Seeking Refuge

Dustbunnies

2010-05-20T00:24:00.002-04:00

I'm in the final days of living in my apartment. Over the past three days, I've watched the last few years of my life walk slowly out of my apartment. The chairs, bookcases, tables that I have accumulated over the years have become a snapshot of the past few months of my life. I am blessed that I have friends who care so much about me and have taken so many of these things in trust. I am comforted knowing I can always come home to the things I love the most.

Tonight I sent into that trust a number of things. And tonight I sat at my trusty little table that I've had since 1999 and that my parents had for many years before that with my best friend. We looked around my empty apt, that will become emptier each day, and assessed this year.

Things and people have been lost, in the past 12 months. Friends lost, whose deaths I didn't know whether I would be able to pull myself out from. My job. My apartment. What I first thought was my dignity. And as I sit here in this almost empty apartment, I realize the things I felt were lost, never were. I have this group of people who have risen together to ensure that the things I love have a home, that I have a home. That I can leave this city, but roots still remain. I have a group of gals who celebrate, versus dwell on the past, but who let me love a few material things and promise to keep them safe. Who know that there is history attached to this apartment and the contents of it.

I look around tonight and I am sad. As I sit at my little table that I love so much I am sad that there is an end, but I also know that it signifies a beginning. In my ideal world, I would never have to leave this perch--a place where I have counseled and listened to my gals, where they have held me in my most infinite grief, where I've had endless calls with my sister, mother, brother, cousin and so many more, where HB and I have watched as a snow-globe raged around us. But everything comes to an end, and it's about how you deal with that.

In my little apartment where life has unfolded so significantly and so beautifully, I am sad to leave it, but I know this only means another door opens.

2010

2010-01-02T19:26:00.003-05:00

Happy New Year, everyone.

As suspected, not much has changed. But some things have been reaffirmed. In this new year, I've been reminded of a few important things. One is that jobs come and go, security can fade, but friends never seem to walk away.

New years eve was originally going to be spent with my kitties in my apartment with a six-dollar bottle of champagne, Kathy Griffin and Anderson Cooper. At the last minute, plans changed, and tickets were purchased for a party at the faux speakeasy The Gibson in D.C. with three other friends. We dressed all sparkly and fun to not necessarily ring in the new year, but to usher the old out with good drinks, good company, and no fuzzy animals to make me feel more depressed than ever.

It was a great time. Lots of laughter, lots of good cocktails, much revelry, and most importantly, great great friends. It was a great way to ring in a new year.

You know, I realized something recently. Most notably after the death of my friend. Each of us are individually blessed to have people. Our people. My people. Some may have many, others few, but we have people. I have a wide group of people. I have my D.C. people, my V.T people, my family people, my U.V.A. people, my Peace Corps people, my Leahy people. I have people who are collectively weaving a safety net for me, who won't guarantee it will hold, but who will do everything in their power to try and make it. I have people who are willing to wait on me, and believe in what I do. My people don't discourage my dreams. They cheer loudly, they push me, they link arms and support me.

I have this buoy of love that allows me to become a similar buoy for strangers. It is the greatest gift I could imagine. I know I talk a lot about friends on this site, but when you're in the trenches you realize who fortunate you are. And I am rich with friends.

And I love them all. Happy New Years, all.

Ushuring in the New Year

2009-12-28T00:56:00.003-05:00

There is so much anticipation in the New Year. We all want January First to mean something great for all of us. A new resolution, a new goal, a new life. We think that on this day, the whole world is in front of us, we can reinvent, re-imagine and re-do a year, four years, a decade or a life of what has been dealt us.

But in reality, we can't. Instead, we look back with a skewed view of everything good and everything bad we've done in the past, and make inflated and unrealistic goals of what we want to accomplish in the new year. Why do I think that come some random day I will wake up and have some vision about my life that I had never had before? Is it all mental? Do I need simply to believe more in the myth of it all?

In this new year, here's what I've learned:

1) Life is really unpredictable. Even when it seems predictable, it's not. As Heidi Klum says, one day you're in, and the next day...you're out. We can all be out at any time. Don't look down on those who've not had the luck you have had. You never know when you'll be in the same position.

2) It's ok to be vulnerable, and to question yourself. Until I hit North Carolina for Christmas, I basically wept every day for one reason or another, all of them stemming from the same thing. I have one great friend who has listened to the song below with me for hours. It's ok for me to say that I am sad and scared and I do not know what will happen next. And I listen to this for comfort, for some reason.

3) It's ok to rely on family. We all have them, and they're all flawed in some way, but at the end of the day, you can curl up in a fetal position and know you'll be surrounded by some sort of amazing love. And family comes in a lot of ways. It's biological, but it's also the pillars who stand, stoic and concerned in your life.

Most of all, I've learned you get this one great chance in the world. And during that roll of the dice we all succeed and fail and struggle and rage against the things that seem either arbitrary, or entitled or unfair. And there's a lot of uncertainty. And it's scary, unfair and it makes you want to punch someone sometimes. But it's ours, it's alive, it's life.

And so we live. With trepidation, yes. But with purpose. And what scares me is that I am still unclear of my own purpose. I suppose I'll find it soon....

Happy New Year, loves.

Power of Two

2009-11-14T20:32:00.002-05:00

We used to lay out on my parent's driveway, holding hands, looking at the stars, wondering where we would be ten years down the road. We shared ambition and heartache, teen angst, teen love and the uncertainty of the future. We would pull my parent's speakers out by the windows, open the door to the porch to let the music seep out, and listen to hours of the Indigo Girls while contemplating our own course, our own map, laid out in the stars. We would talk and laugh for hours, drinking canned Miller Lite, he smoking cigarettes that I procured for him.

We would spend our days by the pool, in our silly red swimsuits, rotating our shifts as lifeguards to spend as much time as possible in chairs next to each other, a schedule I laid out for us as head lifeguard to ensure that we maximized as much possible time together at the pool as feasible without tipping anyone off.

He wasn't a boyfriend, he was gay, and he knew it for years, but would tell people little by little as he got just close enough to them. We would leave the pool and drive and drive, singing at the top of our lungs, in a truly joyous manner. We laughed, a lot. He had ambitions of performance and would sing like the day was setting just a little too soon, loud and full of emotion, as if he was calling the sun back for just a little while longer.

We spent countless nights curled up on my parent's couch, watching movies, and he was always welcome at our table. He sometimes lived a conflicted and emotional life, but never one that was void of love for those closest to him.

We spent three summers together. I as a boarding school misfit back home and he as an irreverent, loving, misunderstood and free soul. He brought out the wild side of me I never knew I had--I threw my first clandestine party at my parent's house while they were out of town, bought beer with a fake I.D. and ditched the remnants of those nights in a dumpster down town in the early hours of the morning.

After uncountable dinners at my parent's home, he invited me to have dinner with his mother at the close of one summer, Gazpacho from her garden vegetables in their home on the hill where I drove him home so many nights.

We weren't reckless or dangerous, we were kids, bronzed and free, exploring what that meant in Southern Vermont.

He introduced me to a friend who I cherish and love to this day, the same way I did him. To her parents and family, one that is close and loving, and that reminds me so much of my own. He moved to Hawaii, a place that he adored, and that suited him. A place to give him a freedom he'd not known in Vermont.

He always seemed to dance on the precipice of something more. He was a force to be reckoned with. He could be biting, but he was always the kindest soul. He loved fully and greatly. And he protected his friends in the same way he protected himself.

Dan Moore was lovely, kind, complex and a true friend. He forged his life as he wanted, and he was strong. We drove to countless Indigo Girls concerts together, free, happy, and singing at the top of our lungs.

He passed away this week. Too early. And I will miss him immensely.

And to my friend, always remember: We're ok, we're fine, baby I'm here to stop your crying. Chase all the ghosts from your head, I'm stronger than the monsters beneath your bed. Smarter than the tricks played on your heart, look at them together and we'll take them apart. Adding up the total of a love that true, multiply life by the power of two.

He will always be in my heart.

Trying Times

2009-08-01T00:35:00.005-04:00

There are times in life that we all go through. They are not fun. They test us to the very core of who we are. Whether it's work or life or love, they hit us now and then. They are our own personal rapids that we have to navigate. Hopefully we do it with grace and skill, but there are times when we flail, hoping for one more minute of breath before we go under.

I seem to have found myself on one of those paths recently. I think of myself in a one man kayak, with very little experience in this line of sport, gritting my teeth while listening to my fans on the bank of the river. Sometimes loudly, other times muted by the sound of the rushing water in my ears. As I gasp for breath, I am comforted by the cheers and support and love, knowing that I am an island and I have to navigate how to return to shore largely solo.

I take my paddle, as futile as it is, and burn into the rapids, knowing that I am nothing against the stronger will that prevails, but also knowing that while I cannot beat them, I can return to an upright position, flustered, but together, with a smile on my face, even if that smile is forced and uncomfortable. I find myself, more often than not, feeling the pull of the current, pulling so hard that all I want to do is give into this stronger current than I could possible ever beat.

But I don't. Because in those brief instances of light and sound, I hear and see the forces that are stronger than the current of which I'm battling. I see flashes of HB who will be my life vest until the end of my days, and feel the necklace the beautiful JDK gave me. I feel the arms of LJD surrounding me, with the smokey kisses that left me so fulfilled and so longing this week. Whenever I go under I feel SG and CB and MI and EA and AW and JC grabbing me for dear life. And most of all, I see WED, Jr. telling me he is proud of me, and wishing he could grab my chin and tell me how he believes in me. I hear CFD telling me I'll always have a place with him and that he loves me. I see KM and JM loving me from afar and I am more than the rapids that take me.

Often times these rapids make me think less of myself. They rip me apart and make me wish I was either 5 years old again or ten years down the road so I know what my furture holds. They do not, ever, make me respect them. I could never respect a river so cold and unforgiving and lacking in such humanity that it would put someone through this trial.

I feel the glorious love of my longest and closest friend, EAS, and suddenly, in the glory of this support, I can be upright. But I still struggle to get to where I am supposed to be. At times, the rapids make me weep looking at a shore that seems so unattainable, but I know where I want to be, so I will paddle diligently in that direction.

And I know I will find the shore.

A Tribute

2009-04-29T20:01:00.002-04:00

In 1995, I was a junior in high school at the Northfield Mount Hermon School in western Massachusetts. I spent four years immersed in one of the most fantastic environments for education. I lived with my teachers and friends in a place where there was never a lack of encouragement and support.

We had choices in the classes that we took, choices that extended beyond what language we decided to study, and we had limited choices in the teachers who taught the subjects we were most drawn to. One of the classes where there was little or no choice was English class. At the start of each year we would tear into our schedules with anticipation to see who we would be spending the next year of the academic year with in English class. Some teachers were infamous for their English classes. One of those women was Audrey Sheats.

Audrey was known as being tough. Really tough. And not just in the assignments she gave, but in a tough love kind of way. I remember my heart sinking when I opened my schedule on an otherwise perfect September afternoon at registration to see that it was with Audrey that I would spend the next year of English class with. Thankfully, my roommate and best friend Erin was also placed in her class so I knew I would have solace in at least her presence.

The first book Audrey assigned was The Sound and The Fury. The first assignment was merely chapter one. Sa-weet, I thought, chapter one? That's it? How can she possibly be as bad as everyone says? But I was young and naive and had never read any Faulkner, let alone a book like The Sound and The Fury.

Walking into her class that first day I saw a group of faces who were equally as confused as I. What, on earth, was that chapter about? And didn't she know we were juniors in high school and not English lit majors in college???? I began to get the sinking feeling that I was in for a year of..well...hell.

How delightfully wrong I was. Audrey lived up to her reputation of being remarkably difficult in terms of how she stretched and exercised our brains. An hour in her class was exhausting, but over the course of the first weeks of the semester, I realized just how lucky I was to be part of this experience. She was hard because she knew just what 16 year old brains are capable of when given the right coaxing. She was hard because she lived and breathed and loved the books she chose. We meandered through the Sound and the Fury, A Yellow Raft on Blue Water and myriad other titles she chose for us that year. Over spring break, we chose our own book to read and do an independent study for. I chose Love in the Time of Cholera, mostly because of her suggestion to me. Gabriel Garcia Marquez continues to be one of my favorite authors to this day.

I found myself, over the course of the year, looking forward to class with Audrey. I knew never to arrive unprepared or I would face the wrath of her stern verbal lashings. Toward the end of the year, when students were deciding whether to apply for some of the AP classes NMH offered, Audrey approached me and asked about my plans for AP English. I remember looking down and saying I had not really thought about it, but didn't think I would get in. Her eyes lit up and she took my hand and told me how wrong I was. That it was in Louise Schwingle's AP English class the following year that she saw me. I lacked confidence in those days, but she reached me. She believed in me, and she told me that. She said it would be a waste of a year if I did not try.

Lo and behold, it was in Louise's class where I found myself the following September. Just as Audrey has envisioned. And it was another breath taking year of a class with another woman who I've come to realize meant to much in my continued education. When I sat for the AP exam toward the end of my senior year, I wrote my essay on Love in the Time of Cholera and scored a 5 on the exam, all thanks to Audrey.

I read, with a very heavy heart, this morning that Audrey passed away this past January. It gave me great pause and allowed me a chance to reflect on the four years I spent at NMH, the people who have continued to influence me, and the profound loss her passing is on the community. Audrey was tough and passionate and caring and intellectual and supportive. She inspired confidence in me and she will be missed.

Friends

2009-04-24T01:04:00.002-04:00

We get lost in life. We get lost easily. In work, in relationships, in the grind. We also have those rare nights when we're reminded of just how fantastic life is. We surround ourselves in all of those things that are meant to be fulfilling--everything that makes life...life.

In these hard economic times, we forget the simple things. The beauty of spring, the sun on our faces, coming home after a day of doc review to cats, who, may or may not, love us unconditionally.

Most importantly, we sometimes forget the power of laughter, and friendship, and love.

I've met a lot of people in my life, and I've held on to friends from most phases of growing up. Facebook makes it easier, but the true friends are those who you make an effort to see, to connect with on a basis that exists beyond the world of the internets.

One of my favorite people from law school is back in D.C. this weekend, and we had the opportunity to bring a group of folks together, some of whom I've not seen since graduation. And for the second time in a week, I found myself sitting, surrounded by some of the most astoundingly brilliant people I know, laughing. Good and hard. Hard like a rain that comes after a drought. Hard to the point of tears. Hard to the point of reminding yourself that you are alive.

There is nothing more healing than laughter, particularly that that comes from the heart. And there is nothing more conducive to that than sitting with people who just understand. They understand that we're lucky to have jobs, but hate the jobs we're in. Who appreciate the humor in immoral clients when we were promised that we would never work for immoral people again. Who, at the very core, understand the inner struggle of wanting to make a name for ourselves, but also crave those dusty lands that exist in Kenya, Afghanistan, Darfur and beyond. Who support when they don't even know just how supportive they're being.

Life is good. But it is hard. We struggle individually with things that go unsaid. Family, loans, unemployment, fear of being unemployed, fear of not knowing of this is where we're meant to land.

