plus pound dog, who will be 100 to 140 pounds when she is full grown).

Within just a few days at our house, she mellowed out considerably. She loves that she can go in and out as she pleases. She loves that she gets lots of love and affection from all four of her new humans, plus gets to play with two other dogs. She has quit jumping up and instead sits next to you and looks up with the sweetest brown eyes ever. You just can't help but pet her, and I swear sometimes she purrs like a cat....

She was somewhat neglected by her former owners -- they left her in their small back yard a lot, and never took her for a walk. I had to buy a "head collar" to control her; a regular collar was not workable at all -- she is far too strong and pulls way too hard, and she resisted all efforts to keep her from simply taking off to run where she pleased. But she is getting used to walking with some slack in the leash, and enjoys our fairly regular outings.

She still has some issues. She barks at lots of people, and most dogs, when we walk her. She is just trying to be friendly, to get their attention.... but it is scary for them, and other dogs tend to get offended. We are trying to train her not to do this, but it takes time, and patience, and it is hard.

Just had her spayed yesterday -- had to wait until she was out of heat to get it done. Can't believe the former owners didn't do it, as they stated that they had no intention of breeding her, even though both her parents were registered purebred Saints.

I'll post photos and write more later.

* * *

Work is busy, too. A good thing, after last year's fiasco of clients who didn't pay and slow business. I think the economy is getting better. More of my clients are paying, and there are more of them this year.

I'll write more later.

* * *

Just wanted to give you all a quick update. I'm not gone. Just busy... and somewhat preoccupied with sad news and puppy training.

Mosquitoes Suck

2011-04-20T09:46:00.003-07:00

I was rudely awakened this morning by an evil mosquito biting my LEFT EYELID.

Damned bloodsucking bastard.

* * * * *

.... worse than attorneys....

Hu's On First

2011-04-04T09:56:00.005-07:00

I learned some great information today. The Mets have Chin-lung Hu playing short stop. Every time he hits a single, the announcers can say, "Hu's on first"!

For your viewing pleasure:

Overheard at the Baseball Game...

2011-03-23T02:11:00.007-07:00

LegalMist's Son (LMS): That little kid is stealing that bat!

LegalMist's Husband (LMH): The one over there with the helmet on?

LMS: Yeah, him! Why is he taking the bat?!?!

LMH: He's supposed to. He's the bat boy!

LMS: What's a bat boy...?

LMH: He's Batman's son, of course.

LMS: Dad! You're an idiot!! [Looks at me] Is that true, Mom, is he really Batman's son?

Me: Oh, absolutely... Batman's son....

[After all, the parenting magazines do say you should back up your spouse when your kids are questioning their authority...]

* * * * * *

He'll be the only kid in his class who knows *this* particular fact....

A Funny Story...

2011-03-17T23:38:00.004-07:00

... because I need a break from worrying. (I hope I haven't already posted this one. I really don't remember and I'm too lazy to go look.)

When my daughter was younger, five or so maybe, we were driving in the car one day and she asked, "Mommy, what is that little light?"

"What light, hon?"

"That one there" (pointing at the dashboard).

"Oh, that blinking one? That's the turn signal indicator. It tells me that I've got my turn signal on outside, so people know I'm planning to turn right up here."

"Oh."

... a bit later ...

"Mommy?"

"What, hon?"

"How come Daddy doesn't have those little lights in his car?"

* * * *

I found this information verrrry interesting.... !

Earthquakes and Tsunamis, reprise

2011-03-15T23:01:00.007-07:00

So after the earthquake, there was the tsunami. Neither got to my uncle's family or house. But both got to the Fukushima Daiitchi nuclear power plant.

And now, there's the threat of a nuclear meltdown. I've watched it for the past few days, through explosions, failed attempts at cooling, apparent turning of the tides and cooling, and more explosions.... Sometimes I worry. Other times, I read things that ease my mind.

Tonight, I am worried, after reports that the workers have been told to evacuate the area of the plant. If the workers aren't even staying, what is to prevent a total meltdown? Will the containment structure hold? For how long?

They live about 100 miles from the troubled nuclear plant. Depending on wind conditions and topography, that may or may not be far enough away to escape the worst of the radioactive fallout if there is a meltdown and a failure of the containment structure at the plant.

My mom (his sister) emailed my uncle to invite him and his family to come to the U.S. for a vacation, sort of let this thing blow over, as it were, and if nuclear disaster is averted and his hometown is spared, he could always return home later.

He emailed back, stating his youngest son does not have a passport because his wife "neglected to mail in the paperwork." Not "because I failed to mail in the paperwork." No, it's the wife's fault.

And then, despite my worry, I find myself annoyed with my uncle, even somewhat angry at him on behalf of my aunt. Why is he incapable of admitting that BOTH he and his wife neglected to mail in the paperwork? Why is it solely "her fault"?

If he asked her to do it and she didn't, then he has two choices -- do it himself, or accept at least part of the blame that it isn't done.

Even if he asked her to mail it and didn't know she didn't mail it (absent an outright lie, of course), it's still at least partly his responsibility. He didn't find it important enough to follow up, to make sure it happened. He can't blame her for not making it a top priority if he didn't do so either, right?

If it's important, and you want it done, you make sure it happens.

If you weren't worried about it, then you don't get to blame the other person for "neglecting" it. You simply admit that neither of you got around to it, and you set about solving the problem.

And then I am annoyed with myself for being angry on her behalf. It's her marriage; her choice to be annoyed with him or not. It's not my place, not my business.

Probably says more about my own issues than about theirs....

And then I'm back to my worrying. As annoying as it is that he's placing blame instead of problem-solving, he's still my uncle, and I still want him and my aunt and cousins to be safe.

* * * * *

Anger (annoyance) is an easier emotion to handle than fear. That's probably why I ran there so quickly.

Earthquakes and Tsunamis

2011-03-11T09:27:00.006-07:00

I have an uncle who lives, with his wife and two kids (one now at the University), in Japan, about 20 miles or so from Tokyo. So when I awoke this morning to stories of a huge earthquake off the coast of Japan and tsunami waves causing massive destruction along some coastal areas, I was worried.

After a couple of hours of searching the internet, I found a couple of news reports and a blog about my uncle's town. It appears that the area where he lives was hit pretty hard, but not devastatingly so. There are lots of broken windows, shelves toppled in stores, many buildings damaged and some ruined, bridges damaged, some roads probably impassable, and of course there were power outages -- but it appears, thankfully, the area was not one of the worst hit. Most buildings remained standing, as far as I can tell. It is far enough inland that I think they won't have any tsunami waves. I am so thankful that it appears they will be ok.

Interesting, isn't it? I woke this morning to terrible news of a huge earthquake and tsunami across the world and immediately began to worry about my family there. Within a very short time, though, I was able to find information on the internet that, at least for now, is easing my worries. I love the internet!

Here is a link to Google's person finder, in case you, too, have friends or relatives currently in the area hit by the earthquake or tsunamis in Japan:

http://japan.person-finder.appspot.com/?lang=en

* * * * *

On a lighter note, it appears the tsunami has not caused widespread damage in Hawaii, and the warnings for the western U.S. have been downgraded to tsunami watches in most areas.

And so I am reminded of my one personal experience with a tsunami warning -- click here to read about it, and scroll down to number 1 in the list.

* * * * *

Update: just before I hit "post," I got word from my uncle in Japan -- he and his family are fine; their house is fine; the city is damaged but not destroyed. Telephones -- another miracle of modern life!

Regarding Same-Sex Marriage

2011-03-10T10:33:00.002-07:00

One of those facebook blurbs caught my eye and I thought I'd post it here, too:

So, let me get this straight . . . Charlie Sheen can make a "porn family," Kelsey Grammer can end a 15 year marriage over the phone, Larry King can be on divorce #9, Britney Spears had a 55 hour marriage, Jesse James and Tiger Woods, while married, were having sex with EVERYONE. Yet, allowing same-sex marriage is going to destroy the institution of marriage? Really?

Re-post if you are proud to support equal rights.

Some Things I Just Don't Understand

2011-03-07T11:39:00.007-07:00

I'm sure no one could have missed the latest headlines about Charlie Sheen's drinking problems, alleged abusive behavior, rehab issues, and off-the-wall remarks and rants about his co-stars in Two and a Half Men, the studio & network execs, writers, producers, etc., in which he calls many of them losers and complains about them trying to control his life, and so forth.

In response to Charlie's off-screen antics, the network cancelled the remainder of the season of Two and a Half Men. (No huge loss for mankind, really. The show has some funny lines, but it has no redeeming social value whatsoever and it's a typical, predictable sit-com. Of course, like Nip/Tuck, something about that total lack of social value is part of its charm for me!)

Sheen has been acting like a jerk, probably drinking too much, and now, he's literally ranting. He sounds nuts when you listen to him. But he has a point.

Have any of you actually watched Two and a Half Men?

For those who have missed it, it's about a 40-something extremely wealthy guy named Charlie who lives in Malibu and doesn't have to work much for his money and therefore spends most of his time drinking, partying, and seducing a different woman each night, and sometimes more than one a day. His divorced, down-on-his luck younger brother (Alan) moved in with him, and Alan's son lives with them part-time, too, as part of the custody arrangements. Charlie is pretty decent to the kid, if not exactly a great role model.

The star of the show is Charlie Sheen (his stage name - birth name is Carlos Estevez), a 40-something extremely wealthy guy who lives in California and doesn't have to work much for his money and therefore spends most of his time drinking, partying, and sleeping with women. He has kids, and he's pretty decent to them, although he's not exactly a great role model. Sound familiar?*

In other words, Charlie Sheen basically plays himself in the show.

How is it that the show's producers and network executives are offended when their star acts like the show's character off-stage? I mean, if the show were about a kindly priest, I could understand how Charlie's off-screen antics might offend some viewers.

But, hello? Is anyone who watches the show actually offended by Charlie's alcoholism or drunken rants? I doubt it.... so leave the guy alone. Let him be a drunken idiot if he wants to be. I mean, I don't condone the behavior, and if I were his ex-wives, I'd be seeking sole custody of the kids, but hey, I'm not his ex-wife and I never have to interact with him and so I really don't care if he acts like a jerk off stage!

And as long as he's doing his job (and most accounts said he was), why should his bosses care if he acts like a jerk in his off hours? Heck, they've scripted the jerk for his work hours. Maybe they should just follow him around during his off hours with a camera and save some production costs!

Another thing I found ironic is everyone's gushing about how "talented" Charlie Sheen is, as evidenced by the show's popularity. I'm not saying Charlie isn't talented (even if I thought it, I wouldn't say it, because I'd hate to get sued by a multi-millionaire), but I will say I don't see how his performance on the show Two and a Half Men proves he's talented. He's basically playing himself, isn't he? How does that demonstrate acting talent?

Just my two cents. What do you think?

_____
* Footnote 1: I don't think Sheen has a divorced, down-on-his-luck younger brother or nephew living with him, though. Last I heard Emilio Estevez, Charlie's older brother, was doing just fine, as was his other brother Ramon. And the on-screen Charlie has no kids of his own (at least none that he knows of or recognizes as his). So the analogy is not exact. But still, the character on the show is basically a slightly more articulate and cleaned-up-for-tv version of the real life immature party-boy.

Krewe of Little Rascals

2011-02-23T12:13:00.003-07:00

I mentioned yesterday that I took the kids to New Orleans to visit family this past weekend. By family, I mean my aunt, my cousin and his wife & kids, and my grandmother. My dad and step-mom also flew in for the weekend. We had a blast visiting with the family.

Also while in New Orleans, we went to see a Mardi Gras parade.

Mardi Gras season is ramping up in New Orleans. It starts early, with a couple of parades in January and early February. There were several parades this past weekend. And then there will be dozens of parades starting this Friday and continuing through Mardi Gras day, which is March 8 this year. Here is a link to the list of parades and their schedules, if you want to see just how many parades there are.

Nearly everyone in New Orleans gets a week off for Mardi Gras. Schools are closed, businesses shut down.... the whole city participates. Of course, the businesses catering to the Mardi Gras crowd and tourists ramp up rather than shutting down, but most folks have holiday time because, really, with several parade routes throughout the city and the corresponding road closures, as well as the gazillions of tourists and their cars clogging up the remaining streets, there would be no way for them to get to work or school anyway.

Each parade is conducted yearly by a specific "Krewe," a membership organization which is in charge of designing the floats, filling out all required paperwork, and organizing the hundreds of people who will ride, drive, or march in the parade. Each year, the floats will have a different theme, sometimes serious, sometimes fun, sometimes satirical in nature. From the link I gave you above, you can click on the name of each Krewe to read some historical information about the Krewe, as well as what their parade theme is for the year, what parade route they will follow, and what sort of "throws" they will have.

The Krewes provide not only the floats and parade marchers, but also "throws," which means the beads and trinkets and other assorted items thrown from the floats during the parade. These are quite varied and can be anything from the standard mardi gras beads (you have to promise to throw a certain number of new ones), to fancier beads with the name of the Krewe, light-up necklaces, insulated lunch bags, commemorative cups, luggage tags, note pads, small flashlights, plastic doubloons, bracelets, magnets, balls, stuffed animals, and so on.

Usually, the throws will reflect the Krewe's theme, and/or the theme of the Krewe's parade for the current year. My favorite "throw" was from a couple of years ago -- a feather boa in green, gold, and purple feathers (the official Mardi Gras colors), with small lights that you can turn on or off, or set to "blinking." Classy, right?! I wear it often.

Each Krewe tries to outdo the other Krewes and their own past parade throws when selecting this year's throws, so every year, the selection gets more varied and interesting.

So, this past Sunday, we went to see the parade sponsored by the Krewe of Little Rascals, which is an all children's parade. Well, of course they had some adults -- someone has to supervise the kids and drive the tractors that pull the floats, after all. But the Krewe members and the float riders are all children, and there were numerous kid groups marching, as well -- dance troupes, school bands, and so forth. This year's "Queen" was Taylor Shelenhamer, and she rode on one of the fanciest floats, handing out white beaded necklaces with a plastic medallion with her likeness in gold. Very cool.

The Krewe of Little Rascals was founded in 1983. Here is a link to the Krewe's web site.

My kids loved the parade. We caught a gazillion beaded necklaces, a green plastic water gun, several superballs, a couple of handfulls of candy, and a whistle.... and probably lots of stuff I've forgotten.

I may forget some of the stuff, but I won't forget how much fun my kids had. What a parade!

Contraband

2011-02-22T11:59:00.006-07:00

I took the kids to New Orleans to visit family this past weekend. We had a blast. The kids even got their picture taken with a movie star!

True story.

While goofing around at New Orleans's Piazza D'Italia, the kids saw a dog walking by and went to ask the owner if they could pet her. Turns out, the "owner" was not the owner, but was a trainer / dog handler, and the dog was "Eva," a movie-star dog who portrays a drug-sniffing police dog in the upcoming movie "Contraband," starring (in addition to Eva), Mark Wahlberg & Kate Beckinsdale.

Eva was very friendly and allowed my kids to pet her and hug her. She smiled at them and wagged her tail. However, she declined to sign an autograph.

Here is a link to more information about the movie. Couldn't find anything about Eva on the web site, though!

