Three Clicks

Woke to find a cool summer morning waiting for me on the front porch. After a few cat chores, I took my cup of coffee out to watch the sky lighten and look for that strong work-ethic wood-pecker.

Earlier this week I found the perfect small table to hold my coffee thermos as I sit on the porch - and it was on sale! Been thinking of having a more comfy chair - maybe a rocker? Or a glider? But I admit to being fairly selfish with my front porch time and wouldn't want to encourage interlopers. Well, maybe my Aunt Val.

Brushing my teeth earlier, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  I am aging. It makes me smile even now thinking about it. Budding arthritis, a few more gray hairs and I think I have my mother's hands (still with my grandma's crooked pinky!). Yep, I like this getting older part. Having another day behind me and another day ahead of me. Feels right. What slipped into my thought process was that as I age, so does my Aunt Val and even the whisper of that thought kinda catches my breath.

The front porch light is out and I keep meaning to drag the ladder out and change it. Last night I was grateful for my forgetfulness as I decided to sit out on the porch and listen to the night without being pestered by bugs flocking to the light for heat in the cooling air as it rained. As a kid it was stifling hot even late into the night, so us kids would spread out on the front porch hoping for a slight breeze. We'd talk quietly or not at all. Listening to the cicadas, the muffled traffic and the odd bit of TV floating out an open window in the neighborhood. So hot not even a dog stirred. It was summer. Tomorrow was full of possibilities: swimming pool, bookmobile, swinging at the park...

Well, this weekend is full of possibilities with not a moment to spare, including spending time this morning with two of my dearest friends and tomorrow checking out the newest Harlan woman who turns 1 month in a few days. But first, I think I will pour another cup of coffee and write a letter. To my Aunt Val. 

There really is no place like home.

Enjoy your summer day.

A bad day of fishing -(don't sue)

I AM an attorney.

Because of that, I am different than 99% of the world. I refuse to apologize for it. It is me. It is who I am. Like being a woman. A cancer survivor. A believer in God. Someone who prefers cold weather over hot. Coffee over tea. Baseball over Basketball. Comfortable silence over small talk. Orange over Pink.  Some things about me I chose. Some things I didn't. But all of it makes up ME.

Bottom line: being an attorney is like my freckles. Only removed with pain.

The world is not made-up of lawyers.  Only 1% of the nation's working force are attorneys.

In law school that sounded awesome -- What you forget is that the other 99% are NOT attorneys. They do not see great value in a reasoned, logical answer. Don't want to debate points or other viewpoints if the reference is THE LAW. Hey! Aren't loopholes there so we CAN cheat the system? Nope. Really. Nope.

And whatever you do, refrain from using the "A" word amongst that other 99%.

If you let others know you are an attorney, they will begin quizzing you. None of your answers are right. If I refuse to play along or take their case it is worse. Be prepared to be mocked, ridiculed and teased.

Even people who love me feel the need to joke about who I am -- "ASK THE LAWYER" har har har. How many lawyers does it take... What is the difference between a lawyer and snake? How many attorneys make it to heaven?   (It turns out I may be the first if their sources are correct.)


It is much worse if you work where there aren't any other attorneys. 

Maybe its a process -- adjusting back to the "real world."  Maybe I will learn to "dim it down", this lawyering part of me.

Or maybe, as it was put to me the other day, I should find a job where I can be with "my own kind." Now, doesn't that phrase just smack of a lawsuit waiting to happen?  Sadly, it is not a suit worthy case. Being an attorney is not a "protected class" under the law.  Heck, attorneys make the law, how did we miss that one?

I am an attorney. It is what I always wanted to be and on those days I leave the paying job and volunteer as an Attorney?  Well, it's like that phrase "a bad day of fishing beats any day at work" -  

A bad day of lawyering beats any day doing any other job.

At least, that is my 2¢.


This has been a long rambling, whining, pity party to prepare you for this announcement: I'm looking for a new job.

Someone revive Aunt Valda and tell her I'm still gainfully employed, just looking with intensity and fierceness is all. For reasons that fall into "none of your business" I am not hanging up my shingle...yet. And I promise to play nice with the other 99% at work until I have a firm offer. (pun not intended but well done!).

It will be a cut in pay.
There may be a very long commute.
There will have to be sacrifices to the budget. (good-bye cable, baseball tickets, new car plans, new cell phone, new roof and traveling)
There is a chance I will have to move out of Red Wing.

And I will be very very very very okay with it...because, I will be practicing law.

I am an attorney.

Get used to it. (heaven knows I'm trying)

And the ocean roared.

18 years ago today, newly raw from saying good-bye to a beloved sister, I arrived in a town along the bluffs of the Mississippi. Me, a Uhaul full of books, one dog, one cat and some family to help me unload. When they left, I stepped out onto the tiny front porch of the rental house, praying that here I could find my mending way.

I have never regretted that move. 

I found HOME.

I have braced myself on the rocks as Newfoundland's winds battered at me, so I could hear the ocean roar.
I have sought shells along the southern Pacific coast, pausing mid-reach to hear the ocean roar.
I have rocked on the veranda on a Central Mexican villa, putting the final stitches into her daughter's wedding quilt, stiching in time to the ocean's roar.
I have methodically laid-out cities of sand, turning away from my childhood work to hear the ocean roar.
I held tightly to my sun hat in the welcomed Gulf breeze as her son and his bride poured sand from two vessels into one, exchanging vows to the backdrop of the ocean's roar.
I lumbered up step after endless step to the top of a lighthouse seeking the crack o'dawn and hear the ocean's roar.
I have gasped at the ermergence of a Bottlenose Whale along the Labrador peninsula while the ocean roared.
I played UNO late in the night with Dad, getting up to open the balcony door so we could hear the ocean roar. 
I have held my sister's hand, turning my face to the sea spray to mask my tears - being brave as she felt the sand one last time beneath her feet. And the ocean roared.

I love the ocean. I seek it out as often as I can. When I am in pain, in joy, in love...to breathe and hear the ocean roar.

What I hate is Florida.

Ironic that I am here now. Today. June 12.

Mosquitoes.
Humidity.
Heat.
Memories.
... seeping out of tightly wrapped boxes hidden deep inside standing on the shore missing her hand in mine as I hear the ocean roar.