But collectively, we laugh. And support.

Tonight, I looked up at my group of friends who had gathered, and was touched, and thrilled and giddy in knowing that these people, this fabulous group of people, were mine. Not in a possessive sense, but in a comforting sense. We closed the restaurant down, laughing until our stomachs hurt, and we moved on, jovial, without having the day to day questions running through our minds.

Life can be uncertain, and it, right now, is quite shaky. Most of us wake up unsure of what the next answer will be. But the comfort, the great hope, the overwhelming joy exists in knowing that we are part of a group of people who get it.

I am blessed with the people with whom I call my friends. And I know whatever comes down the line, I will always have them.

Review

2009-02-16T21:51:00.002-05:00

I don't really re-read what I post on here too often. Occasionally, if I need a dose of perspective I'll take a tour through the posts I wrote while in the refugee camp, but it's rare I revisit my musings.

But I was looking at a program that shows the page views etc of this blog and I noticed a blog that had linked to mine that I had never read. So I went to check it out. It's called likeridingabicycle.blogspot.com and it's a blog of a good blog buddy of mine. I read this woman's post that mirrored my experience with my client that I had shared some of last year. And she linked to a couple of my posts that described the hearing in April 2008 and the fallout from that. I went back and re-read what I wrote, and read what she wrote, and it made me remarkably emotional.

It's amazing how easily you push down past experiences, carrying them with you, and move forward and selectively remember (or forget) the details that are the most difficult. And for the first time, I'm truly grateful I've had this living website where I can go back and read through some of my past, and allow those posts to let me feel like I am back in the moment.

I don't live my life with regrets, and I've been reminded of that today. It's still hard. And it's still sad. But it's life. And the only thing you can do is live it fully.

The News of a Passing

2009-02-16T10:44:00.002-05:00

I was walking through Adams Morgan with my friend S on Saturday and we were chatting about the recent plane crash in Buffalo killing 50 people. I had read a little about it, what a tragedy of grand proportions, but had not fastidiously kept up on the news over the past week so only digested the snippets I caught in passing.

S asked me if I had read any of the bios of the victims, specifically the woman who was big into international aid work. I had not, though had heard there was an 9/11 widow on there, I'd not heard about anyone else and I doubted I would have any idea who the international aid person was.

As we walked out of the coffee shop we passed a stack of NY Times, and S picked it up and to my shock and profound sadness, I saw that the woman S was referring to was Alison Des Forges, the leading scholar and activist on Rwanda and a tireless of advocate before, during and after the genocide on international recognition and accountability.

When I was representing my asylum seeking client this past year, we had to build an army of experts to write affidavits in support of our client's story. This meant hours upon hours of research, cold calling, lots of emails, follow up emails, follow up follow up emails, normally resulting in1 out of about 15 responses to our begging for these people to let us explain our client's story. We found Alison's name early in the semester, and searched and searched for a way to find HER. The more we read the more we knew that it would be next to impossible to get someone of her expertise and her notoriety to ever speak with us about our little case, but we vowed to spend the semester trying.

Midway through the semester, we had a meeting with a woman who works for State who had been the acting ambassador from the US to Rwanda at the time of the genocide. She met with us over lunch, and spoke frankly about her experience, while listening to the story of our client. She asked who else we had spoken to, so we went through the list and at the end added the fact that we were trying to get in touch with Alison Des Forges, but we were having no luck finding any contact information.

The woman paused, and told us she would email Alison for us, and she could choose if she wanted to get in touch with us. And lo and behold, a few days later, she emailed us. It was an email explaining why she ultimately could not give us an affidavit or testimony, and wishing us luck, and our client luck. It was a gesture that was generous and at the time, while sleep deprived having only read anything about Rwanda for weeks, it was like getting a communication from God.

When I realized it was Alison Des Forges on that plane to Buffalo, I had to pause for a moment to collect myself. She was a woman to be emulated and her work affected millions of people and saved lives. She was the kind of human being we all should aspire to be, and is certainly the kind I will work to become for the rest of my life.

Passion

2009-02-08T23:20:00.002-05:00

When was the last time you felt truly alive? Truly passionate about something? Was it yesterday? Maybe a month ago? As long as a year?

I've had the good fortune to experience things that make me passionate almost every....day, dare I say, from coming home from Mali. Passions differ-the intensity, the drive, the reason you want to feel passionate about something.

And I've taken to re-reading some of the things I wrote so long ago in 2006 when I was in Dadaab, and I feel that fire rekindling. I love challenges, I relish in them. I love being told that something is not quite reachable, and finding a way to do it. The opportunities don't come along very often. Peace Corps was one of them. And I persevered to be able to see the beauty in a group of women who had never been given the chance to take control of themselves. Dadaab was even more profound. The stimulation of giving yourself so wholly to other people, to do the very little a single person can do to alleviate suffering..it's euphoric and it's something I've not experienced in a long time.

I believe people individually have a greater calling. I re-read To Kill A Mockingbird this past summer, and I see that my father's greater calling is equality in representation, and compassion in that. I see my mother's being the divine ability to comfort children, parents, her kids and absolute strangers. My sister? My god, where do I begin? Her joy is extends beyond education, it encompasses all that is great and beautiful about human nature. She is a savior, and a kindred soul, and someone who is as generous and loving as anyone else in the world. And my brother, who loves loves loves the way he knows how, and is a protector, and confidante and a really remarkable friend.

And I struggle to find my place in that, even though in my heart of hearts I know exactly where it is. I'm not quitting my job, and I'm not doing anything drastic, but I'm clawing myself back to where I feel my own identity resides, which is in humanitarian aid.

I've spoken about my girlfriends many a time on this blog, and I love them more than any words could convey. And this past week our group has suffered a tremendous loss, a loss of one of our mothers. And my, how sad that journey has been. To see the devastation of one of our closest, our darlings, our sisters. And to know that we have the power to heal only in our own power to love, and sometimes that's not enough. And I am the most at ease, even when in tears outside the National Press Club building, comforting my friend, being an outlet.

The world of corporate law is not for me. I will never complain about the opportunity, or that I have a job, but my goodness does it make me feel vacant, and lonely.

I am the child of my parents. I have been raised in a manner that celebrates selflessness and compassion. And I think I'm just striving to get back to where I'm finally able to feel that within myself again.

Chirp...Chirp...

2009-02-04T12:05:00.002-05:00

This is the second post that's starting with "So it's been a long time...". But this time it really really has. And I have plenty of excuses for that...

But none of those will be written about, at least not immediately. I've been thinking a lot of about the trajectory of my life as of late. Thinking is the operative word, because I've certainly not been having deep discussions about it with family or many friends. I've thought about what makes us happy, and what makes me happy.

Doing well at work. Those days are good. Really good. Particularly when you've only been doing something for 5 months and those days are relative dots in the landscape of being lost in the weeds trying to look up and see the light shining through. I've had a couple of those really good days in the last 5 months. But they have yet to be quite prominent in the grand scheme of things.

I've thought a lot about my former client, as well. Her daughter turned one a couple of weeks ago, and I marked the day thinking that it had been one year when the single greatest learning experience of my life began at the same time as what would turn out to be devastating, demoralizing and just plain maddening. I've thought about it because I realize that those 8 months spent representing her, as hard and at time trying as they were, made me feel truly great. I compare it to what I'm doing now and have a sense of...longing, I suppose.

I don't know if any of you guys noticed (or if any of you guys ever check this anymore), but since the last time I wrote our economy is kind of in the toilet. Now is not the time when sane people start looking for new jobs. Now is the time when the people who have lost their jobs scoop those open jobs up and the rest of us shut up, keep our heads down and be thankful that we're still sitting behind a desk. And don't get me wrong, I am remarkably thankful. More so than I could possibly put into words (though, knowing me, I'll likely try at some point). But I've made the decision to start the process of finding a job doing what I love more than corporate transactional work, and I'm pretty stoked about it.

So. There you have it. Not the most earth shattering post from my 5 month hiatus, but we have to start somewhere, right?

Things to be Said

2008-09-21T20:16:00.002-04:00

I've been gone. A long time. Last night doesn't count. I had been out at a wedding a long time.

But that wedding made me think about things. About pure love. And happiness. And here is what I realized: Love does not make us happy, we make us happy. Love enhances the great lives we all live, but it does not define us. Yes, we are complete with the person we love, the one person we choose, but we are not they.

I looked at Karen and Jeff this weekend, and was overwhelmed with emotion. Two people who love each other so dearly is powerful to see. It didn't make me sad for what I don't have, it didn't make we wish for something in the future. It made me ecstatic about right now.

I stood, on the balcony of the Kennedy Center, looking out at the vista, this amazing scene, and I was so happy. And hopeful.

Here is to the couples who love, laugh, struggle, fight, scream and love again. I am blessed to be in so many of your presences.

Anxiety

2008-09-21T02:05:00.002-04:00

I don't even know if I spelled anxiety right. But for the loyal readers here we go.

I had brunch with a great friend today. And it was great, and lovely, and sad. Sad because we spoke about the men we loved and lost. Not lost in that kind of "poof, they're gone" kinda way, but poof, wow, they're married. Poof, here we are. Wait, where are we?

Poof, Here I Am. I am an attorney. (no, shut up, I am). Poof, she is the head of Senate Appropriations. Poof. here we are.

I feel like sometimes we do what we don't want...but we learn, grow, and love from it. And we land where we do. I miss being in love. I do. but it will come (I say) and when it does it will be awesome.

Acceptance

2008-07-18T23:37:00.003-04:00

My representation of my client is now over. It ended in an ugly, no holds barred kind of fight. And it was demoralizing.

My partner and I were accused of many egregious things, most of which I care not to discuss ever again. Many of which hurt me to my core. We clearly lost. But it was a bad loss. One that we could never have predicted. I remain hurt, and distracted. And feeling guilty, for some reason.

In this life, we have the opportunity to help people. To make a difference. We can make a difference in one person's life. And I attempted that, to my own peril. We take chances, we make decisions--we bet our stakes on things. We hope they work out, that there's some payoff to our own sacrifices. But inherently we know that sometimes we lose.

We lost yesterday in court. And we lost badly. We lost in a way that was degrading, and sad and wrong. We lost because of the immigration system. I wondered, as I held my client, sobbing, if risking my passing the bar exam was worth it. I missed classes, didn't write essays--I put my own professional career in peril. And I did it because of the conviction of what we were doing was right.

And I know, in my heart of hearts, I would do the same thing again with no thought. If you want details about yesterday, email me. I can't go into here because it's too painful. But there is something empowering working the hardest you've ever worked for someone other than yourself.

I am sad. And I am hurt. And I might not pass the bar exam. But I will never regret the work I've done to date, and I will never regret working for my client.

Life, I think, is about our relationships with other people. What you gain from them, and what you learn about yourself in the process. Sometimes it's wholly positive. Other times it takes a little more to find the truth. My truth right now is that I made the right decision--I will never regret that.

Reading

2008-07-09T12:20:00.003-04:00

So, I have this amazing bookshelf filled with wonderful books, many I have yet to read, now that I've fully unpacked. I have received books at every major holiday from friends and family over the past three years, have continued to buy them if they seem compelling, and occasionally get them as random gifts in the mail. However, it's rare that I have time to sit down and read for pleasure-- I was at the beach in May I read "The Other Bolyen Girl" which was wildly entertaining (the movie is horrid), even though it is basically a trashy romance novel disguised as historical fiction (aren't those the best though???!!!).

Anyway--the past month has been a fury of work and very little down time--I feel like I've been moving at warp speed since January, and even when I sleep it's generally quite restless and disturbed. It's hard to wind down when you've been shuffling back and forth between major tasks for 18 hours a day, and I've been trying to find ways to let my brain kind of release before I turn the lights out. I've tried watching a mindless 22 minute tv show online many a time, though that has yet to work.

So the other night, I was perusing my bookshelf just to see all the great books I had to look forward to when I zeroed in on a book my Uncle sent me out of the blue this past semester. I had not had a chance to start it, though he described it as a book that could be read in small intervals and would be highly entertaining. I picked it up and thought I'd give it a shot.

So the book is called Anonymous Lawyer, and it's by a young Harvard Law grad who began a fictitious blog by the same name. The premise is that that book is written by a hiring partner in a major law firm in a major city at the start of the Summer Associate season, and it's written partly in blog format, and partly in emails between Anonymous Lawyer and his niece, Anonymous Niece.

It's HILARIOUS. And frankly, for anyone who has ever been, is currently, or is planning on being a summer associate in a BigLaw firm, it's frighteningly true to life. And for all the non-lawyers out there, if you've suffered through summers or three years with a loved one or friend (or anonymous blogger you've never met who may, or may not, occasionally blog about the trials of law school and firm life) and want a glimpse into some of the ridiculousness experienced, you have to check this book out. While I have been laughing out loud at a lot of different "posts", I've also been silently cringing knowing that there is more truth to his account than there is fiction.

So. While it's not The History of the World in 7 volumes, it's what I'm reading right now. And many thanks to my uncle who sent it to me! The past few nights I've been sleeping better and better after reading before sleep--and be warned, you might just start getting your own emails from Anonymous Niece before too long :)

Uplifting

2008-07-08T08:48:00.002-04:00

This is awesome. And so is this. Not just because I have a special place in my heart for the Kenyan refugee camps after working in one, or because it just goes to show every person who scoffs at more liberal immigration policies some of the remarkable individuals our immigration system as saved, but because the back story, particularly of Lopez Lomong, is a tremendous story celebrating the most remarkable aspects of humanity.

I know--the Olympics are filled with those heart wrenching public interest stories that make millions of people around the world silently tear up behind the pale glow of our televisions for three weeks every couple of years. But read Lomong's story differently this time--read it and ask if you would be that family in Syracuse, NY, or the elder children to the younger in Sudan. It's touching, and made me wonder if American teenagers, or anyone, would act in the same brotherly way if faced with such adversity.

I suppose even if the answer is "no" to all of the above, it's a good story nonetheless. Go USA!

Roots

2008-07-05T21:57:00.002-04:00

I've had a friend staying with me the past 10 days--she and I were in Peace Corps together, and she just arrived back in the states after remaining in West Africa working since we finished in 2004. Since she's been with me, we've gone apartment hunting, furniture shopping, neighborhood sightseeing and we've caught up. And it's been great. I feel like I've been in this town long enough that you forget to get excited about the city, the neighborhoods, the newness of moving to a place after being away for so long. And it's been interesting to see her beginning to adjust to figuring out how to begin to plant roots here, and more important, how to adjust to being comfortable making decisions that will have a semi-permanent impact on where she's residing.

We were browsing the stores on 14th St today looking at furniture and homewares in some of my favorite places in the city. I found a lovely chair that I bought on impulse, she got ideas about how to slowly make her shiney new apartment her own. And as we walked out of one of the stores, she turned to me said "Now I have culture shock. This is the first time it's really set in". I asked her what she meant, and she said "it's the fact that I'm considering all this big furniture, this heavy hard to move furniture. How am I going to move it all?" I breezily replied, without much thought into her comment "Oh don't worry, all these places have delivery services--they move it for you!" She paused and said something more profound that the meaningless way in which I interpreted her comment "No, I mean, I'm buying big things, things I can't just throw in a bag and move when I'm ready to leave--I'm buying things that can't pack and travel--this feels final".