I Will Never Buy a Toyota Highlander

2011-01-26T09:27:00.004-07:00

Hate is too mild a word for how I feel about those Toyota Highlander commercials with the kid who looks down his nose at other people's cars and feels sorry for the kids who have to ride in them.

Honestly, what a snob!! What an entitled, judgmental little yuppie brat!

Who the hell lets their kid dictate what kind of vehicle they drive anyway? And then puts up with snide comments from the back seat?

Shouldn't they be explaining to that little brat that it is simply wrong to judge other people based on the car they drive? That some people might not be able to afford - or simply might not choose to waste money and gasoline for - a giant new SUV with all the bells and whistles so that their (apparently only) child can ride in the lap of luxury? That kids should just be thankful they're riding instead of walking, and that they shouldn't criticize adults' decisions regarding what kind of car they drive??

Oh, wait, I forgot. The parents are probably judgmental snobs, too.

Ugh. If that's how your kids turn out when you buy a Highlander, I'll be sure I *never* buy one.

What commercials do you hate, and why?

* * *
For those of you who haven't seen it, click here to see spoof of one of the commercials. (I can't bear to link to the actual commercial.)

I Am Sad This Week

2011-01-12T09:31:00.009-07:00

Some lunatic shot a bunch of people in Tucson, Arizona, outside of a Safeway store, at U.S. Rep. Gabriella Giffords' "meet and greet" type event this past weekend.

Rep. Giffords was shot in the head, but survived. She remains in the hospital. Her doctors are "optimistic," hopeful for a full recovery, but of course with a head wound you can't be sure for a very long time. Everyone who knows her (and I know several people who know her) knows that she is a warm, wonderful woman, who absolutely did not deserve to be shot in the head and to suffer such a horrible injury.

Gabe Zimmerman, an assistant to Rep. Giffords, was shot and killed. I didn't know him, but all accounts state he was a wonderful person. He clearly died too young, at age 30.

Federal District Court Judge John Roll, Chief Judge for the District of Arizona, was also shot and killed. Like many judges, he earned an LL.M. at the prestigious University of Virginia Law School. As you may know, U.Va. is LegalMist's undergrad alma mater. Everyone who knows him (and I know several people who know him) knows that he was a warm, wonderful man, who absolutely did not deserve to die so soon.

A nine year old girl, Christina Green, also was shot and killed. She had just been elected to the student council at her school and was excited to meet her state representative. According to at least one report, she was also the only girl on her school's baseball team. I didn't know her, and I don't know anyone who knew her, but she sounds extraordinary and, by any measure, a nine-year old absolutely did not deserve to be shot and killed.

Dorwin Stoddard, a 76 year old man, died while protecting his wife. He dove to the ground to cover his wife, who was shot in the leg three times. The pair had been high school sweethearts, reunited in retirement after their respective spouses had died. Again, I didn't know him, but he sounds like a true hero and a gentleman. He absolutely did not deserve to die. She did not deserve to be shot, nor did she deserve to lose her loving husband.

Phyllis Schneck, a retiree with a winter home in Tucson, also was shot and killed. By all accounts, she was a kind person who spent much time volunteering at her church. Another wonderful person, dead for no reason.

Dorothy Morris, another retiree living in Tucson also died. Her husband, George, was shot twice and remains in the hospital. He, too, had tried to shield his wife from the bullets. Like the Stoddards, they had been high school sweethearts. However, instead of being recently reunited, they had been married for 50 years. Again, by all accounts, they were kind and decent people. They did not deserve to be shot. She did not deserve to die. He did not deserve to lose her.

Many others were injured in the shooting incident. I am sure none of them did anything to deserve it.

So I am sad at the terrible loss of lives and for the suffering of the injured. I am sad for the families of those who died or were injured, and the inevitable increase in fear the community must face. I am particularly sad for the families and friends of those who died; they didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.

*******

Representative Giffords was trying to do a good thing. She was trying to meet her constituents, maybe talk to them a little about their concerns. She wanted to hear them, to listen to what they wanted.

And yes, I'm sure she wanted some good PR, too. A little self-promotion now and then is necessary if you're a politician. It's the kind of interaction, though, that should be encouraged in this country. I'd like to think that, in this country, all of our leaders want to listen to our concerns and interests, and that it is still possible to talk to our leaders directly -- that they are not walled-off from society at large.

But if people make it too dangerous to interact with the public, our leaders will be forced to stop. How can it possibly help anyone's cause, in this country, to destroy that?

That makes me sad, too.

******

According to this web site, and this one, Sarah Palin recently had on her website a map of the United States, with several "targets" marked with rifle crosshairs, each marking the location of a Democratic Congressional representative. Representative Giffords was marked by one of the targets and crosshairs. (The map has since been removed from Palin's web site).

Holy crap, how irresponsible is that?!? And this woman wanted to be VPOTUS?!? Thank God she lost the election. (John McCain showed pretty bad judgment in selecting her as a running mate, I must say...).

NOTE: Like the other writers, linked above, I am not saying Sarah Palin caused the attack or intended that anyone actually shoot or kill anyone on her map. Nor do we know for certain, at this point, whether the attack was politically motivated (although, generally speaking, shootings of politicians at political events tend to be politically motivated). I have no idea whether the shooter even looked at Palin's web site, or listened to Rush Limbaugh, or whatever, so I'm not, at this point, accusing any of the right-wing hatemongers of actually causing the shooting.

What I am saying is that marking people on a map with targets and rifle crosshairs sends a violent message (intended or not), and that the level of political attack rhetoric in this country, especially coming from the right-wing nut jobs like Limbaugh (and now, Palin), is way over the top. It is reckless at best, and downright evil at worst in its potential to incite other right-wing nut jobs to violence. And it has spread to the highest levels of our political groups - it's not just media hacks like Limbaugh any longer; it's the politicians themselves who talk in violent terms.

This makes me sad, too. And more than a little scared for my country.

My Child Is A Freak

2011-01-07T14:34:00.002-07:00

My son just got home from school and asked if I would please cook some broccoli and carrots for him.

I had to ask, "Who are you, and what the hell have you done with my son?!"

Fireworks

2011-01-03T08:59:00.006-07:00

The Arizona legislature, in its never-ending quest to out-do its predecessor legislatures in sheer stupidity (see here for just one example of said stupidity), legalized the sale of fireworks in Arizona this past year.

Now don't get me wrong; I *love* fireworks. When I was a kid in Florida, we used to burn sparklers and fire off roman candles every Fourth of July and New Year's. It was fun!

But the town where I grew up in Florida gets an average of 50 inches of rain per year -- over 6 inches in June, and over 6 inches in July -- while the town where I live in Arizona gets an average of just over 8 inches per year, with June typically getting almost no rain at all (average, 0.09 inches) and July getting less than one inch, typically toward the end of July when the "monsoon" season starts.

Similarly, my hometown in Florida gets over 3 inches of rain in December and again in January; Phoenix averages just under an inch for each of those months -- and that's the "rainy season."

In short, Arizona is a tinderbox; Florida, not so much. It's one thing to have the professionals setting off fireworks for anyone who wants to come watch. They generally take lots of safety precautions and have plans for how to handle any fire or explosions that might start. But it scares me to think of thousands of people across the state setting off fireworks in their dry desert back yards with no understanding of appropriate safety precautions or what to do if a fire accidentally starts... the potential for disaster is pretty high.

Why our legislature wants to see our State go up in flames is beyond me.

And then there are compliance problems. You see, the legislature made it legal for stores to *sell* fireworks all across the State. However, individual cities and towns can regulate whether it is legal to set off fireworks within their borders. Most cities and towns have banned them. The U.S. Forest Service likewise (reasonably) banned fireworks in the national forests in Arizona.

However, this has caused some confusion, as many retailers sold fireworks to residents who were not legally allowed to use them anywhere in or near the city where they purchased them. And there are criminal misdemeanor penalties (including the potential for jail time, and fairly substantial fines) for violations.

Maybe this won't be too much of a problem for purchasers. Apparently the ban on using fireworks in Tempe wasn't enforced very strictly; we heard lots of them throughout our neighborhood for many hours on New Year's Eve.

Maybe my fears about fires are similarly unfounded. No one in our neighborhood seems to have set his house on fire. Then again, in my neighborhood (an older neighborhood), most homes have green lawns and water-loving trees, and most homeowners actually maintain their water-logged landscapes, so there are not a lot of dried out weeds, lawns, and shrubs; and many of the homes are constructed of cinderblocks or bricks, rather than wood framing. By contrast, other neighborhoods feature somewhat drier desert landscaping or, worse, improperly maintained and dried-out traditional landscaping, with lots of fuel for fires. Still other neighborhoods are situated next to the national forests, with their dry underbrush and lots of fuel for fires.

So, bottom line, it's not a complete tinderbox in my neighborhood, unlike much of the State. I don't feel personally threatened.

But still. It makes no sense to sell fireworks to amateurs when we live in one of the driest and most fire-prone states in the nation. We've lived for years with a fireworks ban for individuals. Why the change? Who thought this was a good idea?

Shouldn't we have a "common sense" requirement for people who want to run for public office?

Merry Christmas 2010! (And a reminder about those black-eyed peas)

2010-12-25T22:03:00.003-07:00

Oh, the tales I could tell, about last night, this afternoon.... but in the spirit of holiday love and forgiveness, I won't, for now. I'll save the complaints and stories for another time.

For today, let me just say Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it.

For those of you who don't celebrate Christmas, I hope you had a nice Saturday, and I wish you the best for whichever holiday, if any, you do choose to celebrate.

I'll be back soon ... with stories!

For the fine print, please see last year's Thanksgiving Greetings post. Same rules apply here.

And remember to stock up on black-eyed peas before the new year. For details regarding why this is so important, please see here, and here.

Friday Funnies - Forwarded From Friends - Part III

2010-12-17T08:00:00.000-07:00

Murphy's Immutable Law #48: If you drop your toast with jelly, it will land on the floor jelly side down.

Uncontroverted Animal Fact # 282: If you accidentally drop your cat from about chest high, in any position, it will land on the floor feet down and will run away uninjured.

What happens if you tie a piece of toast with jelly - jelly side up - to your cat's back, and then drop it?

* * * * *
Legal Disclaimer (because we lawyers love the fine print):

Do NOT try this experiment at home. Information for this blog post was provided by professional toast droppers and cat wranglers. No animals were harmed in the creation of this blog post.

Cool Stuff From LegalMist's Daughter

2010-12-10T08:00:00.001-07:00

I've written before about my daughter's art talents and Zazzle gallery (here). She may not be the next Monet or O'Keefe (then again, she might be...), but she definitely has some natural ability that I lack.

My daughter has a pretty good natural ability for photography, too. She hasn't developed her portraiture talents quite as much as Kim Ayers[fn1], my blogger buddy who also writes "Ramblings of the Bearded One," a blog I've read for years. But she takes a nice photo.

When she was two, nearly three, I took her to my cousin's wedding. She wanted to take pictures with my new camera. Since it was simple enough (point and shoot), I let her take a few photos of me in the hotel room. She told me where to stand and when to smile.

I figured I'd end up with typical kid photos of my torso & chin, or half of me at the edge of the frame with a bunch of crud that should have been background showing as the main focal point, or, at best, a blurry shot of me not smiling.

Instead, I ended up with several well-centered photos of me, actually smiling (she got the timing right), with minimal annoying background crud. The perspective was a little off -- she was not-quite-three, and very tiny, and she didn't think to climb up on a chair to photograph me straight-on instead of from her looking-up perspective. Then again, that was her usual perspective on the world, so it probably didn't occur to her that it wasn't "normal," and I didn't think to suggest that she stand or sit up higher for the photo shoot, so whose fault is that, really?

Overall, I was impressed. I let her take more photos with my camera any time she wanted to after that, and I am disappointed far less frequently with her photos than I am with my own.

So when we went to the Desert Botanical Garden to see the butterfly pavilion, I let her take lots of photos of the butterflies and flowers. She did a nice job.

I made a calendar out of her photos and posted it in her Zazzle store. Check it out:

Blooms and Butterflies 2011 Calendar by coolpuppies
Browse Butterfly Calendars

I also designed some magnets and mouse pads and mugs and other items, just for fun, from some of the photos. And there are items made from some of her drawings, too. You may have noticed the "Zazzle" display bar in the margin - it shows some of the things posted for sale on the site.

But here's the cool part: People have actually bought things! And not just me or my relatives. We have sold actual calendars and magnets and cards to people completely unrelated to us! Not many, mind you. No one is getting rich from this particular endeavor. But it is fun, and a good confidence-booster for her, to know that other people like her art and photos as much as I do.

So, if you have time, check out her Zazzle store. You don't have to buy anything (it can be expensive, although they do have frequent sales and discounts and free shipping offers), just look around and let me know what you think.

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Footnotes (because lawyers love them):

Fn1: Kim Ayres' portrait photographs are unique. Instead of the typical photo of everyone with smiles plastered on their faces, dressed in goofy outfits, sitting and/or standing next to each other in front of some idealized background (or, worse, stacked on top of each other in some ridiculous pose meant to suggest "family love and harmony reigns supreme here"), he captures real faces with real expressions, in real places (or with black backgrounds, for maximum focus on the actual person). I love them. You should definitely check out his photography web site - and his blog, too, if you have time.

If I am ever in Scotland again, I am going to have him photograph me and whoever is with me (husband, kids, friends, whoever). It would be a hoot to meet him, and I'd end up with some way cool photos, to boot.

A Christmas Story

2010-12-09T10:38:00.005-07:00

We all know that Santa Claus is responsible for the huge undertaking of making and then distributing toys all across the globe to rich Christian children (despite the propaganda perpetuated in such made-for-tv documentaries as "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town," poor and / or non-Christian kids don't generally get toys for Christmas).

To assist him with these duties, Santa has hired vast legions of elves. They help him keep lists of the naughty and nice kids, make the toys, and wrap and package them for delivery. They also take care of the reindeer.

Santa has angels working for him, too. You've probably seen some of their work at the local mall, in the form of the Christmas Angel program, by which Santa attempts to distribute some Christmas loot to poor kids in rich Christian countries and support the merchants and economy at the same time. The Angels have other tasks, too, such as supervising the elves in the toy shop and helping Santa with any shopping he must do (Santa is generally too busy taking orders from kids at the mall to do the shopping himself). Sometimes they help Mrs. Claus with the bookkeeping, too.

In addition to supervising the whole enterprise, hiring and firing elves and angels, selecting the reindeer for the annual Christmas ride, and predicting what gift will be this year's "hot ticket item," Santa historically has handled the task of selecting, cutting, and trimming the Christmas tree for his annual Christmas party for the elves and angels. This is a huge and important task, as the holiday party represents Claus, Inc., to workers and customers alike. The tree must be perfect, and the decorations must also be perfect.

(Of course, just like any corporate holiday party, the party is, at best, tolerated by the worker elves and angels. They'd really rather be at home with their own families and kids, but they show up at the party anyway to keep ol' Santa happy, because jobs are scarce at the North Pole. Santa is pretty much the only game in town.)

One year, Santa had other pressing items on his "to do" list, so he delegated the task of selecting and trimming the tree for the party. He asked his best worker angel, Beatrice, to handle the task. He explained that the tree must be perfect, that it must be placed in exactly the right spot, and that it must be decorated perfectly -- all by 6 p.m., because the party was to start at 7:00. She had enough to do already and was a little miffed, but she really had no choice. After all, jobs are scarce at the North Pole, and she had a family to feed.

So Beatrice went out into the extremely cold North Pole day, which at that time of year was really more like twilight and lasted only a couple of hours, and after much deliberation, she selected a fine evergreen tree for Santa. She paid (from her own pocket!) a local elf to cut it down and haul it back to Santa's lodge where the party would be held. But then she faced a problem. Every year, Santa placed the tree in a different location. She did not know where he wanted it that year and he had told her the location must be "exactly right."

So she went looking for Santa, to ask him where it should be placed. Santa was... uh... shall we say, "indisposed." He was ... uh, busy... with Mrs. Claus. Nevertheless, Beatrice knocked on Santa's door and asked, "Santa? Are you in there?"

Santa ignored her and kept on with his, uh ... work.

She knocked again: "Santa?!? Are you in there?!?"

He ignored her again.

Beatrice was nothing if not persistent (not to mention running short on time), so she knocked again: "Santa?!? I really need to talk to you. Where do you want me to put this tree?!?"

Santa, frustrated with this interruption of his very important, uh... work... shouted back: "I'll tell you where to put it, just shove it up your @$$!!"

And that, my friends, is how the tradition began of placing a Christmas Angel at the top of the Christmas tree.

Polar Bear Attack

2010-12-08T12:11:00.004-07:00

I received these photos in my email inbox today. They are photos of a polar bear attacking a man. There were many observers; unfortunately, no one was able to stop the attack.

Just a reminder to all: just because an animal looks cute and cuddly, that does not mean it will not attack you.

Please, don't climb into zoo enclosures. It's a bad idea. Really.

Scroll down to see the photos. I put them below the margin in case any of you didn't want to view such potentially disturbing photos.

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Oh, What a Relief!

2010-12-06T09:39:00.008-07:00

LegalMist's daughter's basketball team played an excellent game that came down to the last seconds of overtime on Friday evening. I am very proud of my daughter, even though she did not get a lot of playing time. She did well for the few minutes she was in, playing excellent defense and passing the ball for an assist.

She was disappointed that she didn't get to play more but, as I explained to her, she cannot expect to get a lot of playing time in her first game of the season when she is one of just a few 7th graders on a team of 7th and 8th graders, and the shortest kid on the court to boot. If she continues to play well and improve her skills, she may end up with more playing time per game as the season progresses.

Her team as a whole played great defense, blocking shots, rebounding, intercepting passes, and stealing the ball from the other team frequently. They also handled the ball well, with dead-on passes, good dribbling, and few turnovers. And on offense, they did a great job of finding the open player and taking appropriate shots.

Their shooting skills need improvement, however. Particularly free throws. Those should be "gimme" points, with very few misses. But her team missed quite a few. The other team's field goal and free throw percentages were somewhat better, which made it a very close game all the way, despite the frequent turnovers in favor of my daughter's team.

So I was worried when, in the last 1.4 seconds of overtime, my daughter's team was ahead by one point, and one of the other team's best scorers was taking a shot. One of our players fouled her (appropriately), and the other team's excellent player went to the line for two free throws. If she made them both, they would have won, as it was hugely unlikely our team could have even taken a shot, much less made one, in the remaining 1.4 seconds. (This is not the WNBA). If she even made one free throw, they would have tied and gone on to a second overtime.

It was a very stressful situation for the scorekeeper. I should know, because I had volunteered to fill in as scorekeeper.

----
And here, I digress so that you can more fully understand the stress that your poor attorney blogger was suffering... Holy cow, what a lot of things to track throughout the game! Things I was supposed to keep up with -- for both teams -- included:

* Who played and substituted in for each quarter. (For both teams, remember? There were a couple of times when I was still trying to write down who was in for both teams, and the coaches were already substituting in new players!!).

* For each quarter, I had to track each time a player attempted a shot, and whether it was missed or, if made, whether it was 2 or 3 points -- for both teams, remember?

* For each shot made, I had to track the team's total score -- for ... oh, you remember by now...

* I was supposed to document each free throw taken by any player, and whether it was a one point, two point, or one-and-one situation, and whether the free throws were missed or made, and, of course, the team's resulting total score.

* Each foul - tracked both for individual players and for each team as a whole, with the responsibility to let the referees know if / when either team's fouls put them into the penalty status for each half and/or whether any given player fouled out.

* Each timeout, along with whether it was a 30 second time out or a full time out, which quarter it was in, and which team and player (or coach) called it.

* The score at the end of each quarter, and at the end of the game.

* Double-check that the score at the end of each quarter on the scoreboard matched the totals at the top of my page for each team.

* Double-check that the score at the end of each quarter matched the totals for all the players, as marked for that quarter.

(I'm not really sure what I was supposed to do if those totals didn't match... fortunately, the issue didn't come up).

There may have been more things I was supposed to track, but I didn't. Couldn't. No way. It was hard enough to keep my (probably ADD) self focused on the game without getting distracted for even a few seconds, thereby missing something important like who just made that shot or who that foul was called on, while also writing down those listed things in little tiny columns that started to blur together after about two quarters. (Clearly, I must keep my day job. I do not have a bright future as an official scorer for the NBA / WNBA.)

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And now, back to our regularly scheduled story:

So, the poor girl on the other team was making her "no pressure" last-second free throws with the outcome of the game hanging in the balance. We all watched, perched on the edge of our seats. She shot one, and it bounced off the rim. There would be no "win" for her team in this overtime... but she still had a chance to tie it up and score another chance to win in a second overtime.

At that point, I was literally praying that she would miss the second shot.... not so that my daughter's team would win (by then, I truly didn't care who won - it was a well-played game on both sides), but because I didn't think I could take the stress of trying to keep score accurately for yet another overtime period!

The second shot went up .... and it bounced around the rim of the basket a couple of times... but then it bounced out! - and my daughter's team won the game!

I felt bad for the girl who missed the shots . . . but oh-so-relieved that the game was not going to a second overtime!

I felt happy for my daughter and her team for their impressive and close win over an excellent opposing team . . . but mostly, I felt relieved that the game was not going to a second overtime!

Am I self-centered and inappropriately focused on my own well-being instead of my daughter's team's big win? Apparently so... But, oh, how happy I felt!!

.

My New Favorite Show

2010-12-02T10:44:00.005-07:00

I was devastated when Nip/Tuck ended. I've written before about how much I loved that show, in all its craptastical, over-the-top, depraved, awful glory. It was so bad, so utterly awful and unbelievable, and at the same time so believably well-acted, that you just couldn't help but love it. (Well, some people apparently hated it.... but what do they know?)

One of the best things about Nip/Tuck was the utter lack of predictability. Just when you thought you knew where the show's soap-opera among its characters was heading, the bad-boy son announces that his life's dream is to become a mime... and then he starts a robbery career... as a mime (yes, he literally "mimes" the robberies)! (For a more thorough discussion, see this blog post.)

And the medical dramas were so completely over-the-top, you'd think they would never happen in real life, although the show's creator claimed that all the plastic surgeries depicted were "based in fact." For example, there was the woman who wanted to have her nipples removed so she could be "just like Barbie," because she wants to continue her perfect sexless relationship with the perfect plastic-surgery enhanced human replica of Ken (choke on that for a moment...), and then in the end she has sex with Dr. Sean, thereby "setting Ken free" to hook up with a perfect plastic-surgery enhanced human replica of G.I. Joe. Oh, it was glorious in its ridiculous awfulness. (For a more thorough discussion, see this blog post.)

I like other shows. "House, M.D.," is a good one if you enjoy excellent snide comments and sarcasm along with your over-the-top medical drama, but the plots, and even the medical dramas, are predictable. (At least once a month: "Maybe it's lupus." My husband has started saying this every time one of our kids complains about any sort of pain).

"Glee" is good if you like singing and dancing and high-school romance interrupted by the pure evil and hilarious one-liners provided by Sue Sylvester. It's good - I watch it and I like it - but it's no Nip/Tuck.

I like "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" -- it's not bad for a half-hour comedy show. It aims for unpredictability and the good sort of ridiculousness that makes a show entertaining, and sometimes it hits the mark. Other times, though, it crosses the line to stupid and unbelievable in a not-entertaining sort of way. It isn't reliably hilarious.

When I need good background television (like while I clean house or sort mail and pay bills), I watch crime dramas, like the various incarnations of Law and Order and CSI, NCIS, or Criminal Minds. The plots are predictable - bad guys do horrible awful things and persistent, hyper-intelligent cops catch them - so you can miss chunks of it and not really miss anything important. It is that predictability that makes them less than stellar shows, though, no matter how well-acted they are or how much you like the characters. Most of the half-hour comedies on the networks have that same flaw, too, no matter how good the dialogue is sometimes. Two and a Half Men, Everybody Loves Raymond, and King of Queens pop to mind as examples of generally mildly entertaining, sometimes really funny shows. They also make good background TV.

I didn't like "Pscyh" at first, but it sort of grows on you. It has fun with the criminal-catcher genre, sort of mocking all the cliches and predictable plots and amazing puzzle-solving abilities of the lead characters in those shows. Still, though, it's not "must see TV."

I've always loved "The Simpsons" for its irreverent, make-fun-of-everyone sense of humor. But sometimes I'm just not in the mood for a cartoon.

And of course I love me a good football or basketball or hockey game, but sometimes you want something with a plot, not just a sports contest.

So what have I found to scratch that "irreverent, unpredictable television" itch?

My new favorite show is "Raising Hope." It comes on after Glee on Tuesday nights, and it is fantastically funny and unpredictable.

The premise of the show, for those of you who haven't seen it, is that a twenty-something fellow named Jimmy, who still lives with his parents and works at his dad's lawn and pool service company, has a one-night stand with a woman who turns out to be a wanted serial killer. Jimmy's family turns her in, and she ends up getting put to death in the electric chair. The one-night stand, however, resulted in a baby, born in prison before the mother is electrocuted. Jimmy, as the father, is given the child to raise, and he names her "Hope." The show is hilariously unpredictable and irreverent, but still manages to project good family values like loyalty, responsibility, and love. It is well-written, with great and sometimes downright unbelievable dialogue, delivered deadpan and made believable by the excellent actors. Cloris Leachman is priceless in the role of Maw Maw, Jimmy's grandmother who also lives in the home.

If you haven't seen this show, you must go watch it. You can watch prior episodes at www.fox.com/raisinghope. Trust me, you've just got to see it. It will make you laugh out loud. I promise.

I can't wait for Tuesday!

Muggsy Bogues

2010-11-30T09:14:00.007-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about Muggsy Bogues lately. He was an NBA player in the late 1980's and 1990's, who was noticeable even among fantastic players such as those who played on 1992's "Dream Team": Charles Barkley, Larry Bird, Patrick Ewing, Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan, Karl Malone, Chris Mullin, Scottie Pippen, David Robinson, John Stockton, Christian Laettner and Clyde Drexler. (Dang those guys were good!)

Bogues played for 14 years in the NBA, mostly for the Charlotte Hornets, although he had shorter stints for other teams, too.

It was fun to watch Muggsy as he dribbled the ball so low it was impossible to steal. His ball-handling and passing skills were phenomenal. And he was *fast* - one of the fastest players up and down the court.

Muggsy ranks 16th among all NBA players ever in career assists (6,726 of them), and 32d in single season assists (867 in the 1989-1990 season), according to databaseBasketball.com, making that list among such giants of basketball history as Magic Johnson, John Stockton, and (one of my current favorites, a Phoenix Suns player) Steve Nash.

He didn't block many shots -- only 39 in his entire career, according to Wikipedia (compare that to Mark Eaton's 456 blocks in a single season in 1984-85!). But hey, that's not surprising, considering that he also holds the record as the shortest NBA player ever.

At 5'3" and approximately 136 pounds, he was the smallest fellow ever to dominate the NBA.

Here's a video showing the 10 shortest NBA players ever.

Since retiring, Muggsy has worked in real estate and briefly coached the Charlotte Sting in the WNBA. He also runs basketball camps for kids.

Why the obsession with this retired NBA player?

I find him inspiring.

It's an understatement to say he was good at basketball. It's also amazing that he was able to succeed in this sport of giants. Most kids his height in high school and college would not even have thought about trying out for the basketball team, and many others would have given up when faced with a gym full of kids who were a foot or more taller. And of those his height who did try, most simply didn't make it in high school or college, much less the pros.

But he apparently had much talent and loved the game, and was willing to put in the hard work necessary to become one of the best at it, despite the huge and obvious odds against him. I love that!

So far, my daughter displays a similar perseverence and lack of fear. I wrote last school year about her junior high school's basketball teams. There are three teams: the 6th grade team, and the 7th and 8th grade "A" and "B" teams. Last year she played on the 6th grade team. They played against many schools with teams of sixth through eighth graders -- which meant they spent most of the season playing eighth graders. I was impressed by her team's perseverence in the face of many losses to teams at least a foot taller. They just kept trying, and improving their skills, and playing their best.

This past summer, while visiting her grandparents in the Washington, DC, area, my daughter attended a basketball camp run by Gheorghe Muresan [footnote 1], who played for the Washington Bullets/Wizards in the mid-1990s.

I think the basketball camp may have helped, but I also have to credit my daughter's own perseverence and skill: this year she made the 7th and 8th grade "A Team" for basketball at her school! She is one of the few 7th graders on the team, and once again she is the shortest kid on the team - most of the girls are a foot or so taller than her. So far in practice, she doesn't take many shots, but she is a point guard and is great at spying the open player to pass to, so she scores many assists.... just like my hero Muggsy.

I don't know whether her interest in basketball will hold up through the years, and I have no illusions that she'll be the next great WNBA star or even a high school star. It could happen, but more likely it won't, given her tremendous height disadvantage.

But for now, I'm excited to watch her play with such enthusiasm and skill. I love her "no worries" attitude and self-confidence, and the fact that she has such fun playing, as the short kid in the land of giants.

She'll play in her first game of the season on Friday night. I can't wait!

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Footnotes (because I'm a lawyer and I love them):

Footnote 1 (Providing You With Interesting But Irrelevant Trivia): Gheorghe Muresan is one of tallest players ever to play in the NBA, at 7'7". According to Wikipedia, Muresan is tied with Manute Bol for the "tallest NBA player ever" honor.

Manute Bol played with Muggsy Bogues for the Washington Bullets in 1987, making for some interesting photo ops with the tallest and shortest players (ever!) in the NBA, respectively.

Sadly, Manute Bol died this past summer at the young age of 47.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2010-11-25T00:50:00.003-07:00

Wishing you all good food and good times today:

* May your turkey and fixin's (or whatever you are having today) be delicious and exactly what you wanted.

* May your desserts be sweet and plentiful, and may they miraculously avoid settling on your hips or belly.

* May your friends and family (or whoever you are celebrating with) be cheerful and kind.

* May the guests remember to thank the hosts for cleaning and cooking and hosting, and may the hosts remember to thank the guests for taking the time and driving long distances to join the festivities.