I know the way she's feeling, and I know the feelings she's struggling with. When I started law school I felt itchy and uncomfortable, thinking that this decision I was making meant that I HAD to plant roots--I could not just get up and walk away when I was ready for a new adventure. And I adjusted...until it ended. I cut off my hair a couple of weeks ago. As one unnamed person in my family once told me "honey, you're hair is your best asset". It was definitely time for a trim, it was looooong, and it's not fun to have long hair in this town in the summer because it becomes like a wool blanket. But instead of getting it trimmed, I lobbed off about 10 inches. It was liberating to a point, but it still felt...like something else needed to happen in conjunction.

I have been thinking about my decision since I did it, and was thinking about the last time I made a drastic styling decision. Exactly 6 years ago before I left the city to go to Peace Corps I walked into another fancy salon in town and had them do the same thing--cut it off--new style, new adventure. And I realized this time, the missing link is not having an adventure to go along with the style.

I've become more and more anxious about starting my job in the fall. I don't want to go back to where I'm heading, I don't know if I can live thorugh a year of working for the people who will be my bosses. Over the past month I've slowly realized the importance of joy, and happiness, and contentment in life. So, I've started exploring new options, sent some emails, have begun getting my ducks in a row, just in case I need that escape hatch if things become too bad. But unlike 6 years ago, I've also realized I've matured enough to realize that my roots no longer yank up as easily, and forcing them will merely cause peripheral destruction that is neither necessary or beneficial. But I don't think a change is far from coming-the winds are blowing in that direction as is my hair.

In Memory of My Grandma

2008-06-24T19:39:00.002-04:00

On Sunday, June 1 2008, my grandmother passed away. It was a topic I wanted to wait and address on this blog, because I wanted to let the loss sink in and give my family who are loyal readers of this blog time to process. Today is her memorial service in Phoenix, AZ. My mom and dad are there, but I was not able to make the trip due to my bar exam studying and client representation.

My grandma was a wonderful woman--she was a tough cookie, and she held more love in her heart for her family than anyone I've ever met. She raised 4 amazing children and had 8 grandkids when she died. She will be deeply missed.

I paused this afternoon at 5pm EST, when the memorial service was beginning in AZ. I remembered the last conversation I had with her before my graduation. She never missed a family event, graduation, wedding, holiday, not until she was unable physically to be present. But talking to her made me know that she had the beaming smile on her face we all knew and loved.

I am posting below the tribute my sister wrote and I consulted in, adding my own favorite memories to her work, that was to be read this afternoon by my mom. I see my mom in my grandma, and see her as her own person as well. My mom has the same remarkably elegant grace in everything about her--her smile, her love, her compassion, her skin, her heart. I know I will see my grandma a little bit in my mom, and she will live on in our hearts through her family.

Losing her meant losing my last grandparent. But losing her also meant knowing there is one more angel on my side, and I will never take that for granted.

Clarice H Johnson

Clair was a lot of things to many fabulous people, but to the three of us she was our grandmother. Although we three were unable to attend this service we are celebrating her life with all of you in spirit. Spirit really should have been grandma’s middle name. Everything she did with us and for us was full of vivacity and grace, from teaching us the fine art of Estee Lauder makeup application (CD was always jealous of our rouged cheeks) to charming the wait staff at restaurants with broad smiles and anecdotes of her life.

She was a traveler who loved a good road trip, especially with her grandchildren. We grew up down the road from our three cousins, N, K and J, and grandma and grandpa took us in pairs on two week adventures over the course of a few summer vacations. CD and I traveled to Virginia theme parks, making stops along the way to visit grandma’s family. It was there that I learned to love the south, a trait that later became associated with my mother, Leigh. There CDand I were introduced to Stuckey’s Pecan Log Roll, sweltering summer heat and the charm of grandma’s southern accent blossoming over iced tea and magnolia trees. But the real treat were the matching shirts grandma ordered for the four of us from the back of a Tropicana orange juice carton. “It’s so we don’t get lost from each other.” She said as she handed us our new theme park uniform. I don’t know who was more humbled wearing the short sleeved- palm tree covered-Tropicana advertising-yellow button downs: CD or grandpa. But we never lost each other.

DLS and KRP went the following summer to Florida, where they canoodled with the Disney characters at meals and splashed among the many pools along their journey. Again, this was a driving trip, and they could always count on grandma to navigate them in the direction of close friends and family. Although this crew was sans matching shirts, they were not for want of good food and lots of laughs. At every restaurant grandma would chat up the waitress and tell her exactly what they were doing and where they were heading; she had an uncanny knack for making friends wherever she went. As you all know grandma was never at a loss to share stories of her four children and eight grandchildren. She also welcomed new arrivals to our family with more than open arms. It was not unusual for grandma to tell our friends that she loved them after meeting them for the first time. This is what our girlfriends, boyfriends, spouses and best friends all remember about grandma. Always the hand being held, a smile so big you couldn’t help but try to match it, and the comfort of knowing she would always love you.

She also shared her passion with us in the form of pie dough. Our mother was never much of a baker, so when grandma came to visit we knew we were in for a tasty baked delicacy. She was a patient and encouraging teacher, virtues that the three of us have come to embrace in our own adulthood. Pie crusts would be made in for hours on our butcher block, gracing the bottoms and tops of only the most deserving of fillings. Some of her signatures were lemon meringue, pecan, apple, cherry with a lattice top, and of course, mince meat. But the pies weren’t what we looked forward to the most, rather the scraps of dough grandma would never, ever waste. Once the dough was in the fridge to chill, the real treat was born into mouthwatering cinnamon pinwheels. In the oven for ten minutes and voila! Scraps transformed into bubbling, flaky treats just for the kids. She was to us what Julia Child was to the world: a passionate cook with secret family recipes who would rather share her love of the art than to squander the recipes in a dark cabinet.

Grandma was like that with everything in her life. She wanted all of us to be a part of what she loved the most, whether it was taking us to Broadway shows at Christmas, sharing coveted board game secrets at family gatherings, or bringing us into her family roots, proudly and passionately. As we grew older we too, wanted Grandma to be a part of our milestones, and she never skipped a beat when it came to graduations and weddings. She was proud of that, and the photos from JDK's wedding in July sparkle with her matriarchal essence and humble pride, which she was so deserving of.

In closing, we would like to share with you some words from CD which he wrote soon after learning of grandma’s death:

“The only thing that I can keep seeing over and over and over again in my head is how happy and smiley and energetic Grandma was for JDK's wedding last year. How she burst forth from her chair like a laughing child, or how she absolutely beamed with pride and joy as Jess and dad made their way down the aisle, and her two youngest grand-kids got to participate in the wedding. She got to see all of her kids, and all of her grand-kids at once, at ONCE (and that NEVER happens anymore), and she soaked up each moment as only she could.

Did we? Did we soak up those moments? Did we embrace the family as she did then, or any other time that we gather together? Do we look at each of these opportunities and grab them and never let them go and think about them for weeks or months afterwards? Or have we been taking for granted the times that we get to see each other, and those other family members that pop in seemingly randomly to our lives. I get sickened by the fact that it takes a moment like this to hurtle me back to the days that I thought were just last year, last week, last month, and really live them again.”

As Grandma would want us to do, capture your moments with family and friends, not just in pixels and paper, but with embraces and stories. Take a good road trip if you must, make a pie or apply the perfect shade of red lipstick, but ALWAYS remember to tell each other how much you love them, even if you’ve just met.

We'll miss you grandma, and love you always.

On This Father's Day Weekend

2008-06-13T20:57:00.003-04:00

I assume most readers have not only heard about Tim Russert's death, but have also seen him on TV now and then over the past 17 years.

The sudden death of Mr. Russert has lead me to think contemplatively about my own father, someone who I consider to be a role model, a leader, a confidante and a friend. And it has made me unwaveringly grateful to have this man as my father.

For years, my sister and I shared a bedroom. Our walls were papered with butterflies and sunshine and the two of us slept, side by side, for 12 years, in twin beds. I remember one night when my sister was beside herself. What was it about and how old were we? I have no idea. All I know is that J could not pronounce the word "comfortable". She laid in that bed crying and crying, and none of us understood why. My dad came up, and sat on the edge of her bed. He talked to her, tried to soothe her. None of us had any idea why she was so upset. So Dad came up with a trick. All she wanted was to be able to pronounce "comfortable" correctly. So he said:

J: repeat after me: comfort a cow

j repeated that

Dad: J: comfort a bull

J repeated that.

Comfort a cow

Comfort a bull

After about 2 minutes, J had it. We still talk about comforting a bull to this day. It's a great family memory. But more than that, it's a great memory of our dad.

My father is not one to give compliments easily. He is judging and can be harsh. But he is one of the greatest, most patient listeners I can imagine. He is not emotional, he is rational. He is loving, and he is fair. He has taught me to be the most amazing woman I can be, and he has supported me, without question, in that endeavor.

I graduated from law school last month, and I defended my first client a month before that. My father was present at both events. I do not strive to live up to some image my father has, but rather aspire to embody the lessons he has taught me. Raise my voice. Question everything. Challenge yourself. Embrace who you are. Respect where you come from. Love your mother.

My dad comes from the most noble of backgrounds. Military service has been paramount in his life. None of his children followed in those footsteps, and I can only speak for myself with my reasoning. When my dad encouraged me to go into ROTC at UVA I sheepishly looked at him and said: Dad, do you think they'll have an issue that I have a fundamental issue with guns?" Dad looked at me and said "Hmm. yeah. Maybe ROTC isn't right for you.

But the bottom line is this: every path I have chosen has been embraced and accepted by my father. It has been encouraged. And his support has pushed me to where I am today.

I love my father more than anyone can imagine. And I respect him. If I can be half the lawyer and half the person he is in my life, I will die a lucky and blessed individual.

Happy father's day, dad. I am who I am because of you.

Motion Denied

2008-06-13T16:48:00.003-04:00

As some of you may recall from April, my experience representing my first client did not end as we had hoped, and as we learned later, did not end at all. The experience has been priceless in showing the power of the court, as well as highlighting the responsibility of representatives in accepting client's cases.

To back pedal a bit...after the debacle that occurred in my client's hearing and after she continued to blatantly lie to us in the immediate aftermath, we filed a motion with the court to withdraw from further representation for a number of highly valid reasons. While we knew there was a chance, as there is with any motion, that the judge could deny our request, we hoped he would not and really believed that we had presented good arguments for our case. More than a month after filing the motion we go the judges order: Motion Denied. After the emotional roller coaster we had all hitched a ride on, it turned out we were not given passage off of it quite yet.

The news came a couple of days after my graduation. We were not wholly unprepared as we had talked about this possibility, my partner's and my responsibilities and rights, and a contingency plan if the worst were to occur. But to actually be faced with this reality had the same effect of having the wind knocked out of all of us. How were we supposed to go back to this woman who we could not trust and try and piece the truth together? How do you have faith in her as an individual?

Clinical programs are interesting--they present myriad choices for the students everyday. Some with distinct right and wrong decisions, but there's a lot of ambiguity to the choices we have to make as well. The first big one that I confronted was: do I stay on this case or do I bow out and let the others take the reins from here? After all, I no longer am a student at the school, our clinical grades had already come out. For all intents and purposes, I was done with the clinic. But then the grey area came quickly creeping in. This was my client. This was not an abstract "real life simulated" project that I could skip away from on a whim. My partner and I, no matter how dishonest our client was with us, had invested more time and work into her case than I've invested in almost anything. And we know her--we know her better than the advisers know her--we were in the position to be more effective than anyone else. The decision was made harder by the realization that her next court appearance is 11 days before I take the bar exam--studying for the bar while trying to fix the egregious issues that the hearing presented was daunting. But when I flipped it one more time, it was also daunting to know that the judge had ordered us to stay on. How do you wade through a choice like this?

I've never been one to easily walk away from a commitment I've made to people. I faced this in Peace Corps at one of my lowest hours, when I was sitting in our regional house, talking to my parents, feeling completely dejected, exhausted and frustrated and wanted to just come home. I had been there a little over a year and the effects of trying to help make change in a tiny village that as headed up by some of the most intensely chauvinistic men one could imagine was draining. I was explaining all of this to my parents and my dad said (and I'll never forget): Listen. You can come home right now if you want. No one will think less of you and no one will judge you. But if you think there is even the slightest chance that you could help make a lasting improvement and difference for this village you owe it to yourself to try. If you don't think so, then come on home. But don't quit just because it's "hard".

Basic advice, but true advice. I stayed and finished a remarkable project that is still highly successful, asserted myself as an individual and woman and made some of the most amazing friendships I could imagine. And I applied that same advice to this situation. Yes, it would have been infinitely easier to step back and hand over my roll to someone else. To walk away and let others sift through the rubble of my client's case. But would that have been the right thing to do? I didn't think so at the time and a month later I am absolutely convinced I made the right decision.

It was hard to sit with my client for the first time since we said goodbye to her and explain the ground rules for this time around. It was hard to look at her without April 11 swirling around in my mind. But I think my partner and I have been grown immensely individually and as representatives with the lessons we learned in round one. Over the past couple of weeks we've started a new foundation with her--one that is based less on the emotional pull of her story and more on the task at hand: repairing her credibility and trying to keep her in the U.S.

There are some members of our team who feel doing the bare minimum is all that's required for her. My partner and I disagree. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it fully and to the best of our abilities. We've made a lot of changes in our representation. Her husband is no longer present while we interview her, or involved in her case at all. We've laid out exactly what is on the line, and how bad it could actually be. But we've affirmed that we will do everything in our power to give her a second chance provided that she no longer is dishonest with her.

We waded through the lies last Sunday. And they don't actually affect her asylum claims at all--they do affect her credibility horribly. So game on. We're not expecting to win, but we're not prepared to fail either. I guess we're prepared merely to give her a second chance and do what we can to help that chance be successful. I suppose in the end that's the only thing any of us can hope for.

A Room of One's Own

2008-06-10T16:26:00.003-04:00

It's been quiet around these parts as of late. It's been a busy and emotional month, but a good month, over all, and a reflective one at that. Since May 9, 2008 I finished law school (kind of), graduated, went on a week long vacation with some fabulous gals to a fabulous beach, said good bye to my grandmother, celebrated my grandmother, was told I am still representing my asylum client from Rwanda, almost missed being able to take the bar exam, began studying for the bar exam. Like I said, it's been a busy month. So my apologies if I've left the three or so of you who read this hanging, and for my inability to update on all the above stated events, as they truly are all stories of their own.

So another month has passed and more transitions linger everyday. I began my bar exam studies last week--and it has been off to a rather rocky start as I've been trying to find the distinct balance between that and representing my client into her July 17th follow up hearing. Finding the balance has been disruptive to plans I've already made and have had to cancel, and I've let people down who I feel like I've been letting down since the beginning of January. I'm blessed to have such patient and loving friends and family, but it's still tough, every time it occurs.

My family was in town for my graduation, which was a joy, to say the least. Some stayed with me, some in a quaint little bed and breakfast near my apartment. It was fun having people see my apartment, though I had not had time to fully unpack or decorate since moving in (I know I know) as this year has just kind of gotten away from me. It was fun to be able to have people over, to not have roommates, and to be able to just relax in my home with my family. I don't think my entire family felt that same sense of joy...

It's not a secret to anyone who knows me that I generally lead a trail of chaos around my life. That goes for my apartment as well. I do well not only with white noise, but "white clutter" as well. I'm not dirty, but I am often the queen of well organized piles, all of which I know by heart and that have their own filing systems. Every week or two I make one big "no more clutter" purge, spend an hour organizing, all for my hard work to descend shortly there after with a kicking off of shoes, dropping of purses, strewing of keys etc.

When my mother arrived at my apartment for graduation, she noticeably grimaced. Needless to say, this semester has been far more chaotic than any part of my life I've experienced before, and while I cleaned my apartment before the family arrived, it was not completely declutterized (I thought it looked lovely). She held her tongue and nothing was said...until the first phone call home after everyone had departed post-graduation.

"DLS, we have to do something about your apartment"
"What's wrong with my apartment"
"You're not in college anymore. You look like you're in college"
"Mama DLS, you KNOW what this year has been like for me"
"Yes. Which is why I'm going to let YOU pick the week I come back and we spend working on your apartment"

We've had this conversation now about three times since May 18th. I think she really means it.

So, truth be told, I have not actually hung any of my gorgeous pictures and paintings I've collected over the years. There are still unpacked boxes that I, frankly, no longer even notice as being out of place. I had a bookshelf with one shelf still actually in tact, another next to it empty as there was a chair and some other...stuff...blocking my access. Suitcases sit at the foot of my bed...packed, as if I'm planning to be able to escape at any minute with more than a full wardrobe if need be. And I still don't have a silverware organizer. All my silverware is just kind of thrown into a drawer with clean dishtowels and clothe napkins.

But today something snapped. I got rid of my desk when I moved here, and have used my tiny little table in my kitchen for whatever table work I needed to do. it fits my computer and one small book, basically. I've been fighting with it for the past week, willing it to have more space, and strangely enough, it never seems to grow. So today, after coming home from bar class, sweating my buns off, in a bad mood and trying to study on this postage stamp of a table I lost it. I began not only purging my piles and reorganizing them but I also began purging furniture, like that useless bookshelf, and cleared myself a space, a big space, right in front of my two enormous windows that look out onto the street below. When I moved from my parents home they gave me a sideboard that folds out to become a full table, made of a lovely wood that's weathered decades in our family's history. To date, it's been sitting against a wall, all folded in, acting as my mail/keys table/dry cleaning table. I zoned in on it and realized how much delicious space it would provide if I just moved it over to the window and unfolded one of its leaves. I hauled sh*t down to the bulk garbage area of my building, moved my couch, moved and put away everything in the way of this window area and set up the table.

The only thing missing is hanging things on the wall to make this place I finally created perfect. Now I feel like I have a room of my own, with a desk of my own, and windows to the outside world and a place to focus and do my work. Moving everything took me about 45 minutes total. It's amazing what a difference that can make.

Simple Pleasures

2008-05-10T18:09:00.004-04:00

I love living in a city. While I enjoy going home to the rolling hills of my little state now and then, nothing beats being young in a metropolitan city. I love that I've never owned a car, can walk just about anywhere I want to go, am surrounded by free stuff: museums, monuments, concerts, films, parks and so much more. It's great to be able to gather with girl friends on Saturday mornings for brunch in one of 100 different restaurants, to stroll afterward and pop into furniture shops, shoe shops, any kind of shop you want. I love the freedom. A lot of time I actually like the anonymity a city provides, because within the great anonymous place, you can create your pockets of familiarity with people and vendors who you frequent and enjoy. Almost everything in the city where I dwell is generally peachy...except for one tiny detail: the grocery stores.

I know. It seems strange that out of all the goods and bads that places have to offer, this is of particular annoyance to me in this city. But really. I've come to notice how frustrating the grocery stores in this city can be. Where I lived for the two years prior to my new apartment had almost no grocery stores. Certainly, there were none accessible without a car. We heard rumors and murmurings of this grocery store or that one "coming soon!" but it never happened, and I don't think it's actually going to happen for at least 5 more years.

But then I moved to another, more lively, part of the city this past year. I was thrilled to be a 1.5 song on my ipod away from a Safeway, and a 4-5 song walk away from Whole Foods. Heaven! I thought. I quickly learned that at Whole Foods it is somehow near impossible to walk out of the store with less than 50 dollars in groceries (and not that many groceries, I might add) and at Safeway you're lucky to find half of the items that they supposedly stock as most things you want are sold out (hence the loving nickname most residents have given this Safeway as: The Soviet Safeway). And the produce kind of makes me want to cry.

So, you can, by this point, imagine my interest when I heard that just a few blocks north of me a shiney new Harris Teeter had opened! At first I thought this was another urban myth, just like the Harris Teeter urban myth from my days in the sleepier neighborhood. Then I assumed that while the store may bear the name Harris Teeter, it's probably like the Secret Safeway over on 19th street that does not say Safeway anywhere on the outside, and is about 1/8 the size of a normal grocery store.

Well, after a lovely brunch today, my friend M and I decided to make a trip to this new grocery store, having opened its doors just a few weeks ago. We were skeptical. Very skeptical. And then, it happened. We walked into the produce section, then the fish, then up and down the aisles. And we realized: Holy Sh*t. This is a god honest, full blown, wide aisled grocery store with food stocked, produce fresh, lightbulbs working right here not 4.5 blocks north of us! We savored it. Positively strolling up and down the aisles. Stopping to stare at the array of cleaning products, cereal, baby food (no idea why) "ethnic food", frozen food, cheese etc they had to offer. It was nearly tear inducing.

While I have spent many hours creaively looking for ways to procrastinate during exams, this is by far the best one we've found. And thanks to this shiny new store, not only did it allow me to procrastinate while shopping, but now blogging about it as well!

God Bless Harris Teeter. God Bless every one of them.

The End of an Era...or Something

2008-04-24T12:43:00.003-04:00

I have finished all classes I will ever take while in law school today, and it feels great, if not a little anticlimactic.

It's strange to think that all of the knowledge that law school provides has been given to me, and now it's my job to figure out what to do with it. It's strange to think that I won't be returning to school next fall, I'll be beginning my professional career. And it's strange to think that so many of my friends will be dispersing throughout the U.S. in the next few weeks and months.

I've said this before, and I continue to feel this way, I like the endings of things almost as much as the beginnings. There is a great sense of accomplishment in closing the book on a very formidable experience and moving forward to something different, possibly better, but certainly challenging.

This has been a remarkable 3 years. I've met some of the greatest people in the world, I've lived and worked in a refugee camp on the border of Somalia, studied in London, questioned myself, fell in love with a boy, have been challenged intellectually, sat in a room with one of the most well known Supreme Court Justice's, represented my first client, was betrayed by my first client, lost the love of the boy because of my own bad decisions, found a mentor, landed a job, worked with Darfurian rebels on their negotiation skills, and found my voice.

I'm proud of myself. And I feel great about this accomplishment.

Forgiveness

2008-04-15T11:34:00.002-04:00

Forgiveness is a tricky beast. We all want to forgive things and people in our lives, but I think most people secretly harbor things inside them that they've resolved to forgive. A friend, co-worker, confidant, significant other, parent, whomever.

I got an email from my former client last night asking for forgiveness. It was an emotional email--clearly written with emotion, but also evoking emotion from me. She asked for forgiveness, thanked us, told us she would never forget us, that we were always going to be part of her family. She said that she didn't understand, before this, the impact keeping a detail like the one she kept from us would have on her and her life and her relationship with us. She asked for forgiveness again, at the end of the email.

This is something my partner and I have been struggling with. It's like the demise of any relationship, people naturally seek closure. It can be said that we had closure in our final meeting with them, when we withdrew from further representation--and that's true. We had professional closure. But we did not find the personal closure that I think is necessary for my partner and me being the kind of people we are.

There's this great song by one of my favorites called "The Mercy of the Fallen", and I can't help but listen to it repeatedly while thinking of the concept of forgiveness applied to my client. I think what's keeping me from an instantaneous reply to the email I was sent is an unclear sense of how I want to forgive. This is a different situation than I've ever been in, and I think this circumstance calls for something other than a mere "I forgive you".

The truth is, I DO forgive her. I actually wonder if there is anything to forgive. Can I blame a young woman for her desperation? Can I blame her for making a mistake? Can I blame her for a choice she made that turned out to be the wrong one? I think I can be angry and hurt, I can feel a sense of betrayal, but if I were in her position, I have to wonder if I would have done the same.

I was raised by my wise and forgiving and wonderful parents in the Episcopalian church. I went to Sunday school every Sunday, I attended church afterwards with my family, we participated in the seasonal events in our church. But then the most remarkable thing happened: I left for high school at a boarding school just across from our state. And I discovered other religions, and I began to question the one I was raised in. My parents did not balk at this, they did not chastise me, or show disappointment. Instead, they encouraged me. They encouraged me to learn, study, believe in what I found truth, light, solace and comfort in, even if it was not found in the church in which I was raised.

And what I found was the common thread of forgiveness and truth. I found the same kind of peace that any religion provides. And I made the independent choice to believe in something more informal than any one religion or any one book. I began to believe in humanity and individuals. I began to believe in my own power as an individual to make good and conscious decisions. And I always believed in the power of forgiveness.

I remember the first time I really lied to my father. I was 8 or 9. I told a lie, I don't remember what it was, but it caused me to be filled with guilt. I remember lying in my bed in my yellow and white striped bedroom and crying. I went downstairs to the kitchen where my parents sat discussing the kinds of things they discussed, and I, tearily and dramatically, told my father my lie. He did not chastise, he did not yell. He did not remain angry. He did not walk away from me. He forgave me, easily and honestly, and gave me a hug only fathers can give, and he continued to love me.

Certainly, the current situation in which I find myself is not the same as the lie I told my father as a child. But shouldn't the response be the same? If we cannot embrace individuals, humans, friends, after a lie, won't we end up somewhat lonely and suspicious? Isn't truth and comfort found in our ability to forgive?

I think I will continue to contemplate this. I might contemplate this in the most serene place I can think of in Washington DC this Sunday--the most gorgeous cathedral that overlooks this fair town. I have not made peace yet with the events of the last 5 days, but I need to. I think inside I forgive my former client, my former friend. And I know I need to forgive on the outside, and I need to tell her that.

Our lives remarkably complex. There are things in my life that I hold onto, that no one can see, that dictate choices I make. Some of those choices are noble and good, sometimes they're self serving and greedy. I cannot force blame, or anger, or ill will on this young woman, who was trying to find something better. I don't believe she came into this actively wanting to decieve us, to hurt us, to make us question the very beliefs we hold. I think she was desperate, and sad, and looking for something, searching for something better. And in the end, I not only can understand that, but I can forgive her for that.

I just need to discover how, and I am confident I will.

Reality

2008-04-13T22:05:00.002-04:00

Thursday, April 10, 2008:

My dad arrived this afternoon for a 2 day visit revolving around my very first hearing for my very first client in my professional career. My partner and I feel great--everything is in its place, all papers filed, completed, rehearsed. I've finished my 17 minute closing statement, added the finishing touches, and just finished rehearsing it for the last time until we're in court tomorrow and I actually give it in support of my client. It's emotional at times, there are paragraphs that are harder to get through than the ones that outline the pure law that's applicable to the case at hand.

My client is ready--she's nervous, we're all nervous--but it's the good kind of nervous, the kind that comes when you understand the gravity of the case at hand, when you realize that a 4 hour hearing will dictate the path of not only your life, but your infant child's as well. When you prepare to tell, in entirety, your entire history, filled with horror and sadness, struggle, and constant running.

We're ready--we've worked so damn hard in the last 3 months. We have done every single thing we can to make sure no stone is unturned, statements are compiled, research is done. I've spent more nights awake and at school in the last month than I have ever spent in my entire 12 years of schooling--but for something that is good and true, something I believe in, someone I believe in.

I sat in the 70 degree sunshine with my partner this afternoon and we talked about how lucky we were to have to the client we have--we talked about wanting to remain in their lives even after this hearing, watching the baby grow up, supporting them in their endeavors. We talked about the possibility of walking away from this with a win in our first case.

I'm excited. This is the kick-off of what I hope to be a long career after law school working for causes and individuals who I believe in, helping folks raise their voices, and allowing myself to be awed and inspired by individual stories of people who have lived lives far different from mine.

I feel good about what will happen, and where we will be in 14 hours. I am filled with hope.

Friday, April 11, 2008:

I don't know where to begin. I don't know where to end, or where it did end. I am still unclear as to how our work was unravelled so quickly, how our case violently departed from the path it had been on, how one person who we have come to trust and care about could deceive us so fully.

The judge in the case was supposed to be the wild card. My clinic had never had a case before him, and we had not been able to see him in action over the semester. Immigration judges vary in their...professionalism. There are some who treat the process as it should be treated: with respect for people coming before them, they're balanced and the process works as it should. There are A LOT of immigration judges who are the opposite. They decide cases before they hear them, they lack sensitivity, they lose sight of the fact individuals are sitting before them, and dehuanize the process.

The judge in the case turned out to be remarkable--he was kind--he was tough, but he was kind--he was professional, he treated our client with the utmost respect and dignity. He was soft spoken and while he was intimidation, it was not as a result of what he projected, but rather because of the position he filled. He treated my partner and me with respect, knowing this was the first time we had represented anyone in a court of law.

The preliminary matters were taken care of swiftly--we won some of the matters, we lost some, but we made great arguments and we hit a stride of comfort. The nervousness dissolved and we became comfortable with our own voices and representation. Our client did a remarkable job on direct examination. The judge asked questions and it was clear he wanted to grant asylum. We were filled with confidence, but not cockiness. My partner and I were moving well together, and as we closed our direct examination of our client, we cheered inside for our client and for her poise.

The government began their cross examination. Every question that was asked, we had anticipated. I made notes on my closing and for redirect. My partner did the same. 10 minutes in, 20 minutes in, we continued to feel good--this was as we had prepared for, and the client continued to remain calm.

And then it happened. It was about 10:15am. Hearing had been going full speed ahead for over 2 hours. And the government asked to approach the bench. She had impeachment evidence to introduce. We had no idea what it was, but we didn't think it could be anything we couldn't handle. How wrong we were.

I can't go into details, and I don't want to. But the evidence was devastating to the case. It was evidence that discredited everything my client had testified to all morning and all semester. It put every single detail she had recounted into question. And it was information that had been specifically withheld from us by the government.