* May you have exactly as many leftovers as you would like.

* May you easily remember the things you are thankful for, and easily forget the things that are troubling you, because the day is so perfect.

* * * * *

* And, if those things aren't happening, may there at least be plenty of wine and a functional corkscrew within your reach!!

Happy Turkey Day!

Squirrel Hunting

2010-11-18T15:07:00.001-07:00

A friend of ours likes to hunt, and is often successful on his hunting trips. He recently offered to take LegalMist's Son (LMS) squirrel hunting.

Now, I'm OK with hunting so long as you actually eat what you kill. But I've never eaten squirrel, and I'm not sure I want to start now, although I've heard they can be delicious if cooked properly.

Reluctantly, I agreed that our friend -- we'll call him "Jim" -- could take LMS squirrel hunting. LegalMist's Daughter (LMD) wanted to go, too. OK.

So Jim set off into the woods with 2 shotguns, 3 barking dogs (his dogs, not ours), and 2 excited and very loud kids (our kids, not his), ages 12 and 7.

He came back an hour and a half later complaining: "There was not a single squirrel to be seen in the whole dang forest! Where are all the stupid squirrels?!? I was here last week and there were hundreds of them!!"

"Uh ... Jim," I responded, "when you were here last week ... did you bring the dogs?"

No.

And I know you didn't bring my kids. Did you bring anyone else's kids?

Uh... no.

So you were alone -- no barking dogs, no rambunctious kids?

Uh ... yeah.

Hmmmmm. And there were lots of squirrels around? Imagine that....

Tooth Fairies, Reprise

2010-11-16T14:32:00.006-07:00

You may remember my adventures over the summer with the cracked tooth and root canal. My tooth apparently was too cracked, and so even after the root canal procedure was finished the tooth kept getting infected (yuck) and I couldn't get a crown installed. So the endodontist recommended removal, and the oral surgeon concurred.

I have an infinite capacity for denial and avoidance when something is likely to be expensive or painful or both.

Since "tooth extraction" sounds both expensive and painful, of course I put off having the tooth extracted (or even thinking about having the tooth extracted) for as long as humanly possible, which was all the way until this past Sunday, when the soft filling that the endodontist installed when he did the root canal -- the stuff that was supposed to remain inside the tooth sealed carefully under the crown that was, sadly, never installed -- suddenly fell out while I was brushing my teeth.

"Ick! Eeek! WTF?!?" I thought. (My vocabulary degenerates rapidly when I am scared or hurt or both...)

Even I know that one is not supposed to have a giant hole in one's tooth that probably extends all the way through the tooth to the underlying bone. Bad plan.

So I finally had the tooth extracted yesterday.

It was a relatively quick procedure. Once the novocaine took effect, it took the oral surgeon all of about 5 minutes to get the tooth out of my mouth.

I wish I could say it was also painless.

But I am hurting today. Not so much where the tooth was, although that is obviously a little tender. No, the bigger problem is that my jaw is very sore and stiff -- even more than it was after the root canal, which took two hours of drilling and disinfecting and packing the tooth with the soft filler material -- I can hardly open my mouth to drink water or talk. Forget eating - not gonna happen. How can this be? One would think I would have been more sore after the two hour drill-a-thon than after a 5 minute procedure... Maybe it was the 45 minutes of "biting down" on the gauze afterwards?

I wish I were young enough to at least get the small consolation of a $2 bill from the tooth fairy...

Then again, my track record with the tooth fairy isn't so good; maybe it's better that I'm not waiting for her to show her lovely face.

All I can say at this point is ... pain meds + empty stomach = good times!

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I can hardly wait to start the tooth implant process.

Gardening Tips from LegalMist's Son

2010-10-27T09:28:00.005-07:00

My son loves to help out in the yard. He loves to plant seeds and flowers, and he likes to help me pull the weeds in the Spring.

I have explained to him the basics of garden weed-pulling: make sure you get the roots out, so the weeds stay gone.

Turns out, he likes to help at school, too. Here is what he told me this morning:

"Mom, guess what? I like to help the gardener at school, so whenever I see one of those flowers that you make a wish on - what are those called, danny-lines? - well, I always pull it out of the ground and I make sure I get all the roots out so it won't grow back, and then I make a wish and blow on it!"

. . .

I hope he is wishing that all those dandelion seeds won't grow into dandelions...

Tour de Fat

2010-10-22T10:40:00.016-07:00

Every year, the "Tour de Fat" bike parade in Tempe, Arizona[fn1] travels right past our house. It is a huge event, with hundreds of riders. It takes about half an hour for all the cyclists to pass our home.

Every year, I intend to ride in it.

Every year, I forget about it until the bikes are actually passing our home, when we are already busy for the day and it is "too late" to join the parade.

Every year, after we watch all the cool bikes with people in costumes pass, I think to myself, "I should have at least taken photos! That was cool!"

. . . . .

This year, we were home during the parade and I remembered to take photos! Not only that, but LegalMist's daughter's friend and her mom rode by, and LegalMist's daughter begged LegalMist, and was allowed, to join the parade!

Next year, I'm going to remember to ride in the darn thing!!

Here are some photos from this year's parade:

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footnotes (because I'm a lawyer and we love them):

fn1: The Tour de Fat is an annual bike parade event that is held in several different cities on different dates. It is sponsored by the New Belgium Brewing Company (which makes "Fat Tire" beer, among other varieties). Here is a link to the Tour de Fat Web site. There are still two parades left this year. Tomorrow, there is one in Los Angeles, California. Next weekend, there is one in Austin, Texas. Check it out and ride along if you can!

Friday Feature - Women: We Shall Overcome

2010-10-08T08:00:00.001-07:00

A couple of days ago, I was practically begging for you all to stick around, heaping piles of praise onto you all for being such great bloggers and doing such a fine job entertaining me. But today, I'm sending you away. I want you to go check out a blog I enjoy -- "Women: We Shall Overcome," written by Lola, who always sends her infinities of love, except when she just sends her love.

She's quirky and fun, and has a good sense of humor which will keep you smiling even when she's ranting or complaining, which isn't all that often (even though she has plenty she *could* complain about) -- you're more likely to find a book or movie review or an interesting tale or a funny joke. I like Lola because she is one of those bloggers who shares her inner thoughts, her life ... a bit of herself ... along with her opinions and musings.

Here is her own description: "I'm a Dog fearin' dyslexic Christian woman in the middle of a surprise divorce after 30 years of marriage. Maybe my husband didn't want me anymore because I had that little surgery that makes me look so much like Johnny Depp."

She doesn't post daily - usually just a couple of times per week - so if you are looking for someone to entertain you every single day, this is not the place for you. But she has a unique voice, interesting perspectives, and a fun outlook that I look forward to reading. Here are a few posts I've particularly enjoyed:

"I'm a Loser Baby So Why Don'tcha Kill Me"

"Curtain Rods: Priceless"

"My Kid Could Paint That"

OK, so go away now and read a few posts by Lola, and then stop back by and let me know what you think.

Happy Friday, dear bloggy friends, Happy Friday.

Thank You ... Yes, You!

2010-10-05T08:00:00.002-07:00

Some of my favorite blogs and bloggers have been disappearing lately.

Some of them just quit showing up, but their blogs remain intact, sort of suspended in time, and I have no idea whether they are alive and enjoying life too much to keep blogging, or whether something tragic has happened....

Some blog less and less frequently, and I check less and less often for new posts, eventually concluding they simply aren't coming back...

Others announce their intentions to quit blogging and either leave their blog intact or take it down....

Other blogs have simply disappeared, without warning.... I click on the link to their blog one day, and it's just gone.

It makes me sad when I realize a fellow blogger has disappeared from my little blogger world.

Do you do this, too? Get sad when a blogger, a voice you've grown accustomed to, quits? I feel sad when I don't get a chance to say goodbye, good luck, have a nice life...

It's not like we're friends in "real life." They certainly don't owe me anything, not even a decent goodbye. But I get used to stopping in every week or two, dropping a comment here or there, seeing a comment from them occasionally on my blog. I enjoy their unique voices and perspectives.

I miss them when they're gone.

So -- I offer a big thank you to those of you who have stuck around, who blog for me (I know, you don't really blog for me, but just let me pretend, ok?) so I have an interesting story to read when I'm bored, something funny to read when I'm down, a new perspective to consider when I want to be challenged, or just a voice in the blogosphere, reassuring me that I'm not alone in this crazy journey through life, that we all face challenges, that there are fun times to be had, that there is good music and good art out there, that there are shared experiences, that there are dedicated people in all professions - engineers, secretaries, waiters, business owners, artists, teachers, nurses, dentists, cab drivers, homemakers, and yes, even lawyers - who make the world a better place because they are in it.

(Wow, can I win the Faulkner prize for longest sentence written today?)

Yes, I have "real life" friends who fill these roles, too, but they are sometimes at work or out of town or otherwise unavailable when I'm bored or sad or feeling philosophical. The beauty of the blogosphere is that it is always there. I can read what you wrote three weeks ago and enjoy it just as much today, when I need a laugh or a thought-provoking rant or an entertaining story.

If I haven't said it to you on your blog lately, I hope you know I mean *you* when you read it here on my blog: Thanks for being there, fellow bloggers. You really make my day!

End o' the Week Rant, Courtesy of United Way

2010-10-01T08:00:00.003-07:00

Wednesday's post by Raine, over at "True Confessions of a Single Mother" and SkyDad's comment on the post, reminded me of just how much I dislike United Way. I haven't thought about them for a few years, since I am no longer employed in a workplace that supports this dreadful organization. But, I love a good rant on a Friday morning, so I thought I'd rant a bit.

I agree with SkyDad. I hate United Way.

Generally, United Way collects donations through employee payroll deductions. They may have other ways to collect money, too, but the employee payroll deduction program is the one I am most familiar with. In this sca-- er, I mean, program -- the employee can fill out a form to donate a certain amount per paycheck, and tell United Way what organization to give the payroll contributions to, or alternatively United Way will decide for the employee what other organization to donate the money to. United Way keeps a portion of the donated funds for their administrative expenses.

What is the point of THAT? Why not just skip the middleman and donate directly to your organization of choice? That way, more of your money goes to helping your cause, and less of it lines the pockets of United Way personnel.

But the worst part of the United Way process, in my view, is not the fact that they skim a portion of your contribution to otherwise worthy charities. They claim to investigate the charities and to ensure that the charities themselves are worthy, not scams. If true, then some folks might find that to be a valuable service, worth the cost of a portion of their donation.

In my view, the worst thing United Way does is that they pressure the employees of participating organizations to donate through their payroll deduction program.

I absolutely hated this when I was working full-time as a lowly office assistant making just barely more than minimum wage and supplementing my income by working part-time as a waitress. The pressure from my bosses at the office (who earned over $100,000 per year) to donate was incredible - and WRONG.

Why should my bosses at work tell me when / where to donate money to charity, when they were not even paying me enough to live on and I had to take a second job just to support myself? Why did they even *think* they had that right? What arrogant schmucks.

And if I did want to contribute money to charity (which I actually did, even though I had very little to contribute), I wanted to select just the right charity and also make sure that ALL of my hard-earned money went TO THAT CHARITY, not to United Way executives, who were undoubtedly earning way more than I was at the time.

And yet, the pressure to contribute something to United Way was huge - the employer was aiming for 100% participation among employees and there was daily pressure to sign up for the payroll deduction plan. I'm not sure what the executives were to get if they reached that lofty goal - some sort of bonus, perhaps? Paid for, essentially, by their lowest paid employees? Nice....

Ugh. I hate United Way.

Feel free to argue with me in the comments, but I don't expect that you'll change my mind.

Sometimes Attorneys Aren't So Bad

2010-09-30T09:36:00.006-07:00

I've written here (and here) before about how much I hate attorneys, generally. (And yes, it does lead to a fair amount of self-loathing and depression sometimes).

But this week something happened that reminded me that not all attorneys are awful.

First, some background.

Before I started law school, I was warned that it would be a hyper-competitive environment, in which no one collaborated with others, everyone was out to stab you in the back, and it was "sink or swim" all the way.

So when I was ill during one of the first few weeks of law school, I was terrified to skip class, lest I miss something important. After all, I had no friends yet, no one I could ask for a recap or to share notes with me. But I was too sick to get out of bed, so I skipped my classes one day.

Imagine my surprise the next day, when I dragged my still-ill-but-at-least-marginally-functional-self to school, and a fellow student (I'll call him "Jay" since his first initial was "J," but that's not his real name**) approached me with some photocopied notes he had taken, and said, "Hey, I noticed you were absent yesterday from the contracts class so I copied my notes for you. I hope they're helpful."

I was amazed at this display of thoughtfulness.

And Jay wasn't even "hitting" on me, just being kind. Really. (Hard to believe, I know, but true).

Jay and I didn't become best friends in law school, but he was always polite and kind and friendly - collegial in the best sense of the word - and thoughtful.

After graduation, we did not keep in touch much. I'd run into him at random seminars or state bar events and we'd chat a few minutes. One time, he was presenting material at a seminar and saw me in the audience, and mentioned my name as an attorney who had worked on one of the important cases he was discussing. Very kind of him.

Recently one of my former clients (an excellent paralegal / legal assistant) called me for assistance with an appeal to the Arizona Supreme Court. She had represented herself in the trial court and had won, but the other side had appealed. It was a fairly straightforward case - she probably could have handled it herself, but she was intimidated by the appellate process, and so I agreed to help her. The Arizona Supreme Court affirmed the decision in her favor.

I received an email at about 10:00 a.m. one day from the Supreme Court, with a copy of the decision.

At approximately noon that same day, I received an email from Jay stating, "congratulations on your win - impressive!" (or words to that effect).

I haven't talked to Jay in at least two years. I am quite sure he is not stalking me and so I don't want any of you thinking this is creepy in any way. It's just not. Most likely, he subscribes to the Court's email service, in which they email you copies of all decisions. He read it, saw my name on a decision in my client's favor, and took the time to email me with kind words.

How very cool.

** I wish I could tell you Jay's real name and give him full credit for his thoughtfulness, but since I'm trying to remain anonymous here, I simply can't.

The World Is Full of Them

2010-09-22T10:06:00.007-07:00

Ignorant (new) judge made a stupid and legally incorrect ruling this morning in one of my cases. Which will require my client to either lose money she is entitled to, or to spend money she does not have, to appeal the stupid and legally incorrect ruling. She likely will not be able to afford the appeal, in part because she won't get the money she is entitled to because of the stupid ruling by the ignorant judge.

Which just happened to remind me of one of my favorite song lyrics ever:

"Everybody knows, the world is full of stupid people..."

--The Refreshments

Truer words have never been spoken (nor sung).

Here is a video I found on YouTube from a concert here in Arizona, by the Arizona band "The Refreshments" (not to be confused with the Swedish band by the same name), recorded the year my daughter was born.

Little known fact: The Refreshments (the Arizona band) wrote the theme song to "King of the Hill," the long-running (recently cancelled) animated series on FOX, created by Mike Judge.

Another little known fact: King of the Hill was a spinoff from the MTV animated series, Beavis & Butthead. Mr. Hill was a character on that show.

Enjoy!