As more and more questions were asked, more and more lies were told. We watched the tightly knit fabric we had knit unravel. We saw the demise not only of our case, but of the faith we had felt so strongly in our client not 2 hours before. Our brains raced with what we were hearing--we had no idea what to do, or say. I could not look at my client, sitting up there, lying. telling lies I knew were lies. Digging herself a hole that was so deep and wide I could barely see her anymore by the end of it.

We met with her after the hearing, mainly to find out what the hell was going on and to get her to just tell us the truth. We had to tell her the consequences she was facing as a result of what she had said. We had to get some sort of explanation. We had to find some sort of validation in this stranger who sat across from us. And we got none of it.

We got more lies. More denials. Every last glimmer of the client we believed we were representing disappeared. It was shocking.

Sunday, April 13, 2008:

We have withdrawn from representing my client further. The judge reserved his decision until a later date this summer to allow the government further time to investigate my former client's case.

We met with everyone today to tell them the decision to withdraw and give her an opportunity to sign a statement to correct the record from the false statements she made on the stand. Our ethical obligations force us to do this, and if she refused to correct the record herself, we would be obligated to do so for her.

Her story changed no less than three times during the course of our 60 minute meeting. It was one of the most emotionally difficult conversations I've ever had. And when the meeting was over we walked away from a woman we would have done anything to help 2 days ago.

This has been emotionally draining. It's been a great learning experience, for sure, but it's been a really really tough personal experience.

I feel betrayed. And I'm angry. I don't know what to believe and I don't know if anything my client told us over the last three months is true. I suspect there are truths, and part truths in her story, but I'm not confident that much of it is accurate. I do know that her story of the genocide, and her family, is not fully true. Not everyone died and it probably did not happen how she said it did.

But I'm not allowing this to make me cynical about this process. This does not ruin this kind of work for me, and I look forward to being able to start again. I know that there are a lot of people who need this kind of help, and I know that there are a lot of people who have come from places where they cannot go back. And I know that I can do this kind of work, and I can do it well. I don't know if we became to emotionally involved in this case. I don't think we did. I mean, how does one NOT become emotionally involved in cases like this. I also don't believe that living life with emotional distance from people is a worthwhile way to live. But it stings a little more when things like this happen.

I wish the destination we had reached had been better. I worry about the impact this will have not only on her case, but on her husband's and everyone else who is involved with her. I worry the most for the baby, an innocent bystander in all of this.

So case closed. Thanks to everyone who has been so supportive through the semester. I could not be more blessed with the friends and family in my life.

Those We Remember

2008-04-07T22:58:00.002-04:00

We seek refuge from a lot of things in life. We seek it from work, school, politics, the banalities of the daily grind. We seek it from the real world, responsibility, reality, fate. We rarely seek it from things people actually need the refuge for around the world.

This is because we're lucky. Every person reading this blog is lucky in some way or another. We're lucky because we might have amazing families, friends, a job, a roof over our head, metro cards in our pockets, a political opinion, a social opinion, an opinion about fashion, movies, music, pop culture, other cultures. We're lucky because some of us might have all of the above. We're lucky because we're allowed to have all of the above, to seek it out, to work for it, wish for it, write about it.

Most of us do not have a day that comes around once every 365 days, where they are forced to remember and mourn the death, gruesome and brutal, of their entire family. Or the following 100 days spent hiding in a basement.

But some of us do. And for those people, that once a year has come around this week.

The Rwandan genocide began 14 years ago today, April 7. 11% of the Rwandan population was wiped out in a 100 day killing spree that engulfed the entire country. Almost an entire ethnic group slaughtered. Sure, most of us have seen Hotel Rwanda or read We Wish to Inform You Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families. This is not an obscure genocide.

But it's been a little different for me this year. My client is the sole survivor in her family. She was 9 years old 14 years ago. And she has shared, in an eloquent, heartbreaking, empowering and raw way, her story and her life and her family with me this semester. Suddenly, the reality of this anniversary is a little more intense, and always will be from this year on.

So take a moment, and think about the things we seek refuge from, the things we are thankful for, the people in our lives, our families, our friends, and those who have saved us throughout our lives, even in the most seemingly insignificant ways. And then take a moment and think about those who sought refuge 14 years ago in churches, schools, basements, homes, friend's houses and fields, and the refuge they sought that did not save them.

And remember.

The Longest Days

2008-03-30T00:24:00.003-04:00

I've never shirked from hard work, particularly when it's work I feel passionately about. And in the last year, I've definitely been pushed to my limits in terms of how much of myself I'm willing to give to something without sacrificing myself. It's a hard line to balance, and I think a lot of people spend a lot of their life figuring out where that line lays for them.

This week has been a week I've never imagined--I've never had to imagine--in terms of how far I can push myself, and how willing I am to push myself, for someone else.

My client's hearing is on April 11. We have 700 pages of documents to submit by Monday. They have to be perfect. We are the first "team" to have a hearing this semester in our clinic, meaning our deadlines are accelerated more than anyone else's. I've spent a couple of nights at school this semester working on various aspects of our client's case with my partner, but I had no idea what I was walking into when I left my house Tuesday morning at 8am. I had no idea I would not return to my apartment until Friday morning at 5:12pm, having slept for 3 hours total since leaving, and almost losing my mind in the process.

I've learned a lot this week--there are times for sacrificing what you need for the sake of someone else. There are also times when you need to step back to look at the big picture to evaluate the situation properly. There are hard conversations that need to be had with people, and sometimes the hardest ones yield the greatest results. Immigration is never black and white--there are always motives, conversations, details that we will never know.

But there are also the less tangible aspects of life: intuition--something we are born with and we can never ignore, there is belief in the good that lies at the heart of everything in everyone, and there is simple human resolve.

Fatigue is powerful, but so is drive. I never, ever want to remain awake for as many hours as I did this past week. It makes you unable to extricate yourself from the weeds of what you're working on. It's isolating and it makes you crazy. By Friday, when we expected to hand in our final draft of the documents we had poured ourselves into, when we got a shock from the government attorneys at 9am, we felt a soul crushing misalignment of life. We learned that no matter how prepared you are, no matter how hard you work, no matter how much you believe, there are always twists in the road.

I went home on Friday and slept from 5:30pm until 8:30am today. Every plan we had before yesterday has changed, and the reality of the situation has morphed into something that is almost unrecognizable from what it was just yesterday. But, in the clarity of rest, the drive does not wane. And that's encouraging.

I've learned that we do what we can. We work as hard as we can, but the work that we do will not always determine the outcome of the case at hand. No matter what I do, how well I plan, how hard I work and how many hours I remain awake will not guarantee the outcome we desire.

In the end, everything I've learned reaffirms what I already know: There is never a fault in extending yourself farther than you thought you could. We don't know what will happen in the next 14 days. But in the end, we'll know that we worked our asses off, maybe have made some wrong decisions, tried to make as many best decisions as we could, but will always believe in the actions we took..

The next 11 day will be hard. Really hard. But I know I have it in me. And I suppose sleep can wait a while, right?

When I Grow Up....

2008-03-12T21:19:00.002-04:00

Here's what I'm going to do.

I'm not going to withhold knowledge and expertise I have on things. I mean, I figure, at some point in my life I'll have to be some sort of an expert on something that someone other than I care about, right?

Well you've heard it here first: When and if that time happens, I will happily participate in inquiries from honest and good law students who are trying to help someone. I will not brush them off like flies on my sleeve. I won't dismiss them rudely, telling them to read a chapter of my book rather to engaging in the work they're doing, even if, after that engagement, I realize my knowledge won't be of the kind of use that they're looking for. I will give people the same respect that a few generous souls have given to my partner and me, even though those generous people could not help us as we had hoped they could.

I won't ignore people, even if it's the 100th email I've received that day. And I won't hide behind a resume/portrait/profile like the wizard did in Oz.

We can't help people all the time, but we can always show them courtesy and respect without being dismissive.

And that's all I have to say about that.

The Souls We Connect With

2008-03-10T23:10:00.002-04:00

Have you ever stumbled upon the life of a person you've never met but feel like you share a bit of a soul with? It happened to me today and I'm now voraciously researching a woman I would have liked to share a space with for even a moment in life.

I met today with a former U.S. Ambassador, and a woman who lived in Rwanda for the years leading up to the genocide. My partner and I had the amazing fortune to ask her questions and listen to her story of the life she led in Rwanda, get her insights, pick her brain. I sat captivated by the knowledge she shared with us, and of the memories that clearly still haunt her about the beginning of April, 1994. There were times when she would recount specific moments in time after President Habyarimana's plane was shot down signally the beginning of the 100 day massacre, the country spiraling out of control, the U.S. refusal to act, and her attempt to save a friend and colleague by allowing him to come over her wall to her compound as Hutu militia hunted and eventually killed him as he hung from her wall attempting to arrive at safety, and her frustration, regret, and lack of understanding were palpable.

She told us a lot of stories. Some that gave us pause as the one above, some that were heartwarming and highlighted the goodness in so many people, and one that got me researching and caused me to stumble onto the life of a woman named Rosamund Carr. Here is a link to a write up that was done following her death in 2006. And there is so much more information out there.

I think she's a lady I would have liked. I know she's someone I would have liked to meet. She is certainly a soul to be emulated, one to learn from, and an example of what one person can do to change the world.

Never Again

2008-03-08T23:54:00.002-05:00

We say, as a country, never again. But we are cowards.

We stand by and watch the horror of Darfur unfold, but we take no action.

We allow our civil liberties to be depleted, but we sound no fury.

We watch, complacently, as our government searches wildly for enemies that do not exist, while our brothers are slaughtered.

We stand, silently aside, watching our world deteriorate, but we only see those with benefits.

I feel sad for us. And that's all I have to say.

Actually, it isn't. take a minute. Take 20, and go to www.youtube.com and search "Devil Came on Horseback". You don't even need Netflix. you can watch it for free from your computer. Watch it, and think. And be angry. And indignant. Or just watch it. Never again...until now. God help us all.

Poem

2008-03-03T20:42:00.002-05:00

Things fall at your doorstop at the most unexpected times. This was given to me today by a solid and supportive gal. And I don't think I've read anything recently that has captured the truth that this poem does in relation to the battle I am engaged in. Enjoy.

IF.....

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

--kipling

Appreciation

2008-03-03T13:56:00.002-05:00

Blogging is interesting. You "meet" people through the pages of your words who share a similar sense of release that comes with pouring yourself onto a computer screen. My all time favorite new friend, GirlTuesday, and I share a common "real life" friend in her smallish state so our meeting was not completely coincidental. But since getting to know her from her blog has made me, quite frequently, do a double take at the similarities we share.

She posted, a few days ago, a lovely poem by ee cumings. Everyone should read it--once again she's posted something that has personally come at the most exact time for me. I am looking forward to the day (that's coming soon) where we get to sit across a table and chat face to face.

Houseguests

2008-03-02T00:36:00.002-05:00

So I spoke about being a little lonely in my last blog. Part of the reason is that I come home every night and am welcomed by the company of my television in the background or the internet. I know, it sounds pretty pathetic, but it's kind of the way my life is right now.

This past week I had one of my best friend's from Mali stay with me--it was unexpected, and I was asked to be hospitable after being awake for 26 hours, but I could not gladder (is that a word?) I said yes.

My friend had keys to my building and apartment since he's stayed with me before. It was delightful to have someone at home when I got home, to chat with, to vent to, someone who very much understands that trials that go along with international work. But not only international work, work that really means something to you.

This morning we woke up and my friend went to get bagels and coffee. We spent the next two hours reminiscing about Mali and talking about the life we led together there. We talked about the reality of my case, and for the first time in a long time I talked about the grand and real fears I had surrounding it. My friend has a way of quietly reassuring and affirming the fears I have--while ever so strongly supporting what I'm doing.

I have a lot of support in this endeavor--my family being the most devout--but for a few days it was comforting to have my friend here.

A lot has happened this week. Most of it negative. The world of immigration is fickle, and it is always a struggle. I still don't understand how a country founded on immigrants can be so blind to the pressing needs those seeking refuge as to turn them away at the gates.

It's comforting having a friend in town. If for no other reason than the sheer familiarity of the space where you exist--a sort of shout out to the fact that you're not going insane. I already miss my friend, as I sit here in a quietly peaceful apartment. Having company that soothes and understands is the most priceless there is.

Coming Down From Being Up

2008-02-28T02:20:00.001-05:00

This semester has been a toughie on a lot of levels. Academically it's been intense, but I've not regretted one decision I've made, particularly the decision to take part in this clinic and to have the chance to represent my first client.

It's been really, intensely, truly emotionally difficult. It's difficult to look at my client and realize my partner and I are responsible for her case. It's difficult legally--figuring out the claims we'll make and how we'll support them against seasoned lawyers and judges. It's been difficult from a friendship perspective--feeling really isolated and lonely while all my friends are enjoying their last semester of law school.

I don't know if one of the difficulties has been more difficult than another. They are fundamentally different on a lot of levels. I've developed an emotional connection to my client that is exhilarating and terrifying. On the one hand, I feel truly connected to a cause I believe fully in, and I believe in my client. On the other hand, and on a somewhat harder hand, I feel like I have become really affected by her story. I remember this from the refugee camp--hearing a story and having your heart break a little bit with every probing question asked. Realizing, as each question is answered candidly, the gravity of the work that is being done. Feeling like, at the end of the day, it's hard to separate yourself from your client. I've spent countless nights lying awake thinking about her. About her story. Dreaming about aspects of her story. And they're not good dreams. They're devastating and jolt me awake only to find myself securely scattered between sheets and my comforter.

I guess the above difficulty is directly related to another: feeling a little isolated from my best friends. My gals are the best that exist, but this has been a lonely semester. A lot of time has been spent in my apartment, getting home from school at 10:30 or 11pm on a Friday night. I sometimes wonder if this is foreshadowing of the next few years. I think this is particularly difficult this semester as it is so emotionally tough--both because of my client and the innate fear I feel in my own abilities as an advocate. I've never done this. I've never defended anyone aside from myself. I've never had to sit in the silence that follows a series of questions to determine whether or not my client was a virgin when she was brutally raped. I've had to sit with the stories I've heard, but I don't think I've ever been so connected to the outcome of something as this.

I was at school today from 11am yesterday until about 3:45pm today working on my client's case. I've not slept yet, 36 hours after last waking up. I can't seem to wind down. I've resorted to a glass of wine (or two) with the hopes that will do the trick.

It's hard to come down from being up, I've learned. I stood outside the Law School this morning at 4am, gazing at the haze that hangs over the city on the misty winter/early spring day, indulging in a habit that is admittedly gross, but I'm addicted to nonetheless. It made me wonder, in that quiet sort of moment, if this is what I'm made for. I guess I wonder that a lot. I mean, I KNOW I'm not made for corporate law, but I do wonder if I am made for this.

In the 2.5 years since starting law school, I've never felt so dedicated or emotionally invested in anything as I have in this case. I don't think that's strange, considering the past 5 semesters have consisted largely of lecture classes while this semester consists largely of client representation. But it's more than that--for a moment I feel emotionally invested in the law. Maybe in a person. Certainly in a person.