The Oral Surgeon, or, Dental Doozies, Part III

2010-09-09T08:00:00.000-07:00

So I went to see the Oral Surgeon.

Her assistant was much nicer than the endodontist's assistant. She broke the ice by telling me I look like Sandra Bullock. Yeah, I've heard that once or twice before. (I wonder if Sandra has had a root canal?)

But then she asked the strangest question: "So, you want to have number 19 removed?"

"Want" might be phrasing that a little badly. No, what I "want" is for my tooth to be fine and not need any more dental work. What I "want" is to travel back in time, to whenever it was that I did whatever thing I did that cracked the tooth, and to not do that thing.

But since that's not possible, and since the endodontist seemed to be recommending removal, then I'm willing to do it.

So I said, "Well... want? No, not really. But if it's what's recommended...."

She asked a few other questions. I asked a few questions - like, how do they get that tooth out? It has so many curved roots. Do they have to cut the bone?

"Oh, no," she said, "usually they just pull them right out."

The Oral Surgeon came in and shook my hand and told me all about the complications you can get with tooth extractions.

Then she explained the general procedure which, she said, in a tooth that has had a root canal, usually requires cutting into the bone because they tend to just fracture and fall apart.

(What is it with these dental assistants? At least this one was pleasant - and she told me I looked like a movie star! - but her information was all wrong... )

So I asked the oral surgeon whether she thought extraction was the best option for that tooth. I guess that's like asking a hammer if we should use a nail instead of a screw. Predictably, she said yes.

So now I am wondering if I should get a second opinion before having the tooth removed.

Dowsing and Dental Procedures, or, Dental Doozies Part II

2010-09-08T08:00:00.005-07:00

So at my second visit to the endodontist, the assistant came in to examine my teeth before the endodontist put in his appearance.

She was quick, somewhat unfriendly, not very good at explaining things, and seemed in a hurry.

She looked in my mouth, said "hmmmm" a lot.... Then she got out a little thing that looked like the top third of a toothpick. It was red and pointy and looked like it was made of wood. I didn't get a good look at it, though, as she simply poked it into the swollen area of my gum, which was between my back two molars, while stating "I'm going to stick this in here in the swollen part. It will help identify the source of the infection."

What? How? I thought...

But I didn't get a chance to ask about it, because at that moment she held the x-ray thingy up and commanded me to open so she could take the x-rays. So I opened my mouth and she crammed the x-ray film into my mouth (this gal was anything but gentle).

This particular endodontist uses newfangled digital x-ray equipment. Instead of the old-fashioned cardboard x-ray film holders (horrible and uncomfortable things), they use plastic digital x-ray plates attached to wires that go to the computer and immediately show up on the computer screen when the x-ray is done (also horrible and uncomfortable things, but at least you can immediately see if you need another x-ray).

After installing the horrible and uncomfortable digital x-ray plate in my mouth, she remembered the lead apron she was supposed to have put on me, and spent another minute or so installing that -- having to manever it around and under the wires extending from the digital x-ray plate to the x-ray computer display.

All of this caused much jostling of the little red toothpick that was still sticking out of my gum, with the other end poking the inside of my cheek. I was quite uncomfortable. On the verge of tears, actually.

"Sit up!" she commanded, and I leaned forward a bit so she could position the x-ray machine next to my jaw.

Zap. The x-ray itself was mercifully quick. Then she pulled out the digital x-ray plate, and pulled out the red toothpick thingy.

She pointed to the x-ray displayed on the computer and said, "See, it's pointing to the back tooth. That is where the infection is coming from. That tooth will have to be removed."

I looked at the x-ray, and indeed, the little toothpick thingy appeared to have bent inside my gum and the very tip of it pointed toward the back tooth - one I previously thought was fine.

But I'm thinking, "Wait a minute, here - that thing was jostled all over the place and anyway, what the hell does a little piece of wood know about where infection is coming from?!?"

So I asked her, "How does that work?"

She said, "It follows the infection."

Not a very thorough explanation, so I tried again.

"OK, but exactly what does it do?"

"It tells where the infection is."

At this point, her explanation was sounding rather circular. Perhaps, I thought, my questions were just poor. So I tried again.

"OK, it tells where the infection is, but how does it do that?"

"It follows the infection."

Great. You said that already. Now I'm getting annoyed. [Did I think that, or did I say that? I think I just thought it... but I'm not really sure].

"But, *how* does it do that?! How does it "follow the infection' -what does that mean??" I asked, in probably not the nicest voice, but managing not to yell.

"Look," she said, visibly angry with me, "I've been doing this for 15 years. I know what I'm doing. It's the back tooth that is infected!"

"OK," I said, "I understand that. I just want to know how that little toothpick thingy works!"

"It follows the infection," she repeated.

[[**sigh**]]

I gave up.

The endodontist came in. By this time I was pretty frustrated, but I didn't get much of a chance to ask him any questions about the little toothpick thingy. He explained all about the root canal issues. I explained that I was fairly upset at the prospect that the back tooth was also infected and asked his thoughts. He said it was hard to tell, what with the problems with number 19, and that we had two options: try to re-do the root canal, or have the oral surgeon extract the tooth. At this point, I really did not want to deal with the endodontist's office any more than necessary. And besides, I was starting to think tooth #19 wasn't really worth all this effort. Extraction was starting to sound pretty good.

Ugh.

So he wrote me a prescription for antibiotics, and off I went to see the Oral Surgeon.

I'll save that tale for tomorrow.

Meanwhile, have any of you ever heard of this toothpick procedure? I've tried looking it up on the interwebs, but without knowing anything about it - the name of the procedure, the name of the device (I'm sure it wasn't actually a toothpick.... was it?), or how it's supposed to work, I haven't had any luck finding information about it.

Does anyone out there know what this toothpick thingy is called? How it works? Whether it's scientifically based, or simply voodoo?

Frankly, it reminded me of dowsing.

The Root Canal, or, Dental Doozies, Part I

2010-09-07T08:00:00.004-07:00

I had a root canal - a dental procedure - over the summer. Have you ever had a root canal?

I was ... embarrassed ... to need a root canal. Why? Because for my entire life I've had perfect teeth. I never needed braces - my teeth are just straight. I had one cavity as a kid, which was filled, and had my wisdom teeth removed when I was 16 or so, and then every visit to the dentist since then has resulted in my dentist exclaiming "Wow, your teeth look great! Very little plaque! No cavities!" I get the occasional admonishment to floss more often, but really, who doesn't? In short, for nearly 30 years I've needed nothing more drastic than a dental cleaning.

So when my molar (#19, I've subsequently learned) began bothering me occasionally when I would eat or drink something too hot or too cold or too sweet, I chalked it up to my imagination, or age, or ... anything, really, other than a problem with my tooth.

Until the end of May, when I took a bite of pizza and experienced severe pain. Not as bad as childbirth, perhaps, but excruciating nonetheless. My eyes watered. I ran to the bathroom and swished water around in my mouth, hoping to wash away whatever awful thing was causing the pain... but the COLD WATER MADE IT WORSE!! Now I was nearly dizzy with pain. I had to sit, breathe deeply, focus on a spot on the wall -- you know, the whole Lamaze thing that, when I was having my kids, got me through labor until the anesthesiologist showed up with his magic epidural needle! But there was no anesthesiologist on the way, and that worried me greatly.

Especially since we had a vacation to California planned for the next week. A two and a half week vacation, complete with a trip to Knott's Berry Farm, a week at the beach, and a week of camping on Catalina Island. I considered skipping the trip and going to the dentist instead.

But the pain subsided within a minute or so, and it didn't come back for the next few days, so I decided it was all in my head, my tooth was fine, there was no problem, really... humans have a really amazing capacity for denial, don't you think?

And off to California we went. Had a great time. Perhaps I'll write about some of it later.

And the tooth was fine, mostly, so long as I didn't eat anything too hot or too cold or chew too hard on that side of my mouth or ... whatever... I found myself skipping the ice cream dessert because I just didn't want to take a chance, chewing on one side of my mouth, slowly and carefully... eating less (not a bad thing, really - I needed to lose a couple of pounds anyway, I told myself)... whatever it took to make sure I did not trigger that severe shooting, stabbing pain again.

Then, while camping, another awful shooting pain in my jaw.... ay yi yi, I thought the pain would never pass....! A few minutes later, it did. But after that, my tooth hurt pretty much constantly, a very low-level but constant pain, with occasional shooting pains if I tried to use the tooth. It was clear. There was something terribly wrong with my tooth. Ugh.

So when I got home, I made an appointment at the dentist, who saw me the next week, took a bunch of x-rays, said my tooth was infected and probably cracked, and sent me to the endodontist, who saw me a few days later. The antibiotics the dentist prescribed to control the infection also got rid of most of the pain, except for the occasional shooting, stabbing pain if I ate something too hot or too cold or chewed on something just the wrong way or... whatever. That didn't happen much, though, since I had pretty much learned to avoid eating if at all possible and to chew on the other side of my mouth if I had to eat.

The endodontist explained that my tooth was cracked, which allowed bacteria to get inside the tooth and eat away at the soft tissue within, destroying it. This is apparently what caused the pain. That, and the slight movement of the piece of tooth that was cracked. He recommended two alternatives: a root canal, or extract the tooth.

If the tooth is extracted, you then have two other options: a dental implant, or a bridge. For a dental implant, they insert a metal post into your jaw bone and attach a fake tooth to it. Ooh - sounds painful... For a bridge, they attach a fake tooth to the teeth immediately before and after it. Sounds less painful, but has the potential to essentially ruin two perfectly good teeth.

In a root canal, the endodontist drills through your tooth, scrapes out all the infected goo, and fills the tooth with some sort of soft substance, perhaps with antibacterial properties. Then you return to your dentist to have a crown placed over the tooth to hold it all together. (Apparently once the inside (infected) tissue is drilled out and the tooth dies, it becomes more brittle and needs protection, which is what the crown provides.)

Keeping the tooth and having it be normal again was, sadly, *not* one of the choices, and I didn't like any of the choices I had. But the root canal sounded the least objectionable, as I would not have to have metal installed in my jaw bone, nor ruin two perfectly good teeth to install a denture-like fake tooth between them.

The endodontist warned me, though, that my tooth was pretty severely and deeply cracked, and that the root canal procedure might not be successful. He said, however, that it would immediately cure the pain - well, right after the swelling from the procedure subsided, anyway. So I said "OK, let's do it," and had a root canal done right there and then.

Two and a half hours later, the root canal was done.

Two months later, it still had not fully healed. My dentist explained he could not install the crown until all the infection cleared up and the swelling subsided, so that the tooth would not be "floating" on top of fluid and/or swollen tissue, causing a misalignment of my bite. It has never fully cleared up.

In fact, it recently flared up again. The root is apparently dead on that tooth, so the pain wasn't nearly as bad as before. So, in my infinite capacity for denial, I ignored it as long as possible, claiming I was "too busy" to go to the dentist again. But it was uncomfortable. And then last week, my gum swelled up, and it began to actually hurt. So, back to the dentist I went. And the endodontist. And then the Oral Surgeon.

More antibiotics. More pain pills. And I may have to have the tooth extracted. And I'm thinking I should have just had it removed in the first place. Ugh. What a nightmare! Wish me luck...

Tomorrow I will tell you about my second visit to the endodontist. It was a real doozy.

Smarty-Pants Son Strikes Again

2010-08-06T23:51:00.006-07:00

Tonight's smarty-pants comment:

LegalMist's husband was teasing LegalMist's son ("LMS" - 7 years old) tonight. I don't even remember what the teasing was about, but LegalMist's son had taken all the teasing he could take, so he grumped:

"You're an idiot, Dad!"

We can't have the kids calling names so of course I jumped in and said, "LMS, that's not nice, and it's not true. Your daddy is one of the smartest men I know."

So LMS muttered under his breath: "You must not know very many men...."

* * *

I would have chastised him for that, too, but my husband was laughing out loud, so I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have done any good.

Interesting Study Results

2010-08-04T22:32:00.003-07:00

In addition to forwarding funny videos and jokes by email, sometimes my friends forward to me interesting facts or abstracts from scientific studies. This one is particularly fascinating, and was forwarded by my friend Nancy, an expert in relationship studies:

"A study conducted by UCLA's Department of Psychiatry has revealed that the kind of face a woman finds attractive on a man can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle. For example: if she is ovulating, she is attracted to men with rugged and masculine features. However, if she is menstruating or menopausal, she tends to be more attracted to a man with duct tape over his mouth and a spear lodged in his chest with a bat up his ass while he is on fire.

No further studies are expected on this subject."

---

I've been so busy lately. I'll get back to writing real posts, instead of copying from my emails, soon. I promise.

For Dog Lovers Everywhere...

2010-07-13T08:00:00.003-07:00

This video* is even better than last month's video posting. I received it via email, because I have such great friends who send me such great stuff. You all should be so lucky, right? (Well, SkyDad is that lucky, too - have you seen his Bad Tat Tuesdays? Of course you have, of course you have...)

----
Footnotes (because I'm a lawyer, that's why):

* I'd be happy to give credit to the fantabulous creator(s) of this video, if anyone knows who he/she/they might be -- just leave a comment.

2010-06-22T08:00:00.001-07:00

Here is a video I received via email today. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did:

Friday Funnies - Forwarded From Friends - Reprise

2010-06-18T21:10:00.001-07:00

Another groaner for you all, received in my inbox today (I really should get a better spam filter....):

A skeptical anthropologist was cataloguing South American folk remedies with the assistance of a tribal Brujo who indicated that the leaves of a particular fern were a sure cure for any case of constipation.

When the anthropologist expressed his doubts, the Brujo looked him in the eye and said, "Let me tell you, with fronds like these, you don't need enemas."

Jack-A-Roo-Dave-La

2010-06-10T08:00:00.003-07:00

When I was a kid, I loved the Beatles. Still do, actually.

"Across the Universe" is one of my favorite Beatles songs. It's got such a pretty melody, and deep and meaningful (translate: obscure) lyrics that can rattle around in your brain all day. My daughter loves the song, too.

So on our recent trip to California, we were playing the CD in the car and singing along.

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass, they make
Their way across the Universe.

Pools of sorrow rays of joy
Are drifting through my open mind
Possessing and caressing me....

And then ... what are those words?

I suddenly realized that, in my 40+ years of existence, I had never bothered to learn what that next lyric really is. As a kid I always just sang, "Jack-a-roo Dave la" without ever thinking about it. But that can't be it, can it?

Jack a Roo Dave la.... ohhh....

Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million
Eyes, they call me on and on,
Across the universe

Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make
Their way across the Universe....

Shit, there it is again... what's that line? It sounds for all the world like "Jack a roo Dave la.... ohhhh..." but that just can't be it!! ....

Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Sounds of laughter shades of earth are ringing
Through my open views
Inciting and inviting me.

Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million
Suns, it calls me on and on,
Across the Universe.

Dang. There it is again, "Jack a Roo Dave la.... ohhhh...."

Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Jack a roo Dave la
Jack a roo Dave la
Jack a roo Dave la.....

It makes no sense, Jack a roo Dave la. My daughter even asked, "what are they saying there?" And I had to confess I had no idea. ... "Jack a roo Dave la?" I said... and to her credit she actually laughed at me instead of accepting that as true.