I wish I had a Yoda to direct me. At times I would settle for just about anyone. But I know that the reality is that I have to rely on myself. It's been a slow lesson to learn, I guess. But it does not make me less lonely. And at the end of the day, or 36 hours, that's kind of how it is. We all struggle with how to deal with the hard in our lives. I'm still working out how to deal with the hard in this case. But it's coming. I promise...And you know what? Talking to my dad at 7:15am, 22 hours after waking up, sometimes is priceless. It's strange, I did not mean to end with this. But there are definitely voices that give reassurance, love, support and, most importantly, understanding. All in all, it's not a bad way to "start" the day. Or end it, with that memory. There is strength in those who unconditionally support.

My New Favorite Procrastination Website

2008-02-17T13:01:00.002-05:00

This is hilarious. Everyone should read it. And laugh hard.

That's all for today.

What Do You Do When....

2008-02-16T01:07:00.003-05:00

The Judge you're arguing before is a complete asshole?

There are wrinkles in every case, whether it's the client who won't cooperate, or witnesses you can't find, or evidence that is unobtainable. But what if the wrinkle in the case is that your judge actually does not like asylum seekers, or immigrants for that matter? Or, in our case, student representatives. What do you do when cards are stacked against you before you even walk in the courtroom?

I spent the day emailing practitioners in the last jurisdiction where my judge spent the majority of his time. Email after email to people in private practice who have spent time representing asylum seekers pro bono. Who I am hoping have advocated before my judge. Who can give me some insight into this person's demeanor on the bench. Email after email that will most likely be ignored. See, we can't get firsthand experience observing my judge. He does not allow student representatives to observe his proceedings. He does not allow anyone to. This is rare for judges.

One email this afternoon did not go ignored. In fact, it was answered within 5 minutes of my sending it. To a man who has a booming law practice in the large city where my judge once practiced. And who has represented myriad asylum seekers pro bono.

Dear Sir:
This is who I am. This is what I'm doing. This is why I write, for the slim chance you may have had a case in front of this person. With the slim hope you'll give me the time of day.
Most Sincerely, DisgruntledLawStudent.

I received a reply instantaneously.

Dear DLS: I have not, sadly, represented anyone in front of this person. But you know what? I am a member of a list-serve of lawyers who surely have. May I post this request? By the way, keep fighting the good fight. I support you. Most thankfully, AmazingLawyer.

Dear AL: Thank you. DLS.

There is something comforting in the small community in the U.S. that does this kind of work. And what I am slowly learning is that the people who do asylum work have a network of people who think in the same way we all do: We can make a difference. We might not be able to change the world, but we can change lives.

On the eve of a 6 day weekend (faculty retreat), I left school at 10:30pm. Every minute was worth it, and every minute I thought of my client, the others who are doing the same work as I, and I know that we can be successful. But lordy, will it be hard.

I fear, at times, I am not strong enough for the work I am doing. Emotionally, that is. I met with my advisor today and he said, in his ever supportive way, that we are doing a phenomenal job. And that he has grown connected to our client through us. And that he will be unimaginably saddened if we don't win for a client who so clearly deserves asylum. The pressure remains on us. I just hope we're doing everything we can for her. I think we are.

Stories

2008-02-10T23:51:00.001-05:00

I am an avid reader--especially when I have lots and lots of time and days spent listlessly lying on the couch in Vermont, or on a beach chair in Maine, or in the middle of Africa--whether it be West or East, watching the lizards pass the time in the same lazy way that I am.

But the stories I love the most come from my sister. Her writing is electric, poignant, personal and always from the heart. A lot of the stories seep with remnants from her favorite writers, but they are never stolen from them. There is influence in the authors we love the most--whether it's the magical realism that stream from Allende and Marquez, or the subtle sadness of life or times past that infuses Plath, Steinbeck or Woolf.

But my favorites of my sister's repertoire are those that chronicle the stories that she has experienced or encountered. She is witty and loose in the stories she tells, and animated like no other person I've met. She has spent years studying and dissecting the greats, in an effort to locate her own voice. And I was fortunate enough a few years ago to be home, somewhere between Peace Corps ended and Law School started, when she was completing her undergraduate degree in Vermont.

I've written about my sister's and my relationship before on this blog--the slow movement from sisters to acquaintances to genuinely great friends. When I had those months at home when I came home from Mali and was applying to law school, generally getting used to the pop culture, consumer based first world life that is the United States, I had the opportunity to be a critic, an invited critic, of my sister's writing.

Her portfolio was personal, raw, and alive. She would read her stories to me, and ask me what I thought. I have never felt so personally involved in the process that is creative writing than the times when she would sit in her desk chair in the room we shared for years, with me perched on her bed, one hand propping my head up, and she would read to me. Read from her book of stories she had developed painstakingly over the past few years. Some of them were so overtly personal that they made me shiver with emotion, and some, some of her best fiction, were crafted in a way that made the reader become so invested in the characters, the places, every image would be perfectly projected into my mind to the point that when the story would end, I would be craving more, but left feeling like I knew where these characters were heading.

Occasionally she posts snippets, mere glimpses, of these stories on her blog. She also includes simply hilarious stories of her current life as an English teacher in rural North Carolina. She posted recently a shortened account of a 12 hour delay in Chicago. I'll never forget when she revealed this story to my family. She read it aloud after her harrowing, multi-day trip on train across country, over Christmas when we were all home. She had my entire family in stitches. My favorite part, and one that remains even in its shortened version, is her names for the different people she encountered. My favorite, of course, being "Chicken Tenders".

She told me when we were home this past Christmas that when her computer crashed she lost many of her best stories, some of my absolute favorites. One of which, called Kid Fears, I thought could have been easily published in any literary magazine. I think she's starting to reconstruct those, and it fills my heart with joy.

The Kindness of Strangers. Take Two

2008-02-07T17:49:00.000-05:00

I have to share this story since it was a MAJOR gain for my partner and me today, so I hope it makes you want to stand up and give someone a high five like it did us.

One of the hard things about all of our cases this semester is getting the good, solid corroborating evidence that is needed to back up a client's case. It's important in any client representation, not just asylum cases. But the method of obtaining this kind of information is doubly as difficult when most of it is sitting soundly in your client's country of origin. Or in the brains of experts who we don't know and don't know us. Or it just doesn't exist. We've sent email after email to people asking if they would speak to us, answer questions, be a resource and we've come up empty each time (though we're not above stalking people, and frankly, that's what it's coming to and we're ok with that).

Today we had a meeting with one of my partner's friends who spent the summer in Rwanda working for a group called Voices of Rwanda and had the opportunity to witness some of the Gacaca court proceedings while he was there. The Gacaca court proceedings are central to our client's case, so we've been working to learn as much about them, the good and bad, the critiques on the system, the impact on communities and get real feedback from people who have witnessed them and studied them to help solidify our argument for our client. My partner's friend gave us great information, photos and video clips he took, and recommended that we see a documentary that was made in 2006 called In The Tall Grass that revolves around these trials.

After the meeting we continued to research and work, and I started exploring methods by which to obtain a copy of this film. Not available on Netflix. Not in our library or the libraries I could find in DC. The website lists a few different organizations that reportedly were selling the video, so I clicked on each one. I think two of the 5 links worked. So I started making phone calls as there was no information on either website indicating that they were indeed selling this video. Here's the scenario of the first phone call:

Phone is ringing. It's picked up by what I assume is the receptionist and I say the following: "Hello, I'm calling because I'm looking for a copy of In the Tall Grass and I was told that your organization was selling copies of this documentary" to which the receptionist replies: "Uh, I don't know that film, and I'm pretty sure we're not selling it and never have, but let me connect you to the woman who would know" "Thank you so much" I respond. I'm transfered to a line and it rings a couple of times. At this point, I'm pretty sure I'm being screened, but regardless, I know I can leave a message. The voicemail picks up and this is what it says:
"Hello, you have reached XXXXXX. I appreciate your call and will be working in EUROPE UNTIL JUNE 2008. For urgent matters, please call my European number at xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx. Thank you."

Umm. Am I insane or was I totally just given a huge f*ck you by the receptionist? With that lead in the toilet I then call organization number two, which I now am seriously in love with. I give the same spiel to the receptionist there and she cheerily connects me to someone else, who actually answers the phone. My (well rehearsed, at this point) speech is then given to her and she says "OOHH man, that's a toughie. I've definitely heard of the documentary but we actually never sell them, but you know, let me connect you with Gwen in Media, I bet she will be able to give you some ideas!" "Great! Thanks!" "Oh, and if you're cut off, here's her extension. Just call her back directly. She's great and will definitely help you!" So I wait as I'm being connected and another receptionist picks up. "Hi, can you please connect me to Gwen, my name is DisgruntledLawStudent" to which this nice lady immediately says sure! and connects me. When Gwen picks up I tell her my deal again and she confirms that the film is FANTASTIC but that they were not selling it. BUT! instead of hanging up, she put me on hold so she could try and find a contact number of someone who could help me! When she came back on she was apologetic saying she didn't have the information she thought she did, reiterated how sorry she was, suggested a few different routes, wished me luck and we said out goodbyes. Dear Gwen, thank you for not being a complete a**hole.

So. One of the routes she suggested was amazon.com since apparently a lot of documentaries that are not released end up there. So I go onto amazon and find that they DO have a copy and they're selling this one hour documentary for the reasonable price of....$99.00. You've got to be kidding. We cannot afford that! Feeling more and more deflated, my partner and I consult and talk out our options. I decided that I had done too much already to just give up, so I decided to find out who made it and email him directly.

So I did some more research and found the name and email of the director/producer and wrote an email basically explaining our situation, describing the importance of the video, the fact it was being hocked for a hundred bucks on amazon and asking him to help us. I also threw in a request that he let us call and ask him specific questions since he had spent so much time observing the process. I mean, it can't hurt, right? What is one more ignored request to add to a quickly growing pile.

About 4 minutes later my google mail popped up with a new email. It was none other than the lovely director who said he would be happy to send us a free copy, to chat with us etc and that it would "be best to talk before Feb. 13, since I'll be in Haiti after that...".

YES!

Here is the letter back to him I immediately composed in my head and edited before I sent it: Dear Mr. Metcalfe. You are delightful and kind and have reaffirmed my faith in humanity. Wanna get married? But don't answer that till after Valentine's day. You might jinx our happy life together.

Anyway. The point of this very long story is this folks: A) it never hurts to ask; B) not everybody sucks; C) Stick with the bleeding heart humanitarians and not the academics and things will be just fine.

High fives all around...

'Tis The Season?

2008-02-07T12:35:00.000-05:00

I've had an interesting debate with some of my gals over the past couple of weeks about whether or not there are "seasons" for beginning and ending relationships. We came across this question recently as it was seeming to us that everyone we knew was falling out of relationships. Some more gracefully than others.

While discussing this over brunch one Sunday about 3 weeks ago, one of our friends who holds a high position at a rather (very) well known web company nodded enthusiastically when the relationship season question was posed. She insisted that her company has actually done studies on this--and have found that there is a higher number of breakups during the time between New Years and just before Valentine's Day (we'll consider this the Bermuda Triangle of relationship seasons) than any other time of the year. While we were all slightly cautious toward embracing this idea, it all did make us wonder if we were all engulfed in this tricky and unkind Bermuda Triangle.

Between that conversation and now, the path of destruction that this season has made has left few people in my close and far flung circles quite battered. It seems as though every time I run into someone, pick up the phone, shoot an IM of Google Chat to a friend there is a story on the other end that generally revolves around a (clearly blind) boy, uncharacteristic behavior from that boy, and then said boy crushing my gals to a pulp. While I was cautious a couple of weeks ago to embrace this idea, I can't say I am any longer. (And to anyone wondering: No, this has not happened to me this time around. Apparently you actually have to date in order to attempt to precariously make your way through breakup season).

Some of the damage has been far more debilitating than others. I have a couple of friends who were just moving along in a new relationship, everything calm and smooth and then BAM. They're in the Triangle. I have other friends who are a little more heartbreaking. One whose three year relationship came to a bloody end very abruptly. I think it will take her a little longer to recover from the effects of the Triangle.

While I loathe nothing more than Valentine's Day, this year I'm actually looking forward to its arrival so the fog that has engulfed all my friends can finally lift.

Check Your Emotion At The Door

2008-02-06T19:49:00.000-05:00

This is what we did in Dadaab. I mean, we had to, in order to get through 8 excruciating interviews a day. In my current case, it's not as easy as that.

My partner and I spent hours outlining and identifying our goals for our client, case and semester at the beginning of this process. One of them was to remain emotionally connected...and removed. We reasoned this by systematically telling ourselves that the only way to remain objective and do our jobs to the best of our ability was to keep a distance emotionally from the stories that were shared with us, the life in Rwanda that was unceremoniously yanked from her in 1994 and the life she rebuilt both in Rwanda before she was forced to flee and now in America, finally finding peace in a very distant land.

But over the past three weeks it's been more difficult than anticipated to keep this distance...distant. From meeting our client's husband briefly for him to pick up papers at school and being greeted with huge hugs 3 weeks after meeting them, to entering their home at least once a week to conduct interviews to allow them to keep their newborn safe and sound so she can grow stronger, to listening to the gruesome details, the nitty gritty ones most recently of the trauma she endured, and being able to look at her, with a shakily controlled voice and honestly tell her what a remarkable, strong, and courageous woman she is has made it hard to keep this emotional distance.

My partner and I have been lucky in the respect that our client is...a dream. She is credible. She has a solid story. She remains, to this day, stoic in the choices she made that lead to her to actually haveing credible fear of returning to her home. She is unapologetic for the fact that she chose to harness her grief, pain and loss into helping other orphans who were in a far worse position than her. After losing the last family member she had, she has remained devoted to making sure that the people who perpetrated crimes that we can barely imagine are properly punished.

And we are lucky because, as we realize more and more each day, we are in the presence of a truly phenomenal woman. There is a remarkable aura of hope in this 22 year old woman. There is a remarkable aura of peace. And forgiveness. She has channeled her devastating past to create a future that is paved in nothing but loveliness. And my partner and I are lucky enough to be present for some of that.

I am not a religious person. I was raised Episcopalian, and find great comfort at times, such as my good friend's wedding at the National Cathedral, in the peace that organized religion can provide. But I am by no means devout. Or even occasionally wistful for my days of weekly church or Sunday school. But I am spiritual, in a way that I can only feel. I believe in fate, in karma, and in being a good person. And I truly believe that the adversity we face makes us stronger and more resilient people if we open ourselves up and allow it to.

One of my favorite books is "By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept" By Paulo Cohelo. He's most well know for the Alchemist, which is a fine book, but not, to me, in the same league as Piedra. I've been thinking a lot about the book in the recent week because of one section. And it makes me think of my client, and really, all of us:

"There is suffering in life....and there is defeat. No one can avoid defeat. That is why
it is better to lose a few battles in the fight for your dreams than to be defeated without
ever knowing what you're fighting for."

And isn't that true? My client has based her life on a fight. The good fight. And lord, has she been defeated. But I cannot emotionally distance myself from her or this case when I open my eyes and realize that she has never, ever, stopped fighting for her dream.

And I begin to feel again how blessed I am to be her representative. And her friend.

This is Why

2008-02-02T15:17:00.000-05:00

I vote Obama 2008.

http://www.dipdive.com/

Yes We Can repair the world. There is nothing false about Hope.

The Good One Liners

2008-01-27T22:04:00.001-05:00

There are times in every gal's life when the right path is not always evident. Do I buy that pair of $325.00 Michael Kors shoes on my student loans, or do I not? (Not, P.S.). Do I go out on a date with someone who is completely not my style? Do I walk back into a relationship that may, or may not, be what I'm looking for? Do I attend the nuptuals of someone who I can't reconcile my feelings for?

Whatever question we wrestle with, the decision is never arrived at before extensive consultations with the troop of gals. The Michael Kors decision was made, at the better advice of H, after an hour walking around the Barney's in DC admiring the beauty of my feet, staring at my (very full) credit cards, going back and forth at the cost/use ratio of the shoes, and then finally forcing H to take my hand and drag me out of the store, swearing she would not let me back in for the shoes for at least...one month. I never bought the shoes, and my (again, very full) shoe closet is none the wiser or emptier.

But those are the easier decisions we make with the consultation of our girlfriends. The harder ones hit at the core of who we are as people, adults, women, individuals. And no matter what the take is of the group, they are often largely independent decisions that are arrived at from a lot of soul searching.

I've been fairly content, as of late. I saw that movie everyone has been raving about, you know, the one about teenage pregnancy called Juno, and I loved it, as, like, everyone in America has. But there's this one line that's particularly striking to me. Juno's pregnant, and her dad says "I didn't think you were this kind of girl, Juno" (or something like that) and she responds "I don't really think I know what kind of girl I am".

I loved that. And empathized with it, thinking back on age 16. And the craziest thing was I identified with it, at age 28.

I wonder at what point you begin to know what kind of person you are, and if it varies for everyone. I see my friend M, who has a baby and husband and house identifying who she is through that and many other things. I see my cousin J continuing to define herself not through the negative but through this amazing empire she continues to create and dominate throughout the U.S. And it's inspiring. But I don't know if I know what kind of girl I am yet.

What do we define ourselves based on? Surely not relationships, but what? Every day I stare at a wedding invitation from one of my very best friends, an invitation to a joyous occasion, and I can't bring myself to fill it out, because I know my feelings for this person are not wholly reconciled. I continue to shove it farther and farther under my pile of unread mail, hoping it will disappear. But it doesn't. I mean, I know what my response is, it's just a matter of filling it out. My friend C said she would fill it out and seal it up and send it for me, and I think I might take her up on the offer. But I am left with asking myself again, if I can't do this, what kind of person am I?

I guess I'll start by what I know, and maybe we can narrow it down from there:
1. I know I'm a great friend.
2. I think I'm a fairly passable sibling.
3. I am a humanitarian.
4. I am, again, passably intelligent.
5. I am loved by more people than I can count on 20 hands.
6. I know I have great friends.
7. I have the most amazing family (both immediate and extended) that a gal could dream of.
8. I am alive.

In the grand scheme of life, that list of eight is not so bad. But does it tell what kind of person I am? Not really. There's this great song I've been listening to by Regina Spektor called "Hotel Song" and it's been my contemplative rhyme, as of late (ignore the references to cocaine). I've been thinking a lot about who I am, and I have yet to come to a solid conclusion. So I guess like Juno, I don't really know what kind of a girl I am. But I suppose life is about continuing to discover that.

The Kindness of Strangers

2008-01-26T10:26:00.001-05:00

I am realizing quickly, this semester, how many remarkably obstacles there are in representing an asylum seeker/immigration law. It's fascinating (and often infuriating) and I already believe that I am becoming a better lawyer through the process that our clinic forces us to go through.

One of the greatest challenges I've faced is language issues with our client. My client speaks Kinyarwandan. A little French. A smattering of Swahili. And basic English. It's not easy to find translators, and it can be quite frustrating when you realize (as some of my colleagues have) that they have clients who are really only fluent in a very obscure local language--and that the current translator they have brought has some sort of conflict of interest that will make it difficult to continue to use said translator.

Language barriers aren't new to me--having lived in a village where only about 3000 people in the world spoke out dialect of the language, it can be hugely frustrating. To be in a country where you can't find anyone who can speak the dialect can kill an asylum case. It's a serious issue, and we've all been learning how to deal with it.

When I came home from Peace Corps I joined a couple of the PC listserves. Mali Peace Corps, Peace Corps general, whatever was out there. I have never checked the threads, until I actually needed to post something myself.

This week I have posted 3 dire requests for translators--for my client once and for two other classmates later. The response I've gotten is incredible. I've been put in touch with Nweh, Mina and Kinyarwandan speakers all over the US. I've received words of wisdom, advice, encouragement from people I have never met, but who have been PCVs as well. And I've never been more grateful for the outpouring of kindness from strangers.

In the capitol city, there's a saying: If you throw a stone you'll actually hit two returned peace corps volunteers: the stone will hit one and ricochet off them and end up hitting another. Everyone in this town, it seems, has done Peace Corps. It's not novel or really that interesting at all here. But let me tell you, it has been the most remarkable experience having all of these people who don't know anything about me, step forward and offer their help, or friend's names. All because we each made the decision to spend just over 2 years as volunteers all over the world.

I've often said, and I will continue to say, I would not trade those two years for anything in the world. And frankly, I would do it again in an equally as challenging community. And the experience I've had this week solidifies it even more. Having a group of strangers move to act for my (and my client's) benefit has been profound. And I am grateful to each and every one of them. I think I'll start checking the threads from this point on. You never know when you'll be able to help someone else, and I would hate to miss an opportunity to return some of the kindness I've received from strangers.

Thanks, I Think I'll Reserve My Sympathy

2008-01-23T23:33:00.000-05:00

I've been greeted with shock in the last 24 hours over my lack of...well...horror...over the death of Heath Ledger. A 28 year old man who had made it big in Hollywood. A man my age, who died in some unknown fashion. A man who had every resource, every outlet, every ability to reach out and get help for whatever demons he was dealing with.

I can't bring myself to apologize for this lack of response right now. I have a hard time watching young Hollywood drink themselves/drug themselves/overindulge themselves to death, all the while having the American public expressing more shock and horror over every emerging celebrity downfall with more emotion than they show toward the emerging situation in say...Darfur. Or Somalia. Or Iraq, to name a few.

What makes it even more difficult to feel great empathy in this situation is the fact that I have 2.5 months to figure how to be an advocate for someone who actually needs empathy and attention. That person being my client. Who fled from Rwanda. Whose entire family was slaughtered. Who is looking to me to help her remain in a country where her life is no longer in danger. Who does not have any other options other than law students fighting tooth and nail for her asylum.

I do feel sadness for the family of Heath Ledger. And for the passing of someone who is as young as he was. But frankly, I cannot emote the same sadness and despair for this person as I do for the 276 people (yes, that's a real number) and their families who were killed, captured or wounded in Iraq in the past three days, or the estimated 500 people killed in Darfur every day, or the 750,000+ people killed in Rwanda in three short months between April and July of 1994.

Does that make me insensitive, perhaps. But I will not apologize for that.

This is Disturbing

2008-01-21T13:22:00.000-05:00

So, if anyone follows the gossip blogs as much as I do, then you'll be familiar with the slow morph of Katie Holmes' from cute, nice, Dawsons Creek girl to creepy, zombie like wife of Tom Cruise. I mean, you kind of wonder how anyone has the much power over anyone else, but it's fairly clear she has become some sort of dazed Stepford wife.

But that's not what is truly disturbing. THIS is. It's the Tom Cruise Scientology video that has apparently caused quite a stir, and you can kind of see why. For the majority of the video, and certainly in the first minute or so, he's not even speaking in coherent sentences. Almost like he's possessed.

If you have 8 minutes or so, I highly recommend it. If you've ever wondered where cults start, this is a good place to begin the investigation...

Bravery

2008-01-14T16:46:00.000-05:00

While today is the first day of classes for the semester, I feel like I have been immersed in school much longer because of my clinic, which is not a bad thing. I feel, for the first time in a long time, that I am doing work that I really love and that is truly gratifying--and while my shiny new day planner is already crammed with meetings, appointments, interviews and deadlines, I feel a certain lightness that has been absent for some time.

The last 6 days has been centered around learning about the client and her background, and getting to know my partner with whom I'll be traveling down this path with all semester. The clinic pairs people completely randomly--and with full disclosure of the randomness--and emphasizes that one of the main aspects of this clinic, aside from advocacy, is interpersonal relationship building and management. The director and fellows make no promises that the pairs will become best friends, or have similar personalities or complimentary ones, and they make no apologies in advance for issues that arise in the working relationship. They do stress the necessity of working through, in an honest manner, issues that arise as they arise, all as part of the learning process.

One of the things I admire about this clinic is their openness with the students. They work from a methodology of problem solving, teamwork, creativity and support--a methodology that is not found in most typical law school classes, and one that is not meant to exist. For the first time since beginning law school, there is no competition among groups or individuals--we have a common goal, and that is to achieve the best possible outcome for all of our clients while fulfilling personal goals we set for ourselves at the beginning of the semester. It's unique, and I love it.

My teammate, who I will most likely talk about a lot on here, and I have spent a lot of time together in the past 6 days. We have spent time not only getting to know each other, but getting to know our client and her background through the papers and research we have done. I could not ask for a more fantastic person to work with.

My teammate asked me, a few days ago, "what is bravery". What a question. One of the things I love about her is that we have the same philosophical personalities--we question what is put before us in an innocent and probing manner.

Bravery. It's such a concept, I think. Can any of us begin to understand the gravity of what it means to watch a family, our family, be slaughtered? Can we understand the meaning in fighting to keep our father's and mother's and sister's persecutors in jail? Can we ever begin to feel the weight that is the death of our family?

I gain strength and ambition and true passion from my family. And we are meant to effect some sort of empathy. It's remarkably difficult....and it's our job.

Our client is brave. She is brave beyond remarks. There is stoicism and grace in this world--and to see a woman embrace, on paper those things is humbling. I hope to learn volumes from her, and I think I will..

Fear

2008-01-10T23:26:00.000-05:00

This is the first of many subsequent posts that will focus on the work I am doing this semester in representing my first client, a female asylum seeker from Rwanda. First of all, I assure every reader that what I say in these postings is completely legal--I will not give away any identifying information of my client and these posts will, I expect, focus more on my experiences rather than the gory details of my client. But at times, those might play a part as well. Just wanted to assuage any concerns that I am acting in an unethical manner talking about this. I assure you, I am not, so here we go...

Fear. What is fear? I mean, we can all define it for ourselves. I'm afraid of spiders and heights, and we all have our own individual definitions of what fear is for ourselves. But what does it mean to really fear something? Is every fear equal to every other, simply because it is such an individual emotion? Are there some fears that are fundamental to all of us, that are shared, and thus possibly more weighty than others?

The immediate answer is OF COURSE. My fear of spiders does not equal in weight to someone who is battling cancer to their fear of death. Or to a seeker of asylum who has witnessed atrocities you and I cannot imagine, but that are so indelible in their minds that the mere mention of sex, or rape, or torture or siblings can illicit an emotional response. And if you add to that a continued terrorizing for more than a decade, fear can take on a whole different meaning.

I learned, while in Dadaab, that fear often manifests itself in desperation--desperation to alleviate themselves of the acts that evoke such an emotion. Desperation, in turn, results in doing anything they can to remove themselves from the environment that is the catalyst of such emotion. Doing anything results, often, but not always, in fabrication of details. Fear is a tricky thing, indeed.

I reviewed my client's case file for the first time tonight. The interviews with the Asylum Officer (AO) who denied her asylum claim initially, leading to her placement in my hands. I looked at this initial file, which was thin and which will become thicker and more compelling as the semester moves forward, with a remarkable amount of fear. Here it is, sitting before me, page after page, a client's life. A person's life. A woman's fear. And the true knowledge of the responsibility that has been given to me has begun to sink in.

We all (I hope. Oh good God I hope) know what happened in Rwanda. And if you're sketchy on the details, I encourage you to read "We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families" by Philip Gourevitch--because it is a history that we should all be aware of. Entire families, entire villages being slaughtered. In homes, in town squares. In churches where people looked to their God, their Christian God, for protection. Children who watched their parents and siblings murdered in the most basic and gruesome ways. Governments who sat back and allowed this to happen. Who continue to allow this to happen. This is the history of my client. This is the fear she possesses.

You'd think, on first glance, that this case should be a slam dunk. I mean come on, it's RWANDA for god's sake. But the laws of asylum are complex and they are not friendly, or in favor of those seeking refuge. It's been 13 years since the end of the official genocide, but the fear persists, and for good reason. As we have all seen with the case of Kenya recently, governments are fragile, particularly those that have had a history of adversity. Rwanda is no exception, and the killing and torture and persecution have not ended.

I think fear can be healthy, in certain situations. I think the fear that I have about my upcoming endeavor is absolutely essential, acting as an impetus for me to perform every task to my absolute best ability. So I am not ashamed of it. And it's important to respect fear--while recognizing the many faces it can take.

This will be a battle...but one that I am ready to take on. Because as cheesy as this may sound, for every fear there is truth, it's just a matter of finding it.

WOOHOO!!!

2008-01-09T18:00:00.000-05:00

I got assigned my first client today! A woman from Rwanda..

Everything is starting and I'm wonderfully excited!

The Beginning of the End...YAY

2008-01-08T23:55:00.000-05:00

I have posted, over the past year and a half, many posts disclosing my reservations about my time in law school. I often wonder how I got into a school as prestigious as my l'il law school. And I often wonder if I deserve to be here. But the bottom line is that I am here, I have tried to make the most of it (in my non-overachiever way). I have kept my eye on the reason why my law school was #1 on my list. Today, I get the chance to begin to represent a client seeking asylum in the US. Their last effort. I am their last chance. This is what it comes down to, in my last 4 months. And I could not be more ecstatic.

I start my final semester tomorrow with my 10 credit clinic orientation. It is a moment that I have worked for fatefully since my parents exposed me to the first instance in realizing the value of humanity. It is a moment of realization of what comes full circle--the work I did in Somalia that has defined who I am as an advocate. It is the moment that I realized I had a calling that does not involve, at least for eternity, reviewing documents in a law firm. It is the moment that I realized I have the ability to impact a life, lives, for a lifetime.

I have struggled with my place in this life--this firm life. And I think I have finally found a place to be. I get to represent an asylum seeker in their last gasp. Their last effort. And I am their advocate.

I learned from my remarkable father the joy that comes from being a champion of people who can't be their own. And it's a quality he's instilled in me since early childhood. We are not meant to judge based on what those less fortunate can afford--we are meant to judge on what is fantastic and significant in all of us. And we do it in an eye that is compassionate.