I drove for hours with that lyric rattling around in my head.

Here, if you don't know the lyric, you try to figure it out (from this admittedly rough YouTube clip of the Beatles working on Across the Universe and Dig a Pony)!

See, you can't figure it out either, right?

When we got to the hotel, I looked it up on the wondrous modern invention we call the internet (whether invented by Al Gore or not, it is certainly a wonderful thing).

Turns out, the phrase is "Jai Guru Deva... om" which, loosely translated and according to Wikipedia, means something like, "Glory to the divine Guru," and is followed by the traditional transcendental meditation chant of "Om."

Wow, what a thing to learn after 40 years of singing "Jack a roo Dave la.... ohhhh" as if that made any sense at all.

Hopefully I've just saved some of you from the same fate.

Or maybe you knew all that already and (in the words of Rebecca Howe of the long-running sit-com Cheers), "I am too stupid to LIVE!"

* * *

In my defense, the phrase "Jack-a-Roo" isn't that far out there (except for the fact that it makes no sense at all in the context of the song). The Grateful Dead have a song entitled Jack-A-Roe.

* * *

Happy singing, Beatles fans, happy singing.

Movie Recommendation

2010-06-07T08:00:00.002-07:00

We were on vacation, looking for a movie for the kids to watch one evening. I was running down the list of free movies available at the hotel: the SpongeBob Squarepants Movie, the Dog Hotel movie, the Simpsons movie, Where the Wild Things Are...

LegalMist's Daughter (age 11): Ooh, I haven't seen that one!

LegalMist's Son (age 7): I read the book. It was quite good.

I Need a New Job

2010-05-17T08:00:00.001-07:00

I am sick to death of litigating against obnoxious attorneys.

I am sick to death of clients who don't pay.

My worst case: a client who hasn't paid since September, with the obnoxious attorney with time issues (a.k.a. "O.A.") on the other side. I receive at least three things in the mail each week in connection with this case. Generally two or three "nasty grams" - i.e., snotty-toned letters from O.A. - plus a motion, subpoena, discovery request, or notice of some sort. And all in conjunction with at least a couple of nasty emails from her, or a reasonably nice email from her legal secretary. All of which requires me to take the time to respond - time for which I likely will never get paid.

I am sick to death of worrying about how to pay this month's round of bills in this crappy economy with clients who can't collect from their clients and therefore can't pay their bills either.... including mine.

(Really. Literally. I've been sick more often in the past year than I have in my entire 40+ other years of existence. And depressed, too. I can't take it any more.)

I need a new job, and I need it now. A job that does not require litigation. A job that pays a regular paycheck. Preferably a job that involves interacting with (reasonably polite) people, but not trying to collect past-due money from them.

Anybody hiring?

Friday Feature - Workforced

2010-05-14T08:00:00.003-07:00

For a while, I was posting "Friday Features" every week, in which I spotlighted other blogs that I love. I gave it up because I wasn't getting many comments so I thought perhaps it wasn't a very popular feature and that no one really cared which blogs I love. Or maybe you all were already reading them and didn't need my recommendations.

Recently, I've posted some "Friday Funnies" - trying to amuse my readers.

This week, I'm posting a Friday Feature that's guaranteed to make you smile. Sort of a "Friday Featured Funny Blog" or something like that. You may already know this blog. But if you haven't already heard of it (or even if you have), pop on over and check out Workforced. You won't regret it.

Don't worry. I'll wait patiently for you to read awhile (seriously -- read through some older posts, as well as today's!) and then come back.

* * * * * * *

Oh, good, there you are! Thought I might not see you again once you discovered Don Joe's wonderfully hilarious blog . . .

Welcome back!

* * * * * * *

Every time I read Workforced, it makes me glad (again) that I left the world of working for others to start my own business.

Sadly, the economy is having an awful effect on the number of clients who pay me, and thus on my income. I may have to return to the world of working for others who can pay me a salary, rather than spending my days trying to get blood from turnips who won't or can't pay their legal bills. If I do return to the corporate working world, I hope I can approach it with the same humor that Don Joe over at Workforced displays. Otherwise, I'll surely go mad within a month!

Happy Friday, my bloggy friends, Happy Friday!

Happy Mother's Day From the Boys

2010-05-09T07:00:00.002-07:00

Received this in my email inbox; thought you all might enjoy it, too:

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

(If the "embed" feature is broken, you can find this awesome video at http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/388972/).

How To Be A Gracious Bitch

2010-04-28T16:59:00.003-07:00

Received in my email inbox today:

Jenni's wedding day was fast approaching. Nothing could dampen her excitement - not even her parents' nasty divorce the prior year.

Jenni went shopping with her mother and found the PERFECT dress -- her mother would be the best-dressed mother-of-the-bride ever!

A week later, Jenni was horrified to learn that her father's new, young wife had bought the exact same dress as her mother! Jenni asked her father's new young wife to exchange it, but she refused: "Absolutely not! I look like a million bucks in this dress, and I'm wearing it," she replied.

Jenni told her mother who graciously said, "Never mind sweetheart. I'll get another dress. After all, it's your special day."

A few days later, they went shopping again, and did find another gorgeous dress for her mother.

When they stopped for lunch, Jenni asked her mother, "Aren't you going to return the other dress? You really don't have another occasion where you could wear it."

Her mother just smiled and replied, "Of course I do, dear. I'm wearing it to the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding."

Friday Funnies - Forwarded From Friends

2010-03-19T10:03:00.008-07:00

Sorry about the title. I just couldn't resist the alliteration, given that today's post is all about word play.

Here are some useful new words, along with their definitions, which arrived in my email inbox this morning:

1. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an a-hole.

2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

3. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

4. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

5. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the Person who doesn't get it.

6. Decafalon: The gruelling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

7. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

8. Beelzebug: Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

9. Caterpallor: The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

10. Abdicate: To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

11. Esplanade: To attempt an explanation while drunk.

12. Willy-nilly: Impotent.

13. Negligent: Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.

14. Balderdash: A rapidly receding hairline.

15. Rectitude: The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

16. Pokemon: A Rastafarian proctologist.

Whatever Happened to Jolt Cola?

2010-03-12T09:00:00.002-07:00

I didn't begin drinking coffee until I was in law school. I never drank coffee in college. I muddled through with just soda for my caffeine "fix." And I couldn't stand diet soda; it had to be the kind with actual sugar.

My third year in college, there were many ads on the radio for "Jolt" cola. I *loved* their ads. They got right to the point:

"Drink Jolt Cola, with real sugar, and twice the caffeine."

It sounded *great*!! I raced right out and bought a case.

Too bad it didn't taste very good....

I find this fascinating...

2010-03-10T08:00:00.000-07:00

You know that bats use echolocation to navigate at night, in extreme darkness, right? They emit a sound and use the echoes from the sound to locate and avoid objects, or to locate and catch and eat bugs or other prey.

But did you know that humans can develop this ability, too?

A recent article in Psychology Today magazine tells of some blind mountain bikers who use echolocation to navigate the trails. Amazing.

The article describes the basic process of echolocation:

To get a sense of how echolocation works, try this. Hold your hand up about one foot in front of your face with your palm facing your mouth. Put your front teeth together, open your lips, and make a continuous shhhhhh sound. As you make this sound, slowly bring your hand toward your mouth. You will hear the shhhh sound change. What you’re hearing is the sound reflecting from your hand colliding with the sound leaving your mouth. This interference turns out to be one of the most important types of sound dimensions we use to echolocate objects at close distances.

But this demonstration is exaggerated. The interference patterns used for echolocation are usually too subtle to be consciously heard. This highlights one of the most amazing aspects of echolocation: It’s rarely experienced as sound. Try using your shhhh sounds to walk slowly toward a wall with your eyes closed. As you come close to the wall, you’ll experience its presence as more of a feeling than a change in sound. It may feel as if there are air pressure changes on your face, an experience also reported by the blind (echolocation was once called “facial vision”). Echolocation is truly one of your implicit perceptual skills: It allows you to detect aspects of your environment without even knowing which sensory system you’re using. And it could very well be that you’re constantly using the skill to recognize properties of the rooms you occupy.

Fascinating.

I Will No Longer Do Business With Chase Bank

2010-03-08T16:50:00.007-07:00

So in 2008, I was traveling a lot and not doing a very good job of keeping up with paying bills on time. I made a few late payments on my Chase credit card, which also serves as the overdraft protection credit line for my business checking account. They raised my interest rate to 21.99 percent on the overdraft protection portion of the account, and 29.99 percent on the credit portion of the account.

Since September 2008, I have not made a single payment late. Not one. Not only that, but I've paid the balance down to just over $1000. Yet two months ago, they raised the interest rate to 29.99 percent on the overdraft protection portion of the account, for no apparent reason.

I called and asked why. They said they were "standardizing the interest rate."

I asked why they didn't "standardize" it at the lower rate. They said that's just not the way it works.

I asked them to lower the interest rate on both portions to something more reasonable than 30 percent. They refused.

Why, I asked? They said they simply "don't have a lower rate to offer."

I submit it's because they want to suck as much money as they can out of the people who actually pay their bills, to subsidize the mountain of bad loans and speculative deals they made over the past decade that are now biting them in the butt.

So I guess they leave me no other options: I'll simply have to pay it off and cancel it, and take my business elsewhere.

I will also have to move my business checking account (they charge $12 a month for that particular privilege), lawyer trust account, and business savings account to a different bank. Why would I want to do business with blood-sucking bastards?

This is a little sad, because I actually like the people at my local branch. They are friendly and professional.

But they work for blood-sucking bastards, so I won't be seeing them anymore.

One for the Women

2010-03-07T22:35:00.006-07:00

My little girl is growing up.

Yes (as you may have guessed by the title and the first sentence), her first period started today, just over halfway through sixth grade.

There was awkwardness and tears (from her), and smiles and encouragement and a rather long-winded explanation of the function and proper deployment of various pads and tampons (from me), and some stocking of her bathroom and her backpack with the necessary items, and some excitement about my little girl growing up, becoming a woman, developing just as she should . . .

. . . and then a tinge of regret from both of us about a childhood so fleetingly gone. As she phrased it, "Whatever happened to second grade, when I had nothing to worry about? Nothing! Second grade . . . good times." And she shook her head slowly and wiped away tears. I hugged her.

Then we realized neither one of us could remember her second grade teacher's name, even though we both could rattle off the teachers' names from Kindergarten, first grade, third grade, fourth grade . . . . Funny how that works sometimes, for both kids and adults. You declare it the best year ever and then figure out it was only the best year because you don't really remember it; you've forgotten all the heartache.

But second grade was a good year; I know it was because I remember most of it. It was back in the days when the boys could still be, simply, her friends; when the kids still had in-class birthday parties with cupcakes and little hats all 'round; when recess was still a time to hang upside down from the monkey bars and skip rope and play in the sand instead of a time (as it was by fourth grade) to stand around looking awkwardly at the boys who, suddenly, inexplicably, acted like they didn't want to know you anymore.

We pulled up digital photos of her from second grade. We found a photo of my little girl in her second grade classroom, wide eyed and happy and standing with her teacher, who was telling the whole class to wish her "Happy Birthday." Her teacher was wearing a name tag. Aha! We zoomed in to read the tag. No luck - just a fuzzy-looking smear where the letters should have been. I guess my digital camera wasn't the best back then.

We laughed a little about how we could remember all the other teachers' names, about how her first grade teacher had pulled out her first loose tooth at school one day ... and how her second grade teacher, Mrs. ..... ? who? ... had also pulled one for her...

It suddenly seemed the most important thing in the world to know this teacher's name, this kind and young and beautiful woman who now stood for everything that was innocent and carefree and wonderful about childhood. I dug through my files of old progress reports.

And then, laughter again. My beautiful baby girl - the one who, at birth, weighed just barely over five pounds and was so utterly dependent on me; the one who, when she was a few years old, looked at me with such sweet, loving, admiring eyes; the one who, up until fourth grade or so, thought I was smart and kind and pretty and the best mom ever, and wanted me to come visit her classroom - yes that beautiful baby girl - she had the gall to laugh at me for being such a pack rat. "Why do you even keep all that stuff, mom?" she asked, a little too self-righteously I thought, for a girl whose room looks like a tornado hit it.

But I keep these little mementos - the random progress reports, the school event programs, the science fair ribbons and soccer team participation certificates - for just these moments, when we need, right now, to remember a name, a place, a moment in time....

Wouldn't you know it? I had various mementos from kindergarten, first grade, and third grade, but nothing from second grade in my little girl's school file.

Tears welled in her eyes again, as she thought of the beautiful and kind teacher from second grade whose name was now lost forever from our fickle stupid memories.

And then, just when it all seemed hopeless, finally, success! I pulled the second grade teacher's name from the dark recesses of my brain: Mrs. Slattery!! And my baby was happy again. And I was, for one more shining moment, the smart and wonderful mom that she used to know. And we both smiled and laughed. And she went to bed content, if a little nervous about what tomorrow will bring, at school, with this new problem to handle.

And I am left here, sleepless, with my memories and with my tears for her vanished childhood ...

and, if I am honest, for mine.

I'm So Proud of Her!

2010-03-06T23:40:00.001-07:00

My daughter won third place in her class at the Science Fair today. I'm so very proud of her!

I had taken my son to karate class while my husband went to attend the award ceremony at her school science fair.

He brought her by the class to tell me that she won third place! I hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head and told her I was so proud of her!

Meanwhile, my husband made jokes like, "When they announced that she won third place, I felt this really strange sensation, almost like an emotion or feeling or some kind, I'm not sure what that was... do you know?" "Pride!" she said, smiling. "Hmmm," he said, "yeah, maybe so.... or indigestion, maybe. It was strange, anyway." Or, later, "Well, that's ok, kiddo, maybe next year you can win first place."

* * *

Then later, my daughter came to me crying and said she was sad because when she told me about winning third prize at the science fair, I didn't tell her I was proud of her.

What? How do I get blamed for being the one who didn't say "I'm proud of you," when it's my doofus husband who is the constant joke machine and can never simply say, "I'm proud," or "I'm happy," or "Wow, great job!" Does it need the jokes and humor to even be heard? Am I going about this all wrong? Or were my direct and honest words simply drowned out in the sea of sarcastic jokes?

Save that for later analysis; it just doesn't matter when your kid is crying. I hugged her and told her I'm very proud of her. I told her that I did tell her before that I was proud of her but that I could understand if she didn't hear me - maybe I had hugged her too tight and blocked her ears or something, but anyway even if she didn't hear it or even if I didn't say it loud enough, I felt it, I'll say it again and again until she has heard it enough times, and I still mean it. I am proud of her.

She worked hard on that project. She did it all herself, and it was an actual experiment, and she worked hard to calculate and graph the results properly. I am proud of the effort she put in, proud of the fact that the final project looked great and was well-written, and yes, proud of the fact that she won a prize.

I hope she knows that now. I hope it sunk in. I hope she remembers it.

Next time, I'll have to say it louder, and more often.

Or maybe just more sarcastically?

Olympics Closing Ceremony

2010-03-01T09:06:00.004-07:00

Did anyone watch the Olympics Closing Ceremony last night? I did. Wouldn't have missed it for anything. Well, OK, so I had to miss the beginning of it, dealing with kids and dinner and grocery shopping and laundry, but I caught that part later on the replay.

I loved it. My husband said it was "boring."

There was, of course, some ceremonial pomp and circumstance, with the athletes entering the stadium, the Olympic flag-lowering ceremony, the passing of the flag to the IOC president, who gave it to the mayor of Sochi, Russia, as the host of the 2014 Winter Games.

There was a choir singing, and a tribute to the Olympic Luge contestant who died in a horrible accident on the first day of the Olympics.

All of that was necessary, moving even, but perhaps not "entertaining" in the usual sense of the word. But in addition to the necessary ceremonial duties, Canada put on quite a show.

First, I must say, those Canadians cracked me up. They did a skit making fun of the now-famous glitch in the opening ceremony when one of the cauldron's pillars did not emerge from the floor and left their former gold medal speedskater Catriona Le May Doan standing awkwardly holding a torch, with nothing to light. In the end, she got to light the cauldron for the closing ceremony.

Can you imagine if the Chinese had a glitch like that one in their opening ceremony? I doubt there would have been a closing ceremony making fun of it; instead, it would have been an embarassment, hush-hushed, no one allowed to talk about it. Those Canadians, though - like the good hosts and good sports that they are - they brought it right back out into the limelight and encouraged us to laugh along with them at their misfortune. And gave Catriona Le May Doan her chance to light the cauldron after all. I love that!

Canadian-born actors William Shatner (Captain Kirk of Star Trek, Denny Crane of The Practice and Boston Legal), Catherine Anne O'Hara (Best in Show, Waiting for Guffman), and Michael J. Fox (Family Ties, Back to the Future, Spin City), also made me laugh a few times with their humorous monologues.

Michael J. Fox looked better than I've seen him look in a while. His Parkinson's tremor wasn't as noticeable as it sometimes is, and he looked stronger than he has looked in the past couple of years.

And you had to love the very tongue-in-cheek performance by Michael Buble, dressed in Mountie gear, complete with giant inflatable beavers and moose, giant cardboard cutout table-hockey players and a kid wearing what looked like a giant tire starring as the hockey puck.

And there were great performances by a huge variety of performer such as Neil Young, Nickelback, Alanis Morissette, and more.

The whole closing ceremony was a good mix of ceremony, humor, music, and a beautiful light show. Were there some parts that didn't make me go "wow"? Sure. But overall, I thought it was spectacular and fun and a fitting end to the games.

I loved it.

Post-Olympic Blues

2010-02-28T23:00:00.000-07:00

So that's it, then. They're over. Done. Gone. No more Olympic skiing, skating, snowboarding, hockey, luge....

It was so fun to watch as the athletes, the best in the world, did simply amazing things. Skiing unbelievably fast around a tiny track. Performing flips and turns and twists mid-air on a snowboard or with skis. Ballet on ice. Sliding down a track at 90 miles an hour on a sled. And hockey played with the passion to win not just for your team, but for your nation.

I've had two weeks of the constant Winter Olympics presence, and now it's gone. For four years. It feels like a favorite visitor has left to go home. I'll miss them.

Just two and a half years until my next Olympic "fix": the Summer Olympics in London, in 2012.

SPAM inspirations

2010-02-22T08:00:00.001-07:00

My friend sent me this:
Did you know that SPAM haiku
is now called SPAM-ku?

Here is a sample
(Far better than I can write
five seven five -- hard!):

Does SPAM contain tongues?
When you eat it, does it taste
you as you taste it?

--Chris Fishel, ctf2m@virginia.edu

Did that make you laugh?
Click here, to see many more
at this cool web site:

http://web.mit.edu/jync/www/spam/top_1-1000.html

A Spam Rant, and a SPAM Story

2010-02-16T10:09:00.009-07:00

First, the rant:

Lately it seems every time I log on, I have a bunch of "unmoderated comments" to review.

And every time, most or all of them are spam. In the words of Monty Python's Vikings: "Spam spam spam spam...."*

I am so sick of these spammers!!

Note to spammers:

-- I can't read Japanese kanji. Nor Arabic. Nor Russian.

-- I don't need or want to call this number to chat or click that link to get that prescription. (I don't even have the "equipment" that particular prescription goes with!)

-- I don't want to invest my life savings with some numbnut who can't spell and whose best marketing technique involves leaving poorly written spam comments on a post about my grandpa dying, about how I can make "millons" if I'll just click on the link.

It's annoying, and it's stupid. Does anyone click on these links? Does anyone call those numbers? What are these spammers hoping to accomplish?!?

Oh, how I wish they would just go away... I'd wish worse for them, but I'm trying to avoid that whole bad karma thing...

On the other hand (as my Dad, or Grandpa Simpson, sometimes says before launching into a ten volume novel recited from memory)... that reminds me of a story:

When I was in college, my friend - I'll call him Scott, since that was his name - had some goofy housemates (I'll call them Jim and Martin, to protect the privacy of the innocent) and goofy parents. His parents once sent him a box of treats, and in the box were all sorts of wonderful and mostly non-perishable stuff that college students might enjoy. Things like homemade cookies and brownies. Boxes of cereal and Pop Tarts and muffin mix. Cans of soup. Packages of cookies and crackers. Chocolate. And a can of SPAM* brand canned pork product.

Yes, you read that right. SPAM. A staple in every college kid's kitchen, right? Plus, Scott was Jewish, so he technically wasn't supposed to eat pork products. It was very clear that his parents sent it to him as a joke.

It worked. His housemates laughed and teased him mercilessly when he pulled that one out of the box!

So, Scott did what any normal college kid would do. He waited until his housemates were in class and he hid the SPAM in Martin's sock drawer.

Martin had a sense of humor. So, when he found the SPAM a few days later, he put it in the soapdish in Jim's bathroom. And Jim put it in Scott's bed. And Scott put it in Martin's backpack so he'd find it during class. And so on and so on until eventually someone found a small box to put it in, and hid it in the top of Jim's closet.

The guys got involved with other things and sort of forgot about the SPAM.

Until months later, when Jim was looking for a winter sweater or some such, he came across the box and opened it..... "What the...? OH! The SPAM!!"

So, he did what any normal college kid would do... he wrapped the box and gave it to Scott as a holiday gift.

That can of SPAM made the rounds between those three guys for years. Every few weeks or months, someone would find it and surreptitiously hide it or (after they all moved away after college) would wrap and mail it to one of the others. Last I heard, Jim, who was getting a Ph.D. in Nuclear Physics at MIT, received a small can of SPAM as a birthday gift from his best pal across the country....

***********************

* According to Hormel's SPAM website, Hormel does not object to the use of the slang word "spam" to denote unsolicited commercial email (which it calls "UCE") (or, presumably, to denote unsolicited commercial blog comments ("UCBC"?)).

(Well, they might have objected, but as their website makes clear, that battle has been fought and lost already).

However, Hormel explains, one should spell the slang word with lowercase letters, and when spelling the name of the pork product produced by Hormel, one should use all capital letters, like so: SPAM.

Did you know that the original term "spam" to denote UCE came from a Monty Python skit, in which a group of Vikings sang an increasingly loud chorus of "spam, spam, spam, spam...." drowning out all other conversation? (I remember that skit, but I didn't realize that was the origin of the word "spam" to mean unwanted commercial messages ....) As Hormel explains, the analogy to the increasing volume of unwanted, unsolicited commercial email is apt - it certainly drowns out other correspondence. Same with UCBCs, I suppose.

***********************

By the way, if there are any SPAM lovers out there reading this (and I understand there are literally millions of SPAM lovers worldwide!), feel free to tell me all about how much you love your SPAM canned pork products. You likely won't convince me to eat any, but hey, one never knows.... perhaps I'll send a can of SPAM to the most convincing entrant.

And if there are any spam lovers (or spam writers) out there reading this, I don't want to hear about it at all. Just one word for you: DON'T! Don't read, don't comment, and especially, don't leave me any spam!!! (Nor any SPAM, for that matter).

Thank you. Enough said.

LegalMist's Amazing Super Bowl Prediction 2010

2010-02-07T14:18:00.009-07:00

Once again, LegalMist has dusted off her crystal ball and will now predict the winner of this year's Super Bowl.

(Sadly, my Cardinals aren't in it this year - but my Aunt Lou's Saints are, so you'd better believe LegalMist is tuning in to the Super Bowl this afternoon/evening! I wouldn't miss it for the world.)

My Aunt Lou (see here for more about my "Aunt Lou") said that when New Orleans won the playoff game that got them to the king of all bowl games, New Orleans felt like Mardi Gras had come early. Everyone was celebrating, everyone was smiling ... the whole city just felt "alive."

New Orleans needs this. It still has not fully recovered from Hurricane Katrina. It will always be a vibrant, beautiful city, with much history and life to it, but Katrina definitely robbed some of its "joie de vivre." The Saints playing in the Super Bowl has restored some of that. And because they need it so badly, want it so badly, and are so happy to be competing in this most fantastic king of bowl games, surely the Saints will have their miracle and will win.

All of that is a very long intro for a very short conclusion - my prediction:

Saints, 31

Colts, 24

Happy Super Bowl Sunday, everyone!
__________

*
Photo by Isobel T on flickr, used under a creative commons Attribution/Noncommercial/No Derivative Works license.

To My Daughter, and Her Team

2010-02-02T18:31:00.006-07:00

To my dear daughter:

I am so proud of you today.

You finished your last basketball game of the season with pride in your effort and joy all over your face.

You were born tiny - 5 pounds, 1.8 ounces. You have hovered between the 5th and 10th percentile for height your whole life.

You are the smallest girl on your team, and your team (the only team of 6th graders in a league of teams that have a few 6th and 7th graders and lots of 8th graders) is the smallest team in the league. There were games in which you were the smallest girl on the court, and the tallest girl towered over you by two feet or more. There were games in which the tallest girl on your team was about the same height as the smallest girl on the other team. Anyone would have predicted it and, indeed, it happened. Your team lost 11 games, and won only one.

And yet, I don't consider the season a disaster. There could have been tears, and frustration, and a "loser" attitude. You could have vowed never to play again.

Instead -- wow, what you learned this basketball season!

I'll never forget that first game. The girls on the other team ranged from 5'8" to 6'2". And they weren't twigs, either. Not a soul on your team is over 5'8". Your entire team looked wide-eyed and lost. You didn't know what to do, or how to do it. This was nothing like your team practices! You stood and chewed your fingernails and watched helplessly as the other team (Amazon women, I tell you - just huge!) shot basket after basket. One of your teammates saved you from a scoreless first game by making a free throw. I think the final score was 44 - 1.

But none of you gave up. You came back for the next game, and the next game, and the one after that....

And at each successive game, you all looked a little less lost, a little more confident, a little more capable, a little more competitive.

The heartbreaker of the season was the game that you lost in the final seconds, by one point. It was a close game all the way, but your team was leading throughout most of it. This particular team had only 5 girls - I'm sure they must have been tired by the end of the game, with no subs! - so even though they were bigger than your team, it was a lot more evenly matched. It was a fun game, but oh-so-painful to watch as the other team scored the winning basket just as the clock ticked down to zero.

But when you played that team later in the season, you won! It was your team's only victory, and oh it was sweet.

Another highlight, for me: You scored one of the only baskets for your team in last week's game against a bunch of 7th and 8th graders. I was so proud of you! How you managed to throw the ball high enough to get over that gal's arms, and still make the ball go into the basket, I'll never know. But you did, and it was amazing!

And your defense!! At that first game, the girls on the other team could easily walk up to you or your teammates and simply take the ball away, run down the court, and score.

Today, a girl on the other team tried that with you. She was at least a foot taller than you, and outweighed you by at least 30 pounds, but you weren't about to let her get that ball. No way, no how!! You held onto it as if your life depended on it. She grabbed the ball and pulled upward. You held on. She nearly picked you up off your feet. That would have been a sight, huh? Her holding the ball and you hanging onto it, with feet dangling in the breeze? In the end, the referee called a jump-ball, and your team got the possession!

Several times today, I saw you guarding the tallest girl on their team, and actually doing such a great job of getting in her way that she had to pass the ball and couldn't take a shot. Wow. You've really come a long way from the shy girl in the first game of the season. No more fingernail-chewing for you. Oh, no - now it's pure hustle and effort for the entire 24 minute game! Perhaps in recognition of your effort, your teammates even elected you team co-captain. How very cool.

There were some bumps along the way. You played one team - I'll just call them "team B" - that apparently thought they were a hockey team. They pushed and shoved and poked at you every time the ref's turned their backs. They body slammed your players, knocking them down. They called you all names and made mean comments and cursed throughout the game. It was so hard to watch as they literally caused three injuries to your teammates. Despite it all, your team continued to play by the rules, and persevered, and played as well as you could. You lost, as usual, but you won the moral victory. You didn't stoop to their level. And compared with the usual 6-50 or 4-47 losses, the 8-16 loss to Team B didn't seem so bad, really. I kept thinking if they would focus on playing basketball instead of trash-talking and sucker-punching, they might have beat your team as soundly as most of the other teams in the league did!

Your coaches, with the support of your team, decided to concede the second game against that team rather than subject you all to that again. But in the end, the league president called them to the mat. The Team B girls wrote letters of apology, and you all agreed to play them again. Sadly, you were sick and missed that game, but I heard that Team B actually played by the rules and were polite and kind throughout. Your team still lost, but at least it was a fair and fun game! And maybe Team B learned something along the way, too - they didn't have to cheat and trash talk to win a game.

All in all, it was a good season. The 1-11 record your team amassed says absolutely nothing about what you all learned, how hard you all played, the level of talent and hustle you displayed, and what you all accomplished this season.

Every game, you all gave it 100%. You improved steadily throughout the season. You learned the rules and strategies of the game. You learned to play good defense. You learned to take shots when you can. But most of all, you enjoyed it. Every game, you said you had fun. You never whined about losing, or about all the practices. You had fun with your friends. You supported each other. You cheered each other from the sidelines. You smiled a lot. You were a joy to watch.

I am so proud of you.

Love, Mom

P.S. Watch out, league. When these girls hit 8th grade, they will be unstoppable!

More Fun From LegalMist's Email Inbox

2010-01-29T09:00:00.000-07:00

Mrs. Jones asked the children in her class to draw what they wanted to be when they grew up, and to turn it in as homework the next day. Here is what little Sally Smith turned in the next day . . .

After the papers were sent home, Mrs. Jones received the following letter from little Sally's Mom:

Dear Mrs. Jones,

I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer. I work at Home Depot and I told my daughter how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit. I told her we sold out every single shovel we had, and then I found one more in the back room, and that several people were fighting over who would get it. Her picture doesn't show me dancing around a pole. It's supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot.

From now on I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Smith

"Economic" Entertainment From LegalMist's Email Inbox

2010-01-26T15:28:00.007-07:00

I received this today, and it made me chuckle even though I am firmly convinced that our economy is on the upswing and things will be better soon. (Or maybe I was able to laugh precisely because I think things will be better soon?)

* * *
Our economy is so bad that:

. . . I got a pre-declined credit card in the mail.

. . . I ordered a burger at McDonald's and the kid behind the counter asked, "Can you afford fries with that?"

. . . CEO's are now playing miniature golf.

. . . if the bank returns your check marked "Insufficient Funds," you call them and ask if they meant you or them.

. . . Hot Wheels and Matchbox stocks are trading higher than GM.

. . . McDonald's is selling the 1/4 ouncer.

. . . parents in Beverly Hills fired their nannies and learned their children's names.

. . . a truckload of Americans was caught sneaking into Mexico.

. . . Dick Cheney took his stockbroker hunting.

. . . Motel Six won't leave the light on anymore.

. . . the Mafia is laying off judges.

. . . Exxon-Mobil laid off 25 Congressmen.

. . . Congress says they are looking into this Bernard Madof scandal. Oh Great!! The guy who made $50 Billion disappear is being investigated by the people who made $1.5 Trillion disappear!

And, finally... the economy is so bad that:

. . . I was so depressed last night thinking about the economy, wars, jobs, my savings, Social Security, retirement funds, etc., I called the Suicide Lifeline. I got a call center in Pakistan, and when I told them I was suicidal, they got all excited, and asked if I could drive a truck.

* * *
And if you didn't like this list, well just remember it was free. You get what you pay for, right? When the economy improves, maybe you'll be able to afford some "real" entertainment.

Happy Tuesday, my bloggy friends. Happy Tuesday.

Maybe I Should See If SkyDad Already Wrote About This On The "Fire That Agency" Blog

2010-01-20T09:00:00.003-07:00

Have any of you seen the new commercial for "Yaz" birth control pills?* I have to admit, I just don't get it.

Near as I can tell, the commercial says that if you take "Yaz," you'll smile and laugh a lot and be very happy while you:

* fall backwards into a bathtub while wearing your jeans and laughing hysterically, and later start blowing bubbles with a bubble wand;
* impulsively cut your long hair so you can have bangs, laughing as your locks fall to your lap and then smugly admiring yourself in the mirror;
* laugh while changing clothes in the back of a car while an unidentified male drives you down the street;
* laugh while painting the wall in your living room, which has a very high ceiling (so you need a big stepladder), a bright tangerine color; and
* laugh while carrying a dressmaker's mannequin (the kind with no legs, arms, or head -just a body) wearing a farily awful dress into some sort of weird huge open space with your girlfriend, set it down on a raised platform, and stand around laughing and admiring it.

What is the meaning of this? Do these people have to drink half a gallon of wine while taking these pills to achieve this level of apparent drunken stupidity, or do the pills themselves help achieve this effect?

Or, in plain English, WTF?

Then again, I haven't laughed that much in months. Maybe I should get me some of those "happy drugs"....?

____

* I looked for it on Youtube but didn't find it. You can view it on the U.S. Yaz site (although I can't promise they'll keep this particular ad rather than replacing it with another sometime soon) by clicking here and then selecting the "Yaz - as seen on TV" button, on the left side of the screen, second from the bottom. Enjoy!

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

2010-01-13T09:00:00.002-07:00

I attended a court hearing recently. The attorney on the other side was the attorney I wrote about in another recent post, who got so bent out of shape that I called her during her lunch hour. I'll call her "O.A." since it can so conveniently mean either "obnoxious attorney" or "opposing attorney."

The hearing was scheduled to start at 2:30 p.m.

At 2:30, the Judge entered the courtroom. I was at my counsel table. My client was on the speakerphone, appearing telephonically from out of state. My client's ex-spouse was at the other table. O.A. was nowhere to be seen.

The Judge asked ex-spouse if O.A. was still representing ex-spouse. "Yes, she's just not here yet," replied ex-spouse.

So we waited. I looked at the clock somewhere along the way and it read 2:33.

Shortly thereafter, O.A. came dashing through the courtroom doors stating, "I'm so sorry to be a minute and 47 seconds late!"

"What?"

I looked at the clock in confusion - sure enough, it read 2:35. The Judge glanced at the clock, too, then looked back at O.A. and obviously decided to just let it go. For all we know, the court's clock was running fast. Or O.A.'s watch was slow. Whatever, it's not that important.

But I found myself thinking anyway: What a doofus, announcing that you are "one minute and 47 seconds late" as if anyone cares or is counting the seconds!! You are late, and that is all there is to it. (And if you *are* counting the seconds, shouldn't you count them correctly, and according to the COURT's clock?!?).

And I was thinking, wow, she really has issues with time, doesn't she?

I stifled my urge to laugh.

I am sure I'll be punished by the universe for laughing, even oh-so-silently, at her misfortune. I hope it's not by being late to a court hearing and having O.A. laugh at me.

Here's a video for you, on the subject of time....

From My Email Inbox

2010-01-11T09:00:00.001-07:00

Whatever you give a woman, she will make greater.

If you give her sperm, she'll give you a baby.
If you give her a house, she'll give you a home.
If you give her groceries, she'll give you a meal.
If you give her a smile, she'll give you her heart.

She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her.

So, if you give her any crap, be ready to receive a ton of shit.

Depression

2010-01-08T10:46:00.008-07:00

I've been rather depressed lately. Well, I was reasonably happy, if a bit busy, for a couple of weeks right around Christmas, but I've spent the better part of the past month feeling very down. Maybe you can tell from the content of my posts. Hating everyone (lawyers, motorcycle cops), ranting about trivial annoyances (parking lot jerks, annoying attorneys), and basically ignoring my blog in between.

It's easy to say, hey just suck it up, get over it, adjust your attitude, be happy.... But as Kim Ayres over at Ramblings of the Bearded One pointed out in a couple of recent blog posts (here and here) it's not that easy.

Part of the problem, for me anyway, is that when you are depressed, you literally can't do anything. Some days, it's nearly impossible even to get out of bed in the morning. So, many of the "self-help" things that you could theoretically do to help yourself feel better - things that might help people who are feeling sad, but not truly depressed - simply can't happen. People will say, "take this supplement," or "get some exercise" or "eat better foods," or "go to the doctor," or "get a prescription for Prozac" and it will help you feel happier. They might be right, I really don't know. I know only that the effort required to get to the store and buy the recommended supplement, or to go out and exercise, or to buy and prepare the recommended foods, or to make and keep a doctor appointment, is beyond what I can imagine accomplishing most days.

I have, so far, managed to hold it together enough to get my kids to school on time (and with lunches made), supervise their homework, take them to their activities, and even to plan and do fun things with them. I've managed to meet my work deadlines (mostly - except for those papers I still have to grade, which were due this week but will not be done until Monday). I've managed to keep the kitchen clean so we can all eat without contracting some dread disease from spoiled food. I've managed to keep up with the laundry enough that the kids and I can get dressed each morning, if we're so inclined (some days, I'm not).

But it's as if those things take every ounce of energy, and then when the kids and husband are gone and the deadlines have been met, there is no energy for anything else. I find myself lying in bed staring at the ceiling, sometimes crying.

My house is a wreck and I'm just not motivated to do anything about it. And I haven't managed to put together the client billing, or do the filing, or install the new printer I got, or any number of other tasks that require energy but don't have a "do it now or else" type of deadline.

And so I lie in bed and feel sorry for myself. And then I berate myself for being lazy. And then I drag myself to the kitchen for another cup of coffee, hoping that will give me some energy. And it doesn't and then I hate myself even more and I feel exhausted and I go back to bed.

And I get really scared. I don't want to be one of those people who truly slips into a huge depression and truly can't get out of bed for days at a time, who completely abdicates her responsibility to her family, work, and friends.

I don't mean to be a whiner. I don't even know what I hope to accomplish by posting this. But when I read Kim's post, it struck a chord. He talked about how people just don't understand. They offer sympathy and suggestions in a misguided attempt to help you "adjust your attitude" and "feel better," but it just doesn't work because it's not about your attitude or your desire to be happy; it's a physical inability to "feel better."

I haven't wanted to admit to anyone how depressed I am. It seems like a moral failing, or like mere laziness (thus, the self-hate, and being annoyed with myself...), but it's not that at all.

I am lazy sometimes. I know when I am lazy: I wilfully choose not to do something that needs to be done because I just plain don't want to. And then later I work frantically hard and get everything done anyway, cursing myself all along for being too lazy to get it done ahead of time. Most of the time I am not lazy. I do, and accomplish, a lot of things in my life.

But this is different. It is a physical and mental inability to do anything. I will lie in bed and truly want to get up and do some research that needs to be done, or sweep and mop the house, or call my grandmother, or write a blog post, or shop for new shoes, or any of a thousand other things that both need to be done and sound like something I would, normally, want to do. I will lie there and think about how wonderful it would be if I could just get out of bed and do these things I want to do. But somehow I just can't. It's not, "I should but I don't want to." It's "I want to, but I just can't drag myself out of this swamp of inertia and fog of sadness; I have to cry some more, first."

I hate this. I want it to stop.

I'm finally feeling a little better this week. Maybe now I'll at least have enough energy to try some of those helpful remedies people are always suggesting. And now that the fog and swamp have receded enough that I can move more freely, maybe, just maybe, some of those ideas will actually help me feel better.

Thanks for listening.

If you know anyone who seems depressed, please do try to have more understanding (not "pity," not "sympathy," just understanding) for them. It's not a conscious choice to be withdrawn and unresponsive or irresponsible. If they could "snap out of it," they would. No one wants to feel, or be, this way.

I'm not sure what you should do with this new understanding. It doesn't lead to any advice for how to help the person. But it might at least help some people be more willing to admit they have a depression problem if there were more understanding and less judging going on in the world.

I Hate Lawyers

2010-01-07T12:19:00.008-07:00

Sometimes I think all those lawyer jokes are justified.

Why do some lawyers have to be so obstreperous, so argumentative, so . . . obnoxious?

Here is just one example from a particularly annoying attorney that I have to deal with regularly. This happened a couple of weeks ago. My exchanges with her since then have been equally annoying, so I can't seem to get this one out of my mind, as it is a perfect example of her utter inability to act like a normal human being.

She emailed me at 12:03 p.m. asking me to call her as soon as I get a chance, to talk about scheduling a meeting.

I received the email at 1:10, on my way out to an appointment. So I called her quickly and got her secretary, who said she was "still out to lunch." I explained that I was on the way to an appointment but would be available after the appointment, so she could call me then, or I would call her again when I finished the appointment.

Most normal people would either call at the stated time or wait for the other person to call them again, or perhaps email a list of available times and ask whether any of the times work for the other person. But not this bitch. Oh, no.

This attorney sent me another email, stating that instead of calling people over the lunch hour, I should try calling them "at a time when they might be expected to be in the office" and accusing me of "obstructing the process" and being "always unavailable," and accusing my client of not cooperating in scheduling a meeting.

WTF?!?

I am flabbergasted by the needless escalation of conflict and her apparent need to argue - and not even over an actual issue in the case (although she does it with real issues, too, which is even more annoying) . . . by the rudeness of her expecting me to be at her beck and call - I'm to call her "as soon as possible," but to make sure it's not during her lunch hour? Hello, as if I even know when she eats lunch?!? . . . by the absurdity of emailing someone just after noon with a request to call "as soon as possible" and then criticizing the person for calling "during the lunch hour" . . . by the ridiculousness of the whole exchange.

Some days I just want to go back to being a bus driver.

The Last Dog Days of December

2010-01-03T08:50:00.003-07:00

A couple of weeks ago - the Saturday before Christmas, to be exact - the Phoenix Greyhound Park opened its doors to the public for the last time. It's been an institution in Phoenix for about 40 years, and they built a huge new building about 20 years ago, around the time I moved to Phoenix.

The first time I went there, it was a new building with huge glass windows facing the track, packed full of people. It was huge - almost overwhelming. The parking lot was packed. People were dressed to the nines, and they willingly paid a fortune for valet parking so they didn't have to walk across the parking lot in their high heels. There was an upstairs area with a fancy restaurant and clubhouse. It cost extra to go up there. There was a less-fancy downstairs area, with grandstand-style seating and a few tables with less-fancy food service, but it was all new and nice no matter where you were. And there was an outside seating area for the adventurous. Betting windows were open everywhere you looked. Each race was an event, announced with great fanfare - and music, too! People excitedly studied the racing programs, discussed their picks with each other, stood in line to place their bets, and then kicked back with their beer or other drink to laugh with their friends and then watch the race. Some went outside to stand along the fence and cheer for "their" dog.

Fast forward 10 years. Gambling had been legalized on Native American reservations across the country, and the casinos had taken a chunk of the gambling business from the Phoenix Greyhound Park. They closed off a portion of the PGP building, so that you could sit only in half of the downstairs area. There were fewer betting windows open. Half of the parking lot had been fenced off to use for "Park-n-Swap" on weekend days. Still, the place was hopping on weekend nights; valet parking was still more convenient, although certainly not necessary. Parties were held there. People still enjoyed going to the races as an "event."

Another 10 years later, and the place was practically deserted. The entire downstairs area was closed. It seemed somewhat dark and desolate. You could still go upstairs or outside. Very few betting windows were available with live agents - although they opened several "self-serve" windows with automated betting machines to make up for it. The restaurant still served food, although I think only on weekend nights and for limited hours, and there was a small snack bar upstairs. Most of the parking lot was not only fenced off, but also featured permanent "stalls" for the weekend Park-n-Swap vendors. Valet parking may still have been an option, but you certainly didn't need it. It was easy to get a parking place near the door.

Somewhere along the way, they legalized off-track betting in Arizona. This did two things: It allowed people to bet on races at the Phoenix Greyhound Park from other locations, and allowed people to bet on races at other locations from the Phoenix Greyhound Park. PGP added huge banks of televisions inside, showing greyhound races from all across the country. This was convenient for the "hard-core" gamblers, allowing them to bet on multiple races at once both at the track itself and at bars or other locations. But for the casual racetrack attendee, it made the on-site races seem less like an event and more like a slot machine experience. The atmosphere was subdued; the hard-core gamblers don't cheer for their dogs, or sit around talking and laughing. They just study their programs and place their bets. Pick a track, pick a race, pick a dog, hope for the best.

We didn't go to the races often. I've been there maybe 10 times in 20 years. But I have good memories of those times - we had a lot of fun with a lot of friends there - and it was sad watching PGP's decline. When we went one day last year, it just didn't seem like much fun anymore. Too few people were laughing or talking or cheering or celebrating. It was too desolate.

December 19 was the last night PGP was open for business. They still had some races, with off-track betting, through the end of December, but since I don't do off-track betting, December 19 was PGP's last night, for me.

We attended on December 19. It was more crowded than I had seen it in years. I guess lots of people, like us, wanted to see it one last time before it closed. They still had the entire downstairs closed off, but the upstairs was hopping, and outside it was crowded, too. There was a buzz and excitement in the air that I hadn't seen in years. People laughed and talked and cheered for their dogs and celebrated when they won.

We bet on three races - picked a dog to "show" each time, and won each time, for a grand total of $6.10 in profit. Not enough to make us rich, but gambling is always more fun when you win, right?

I also entered a "name that tune" contest and correctly identified the song and band ("Obladi Oblada" by the Beatles) after three notes, winning a PGP golf shirt.

So, to the PGP owners, thanks for the winning evening, thanks for the fun, thanks for the memories....