In a year where I have questioned so much, this is my opportunity to do something great. Wish me luck. The only thing, I've learned, that defines all of us is ourselves. We can strive to be better, prettier, more successful than the rest. But at the end of the day, the only person we answer to is ourselves. I think there is great struggle in that. For the first time in a long time, I am not succumbing to that. And it is liberating.

My mama asked me if I was, at some point, destined for Sudan--based on all of my last exploits. She asked me this in a tenuous and painful voice. In a mother's voice. I looked at her, candidly, and said "of course". I don't want to make her cry, but I know sometimes I do, and I also know that I am the most supported gal in the world. And that is priceless. How much does Sudan and representing my unknown client have in common? Who knows, but what I do know is that this coming semester will be amazing. And I have to people to thank for that.

I live from my father's example, and my parent's support. And I cannot wait to see what this semester brings. Wish me luck...

New Favorite for 2008

2008-01-06T22:14:00.000-05:00

I've become completely obsessed, in the last few weeks, with the FoodNetword--as mentioned earlier in this blog. I got into a conversation this evening with my friend M about my love for Bobby Flay (I find him strangely attractive) and her equally as passionate hatred for him. So as I was researching (note: stalking) BF online I stumbled upon one of the most amusing blogs I've discovered thus far: Veiled Conceit.

It's hilarious. And while I understand that some people might not feel as comfortable pointing and laughing at other people's wedding announcements in the NY Times, as a single 28 year old woman who at times needs tools of procrastination, I personally have no problem with it.

Hope the first week of 2008 has been good to everyone!

Reflections...Again

2007-12-30T22:43:00.000-05:00

Vermont is a good place to think. It's quiet and peaceful. On snowy days, like those we've had the past week, it's easy to become enveloped in the silent blanket of white that falls for hours. Over glasses of wine, wrapped in a balnket on the couch after everyone has gone to bed, in the days just before the current year wraps its way to a close, the time is ripe for contemplation.

Most recently I've found my mind wandering back to Somalia. For those who may not have stumbled upon this humble blog until recently, it began as a journal of my days in a refugee camp on the border of Somalia--merely a way to keep people informed about my whereabouts, thoughts, struggles and successes of the work that I did while I was there. Now, almost 18 months later, I find myself wandering back to that experience and thinking about the country that left such a profound impact on me, even without stepping foot within its borders.

Somalia has been called recently the "other Darfur" by Time magazine. Somalia topped their list of 2007's most unreported newstories. Am I surprised? No. I would have been blown off my seat if, after 17+ years, Somalia had suddenly shot to the top of the list. But what's been interesting has been the slowly creeping importance of Somalia in the outer pages of the news we read most--stories topping the Washington Post and NYT's Africa sections dealing with Somalia, a story recognizing a region of Somalia, Somaliland, as a possibly independent government, and a fucntioning one at that by the Pentagon. Recognition of the refugee crisis that is ensconcing villages, towns, cities, generations of this country's people. The reminder in November of this year of the United States' failed campaign there in 1993 when 2 Ethiopian soldiers were dragged through the streets, much in the same way American soldiers were more than a decade before.

Somalia is not easily forgotten, as it has never truly been recognized. We, being those outside of E. Africa, have easily ignored the vast refugee surge into Kenya that has created over 1 million refugees since 1991. Somalia has lacked a functioning government since the same time, yet has retained a seat in the UN regardless of the indecencies it has inflicted on its people since the conflict began. It is lawless and frightening, a breeding ground for the terrorists that the US, with GWB at its helm, has sought to combat.

And through all of this hopelessness, the country lingers at the forefront of my mind. In D.C., my life tends to be...a blur. A complex mix of classes, work, journal, friends, life, self searching while remaining fabulous STUFF that inhibits my ability to really think about the things that mean something to me. I listened to an interview with Huckabee this morning (God help all of us if he gains the Republican nomination) where he spoke about valuing ALL humans as equals, every life valued, regardless of race, religion, national origin etc equally. I could not help thinking what a maddening and audacious statement this was. I wondered if he had thought, before making this statement, about the people outside of the US who we have allowed to descend into a place of hopelessness and despair for the fundamental reason he declared we should value each and every person.

In two weeks I begin my last semester of law school. Typically the semester where 3Ls throw caution to the wind, take late day classes, celebrate for 4 months at night the culmination of their studies, and, for me, the semester where I get the chance to represent my first client: an asylum seeker who is looking to me to advocate their very last chance to remain in this country based on past and potentially future persecution in the country from which they came should they return. I necessarily think of the experience on the border of Somalia, the current state there, the people I met. And I hope, with extreme and unrestrained audacity, that others think of it too.

On my parent's porch in Vermont, sipping wine and watching the snow fall, this is what I'm thinking about. Maybe not the most uplifting way to ring in the New Year, but perhaps not the worst way either.

Relief

2007-12-22T23:51:00.000-05:00

My semester has ended, finally, and I've made it to the land of milk and honey (or snow and salt, whichever the case may be). And I realized I have ONE MORE EXAM to take before I graduate. Which is kinda kick ass.

It's great to be home, and I am looking forward to 10 days of relaxing--I would like to read 2 full books while I'm home (any suggestions????), frolick in the snow with Phoebe the Dog, maybe go sledding in the 2 feet of snow we have, hang out with my entire family who will be home together in the first time since before I left for Mali in 2002 (and yes, I am once again the only single person. Sweet).

I think it's going to be great. Except for having to go to the dentist while I'm home for a tooth issue. Other than that, it's definitely going to be great.

Happy holidays everyone--I hope the warmth of the season finds everyone who reads this in the same wonderful way it has found me.

Dear Blog Friends...

2007-12-19T22:56:00.000-05:00

Please write something on your blogs so I have something to read. It's v. lonely without scintillating stories I can procrastinate with (In my studying stupor that sounded kinda dirty. heh). But you know what I mean.

I'll be all of your best friend.

Love,
DLS

Ho Ho Ho

2007-12-18T11:08:00.001-05:00

This is one of the greatest things this holiday season. I'll post the one of my sis and her hubby as an example. But go Elf someone you love at: www.elfyourself.com.

Had To Do It

2007-12-17T22:04:00.000-05:00

Am I procrastinating from listening to the third hour of the corporations lecture? Yes.

Have a lot of people already seen this? Yes.

Is it still funny (at least to people who are still taking exams)? Yes.

Enjoy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O_RSQSYgGB4

The Small Things Make It All Better

2007-12-17T14:34:00.000-05:00

So, exams suck. It goes without saying. And the thing that makes them a little more bearable are the flurry of emails that go around every now and then with some sort of amusing tidbit that acts as a distraction from the hell that we are all experiencing in solidarity.

One of the many ways that people review for exams, and one of the "aids" that law schools provide are review courses that are put on video through a company called BarBri. BarBri is also the company that most law students pay excessive amounts of money for upon graduation to use as their Bar review course, essentially teaching you all of law school in 7 weeks. Every day a video (or live professor, depending on the location/state bar you're taking) gives a 4-5 hour lecture on a certain subject. Corporations, Torts, Contracts, Civil Procedure, Tax, Securities Regulation and so many more are all covered. It's the same at the end of the semesters in law school. A schedule goes out showing where and which courses will be shown at law schools around the city, and anyone who's a member of BarBri can go and watch the video with a group of folks all taking the same class. The videos are general--since there are a bazillion different text books created for every class, the videos are meant to give you a skeletal outline of the major points of the course, regardless where you take it.

My first year a group of 5 of us went to most of these sessions--generally at Catholic Law school and sometimes at American--and we would role in with our coffees, hook up internet, get into a chat room for the next 8 hours and watch this video. There are a couple of gems out there--Professor Epstein teaching Contracts (I think) was one--the man looks like the crazy pelican from the Little Mermaid and consumed close to a 12 pack of Coca Cola over the 8 hour review video. He often lunged out of frame when he was trying to make a point, and occasionally colided with the plant in back of him. And the best part is, they film these videos in empty studios, decorated to make it look like they're in a classroom full of students, and the professors PRETEND there are students to whom they're lecturing, which adds to how hysterical these videos are. By the end of 1L year my video posse and I would go to the classes just to see which professor would win the prize for absolutely most hysterical (It was Epstein. Ep, as he's now lovingly referred to).

This week I'm studying for Corporations. My last exam, 4 hours, closed book. I mean, I'm taking it pass/fail, but we've been conditioned to freak out and cram regardless of whether we were taking these exams for a grade ever. I decided to do a search and see if there were any upcoming corporations BarBri reviews, knowing that if not, I could always go to their offices downtown and podcast any of the subjects. When I put "BarBri" into Google THIS popped up, and it is seriously one of the best spoofs I've seen in a long time. While I understand that some non-law/non-barbri folks might not appreciate the full hilariousness that this is, I assure you, the actual BarBri videos are, in fact, often this ridiculous.

This video almost made me laugh as much as the flashcards from last semester. It really is the small things that make all the difference....

Things to be Thankful For

2007-12-16T22:35:00.000-05:00

I wrote a post last night that I have since removed, I thought it too personal about someone other than me. But my mama and sis read it, and I'm glad they did, because it was about my sister who I love more than any gal on earth and who I am more proud of than anyone--and her recent struggles as a mentor, teacher, humanitarian, savior and friend have made me think about the things we all can be thankful for.

This month has proved to be a challenging one for many people who I am closest to. My sister who is struggling with the decisions she makes about her students--what is right, what her role in their lives is, the power that she wields. And she has made nothing but the best, right and most difficult choices. My great and unwavering friend H, whose 34 year old boss has just been diagnosed with a cancer that is rare, and progressive. And terrifying. She has been thrust into a role at work that is overwhelming and often lonely. He has been thrust into a fight for his life that will change everything. And that will give all of us pause. And finally my great friend M, whose mama is battling another cancer, which is the greatest fear I think any child can imagine. And she faces it with honesty and pause and grace.

The three gals are three of the strongest I know. And I love them all, and know that my role in each of their individual struggles is, in it self, individual. But it has made me think of all the things, this holiday season, I am thankful for. I am thankful for the fact I have these relationships and that they mean so much to all of us. And that we all have shoulders to lean on. I am more grateful than anything about the family in which I was raised, that has allowed the development of strength and hope in the person that I am. And I love that I can look at my friends and see the amazing women they are--cultivated through family, love, hardship, and friendship.

Storms rage around us on a daily basis. I am thankful that within the eye of the worst, there are refuges for all of us. And I hope, more than anything, that I can act as a small one for my closest folks. There is joy in the air, amidst the struggle. And that is what we need to inhale deeply while pushing through the rest.

"I Mean, I Only Pyschoanalyzed Her a Little, Not Extensively, But This is What I've Decided"

2007-12-13T20:54:00.001-05:00

I've been chastised by EA for not posting anything on here since it snowed. There's no more snow in DC. Apparently that means it's been a while.

But to be honest, I don't have much to say smack in the middle of exams. I get up, trek to school, sit in the same place for 13-15 hours, trek home, sit on the couch and continue to study while the food network is on (Unless it's Rachael Ray. Or Giada _____. They both smile so much they kinda look like they're on drugs. Ok, in reality, I only like the Iron Chef. But I've only just started getting into the food network, so I have a lot to learn) and then I go to bed. And repeat. Sometimes an exam breaks up the sitting in the same place.

God, that last paragraph kind of bored ME! Go watch this--my posse in the journal office and I have been watching it continuously since it's just so amusing.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=we9_CdNPuJg

I'll try to be back this weekend when I have some time to, I don't know, rediscover the outside world.

Slip Sliding Away

2007-12-06T10:14:00.001-05:00

As it did for much of the Northeast this week, the weather turned on our fair Capitol yesterday and delivered 12 straight hours of light snow. 12 hours of snow anywhere else would most likely result in at least...7 or so inches. Not so in DC. We only had about 2 inches, but it was lovely nonetheless.

I love snowy days, and I especially love them in the city. A normally loud and crowded area becomes peacefully quiet, where people move more slowly and everything takes on a more welcoming feel with the buildings and cars and trees and parks enveloped in this new blanket. Even though it snows every single winter in DC, at least a couple of times, no one knows how to deal with the snow any better each time it falls, city authorities being the worst. So people just stay close to home, which is nice.

I went for a walk around 8:15pm last night--the snow had slowed and the flakes that were falling were the billowy large flakes. Not many people were around, no sidewalks had been shoveled. Walking down past the row houses with the Christmas trees all lit up and the snow falling and the quiet was a lovely way to wind down a busy day holed up studying for exams.

When I left the house this morning I was reminded of why snow in DC is nice during the period of time that it is falling, and that's about it--there are no city wide mechanisms for clearing snow. In Vermont, you can go to bed with snow falling to beat the band and by morning a foot or more of snow has been plowed off most major (and not so major) roads, sidewalks, driveways etc. In DC, the snow sits there and freezes into an ice skating rink the size of...well...the city. I walked to the metro this morning, normally a brisk 8-10 minute walk--it took about 25 today. As I teetered in my snow/ice-inappropriate Pumas calculating each step while watching cars slide and skid to stops at lights and stop signs the only thing I could think was "omgomgomg please don't let me fall and break my laptop!!!! It's almost EXAMS". Having had a hard drive crash 2x now in exam periods, I am highly protective of my little machine. 4x in about 7 blocks a foot went out from under me, but using my cat-like (HA!) reflexes I saved myself each time.

I think I might deposit a shovel and bag of ice on each of my neighbor's doorsteps for the holidays with an instructional note on how easy it is to clear the paths in front of their homes...or maybe I'll just get a better pair of shoes...I'm thinking crampons..

Random Bouts of Being a Moron

2007-12-04T17:11:00.000-05:00

Law exams have the tendency to make people a little crazy. Add to exam time the "thrill" of trying to get an issue of Journal to the presses and crazy turns into downright...insane.

For example: My editor-in-chief (EIC) and I have spent countless days and nights at the office working on the final proofs to the articles being sent to the printer. Being our first issue, the last month or so has been an exercise in patience working with the authors, editors and 2Ls who are all integral to finalizing and perfecting the articles that are going to print. EIC and I have tweaked things somewhat from last year's process. For example, by the time article come to us, there is a certain expectation that there will be minimal errors since each article has gone through multiple edits, has been seen by NUMEROUS people, and has been read and re-read (theoretically) by people at least 4 times. Changes should be minimal. This year, EIC and I have decided that if the work that has been done below is incorrect/incomplete, we will send it back down to the 2Ls/editors to fix within 24 hours. That's worked well. What we did not expect was for articles to come to us in a state of such disrepair that we would be spending multiple hours re-bluebooking the citations, highlighting the sources, and editing/adding footnotes to the text. As a result of this, EIC and I have gone a little nutty and now have the "who has found the most egregious mistake" game that keeps us amused for hours. So far, I'm ahead, having found a citation within the text that had been overlooked by at least 4 sets of eyes, and a short form of the citation as that (I recognize this is not going to make sense to most readers. But trust me, it's bad). What used to be annoyance on EIC's part and mine has now turned to absolute hilarity scaring editors and 2Ls in the office whenever we come across one of these...slip-ups.

Another fun result of exam time is the pervasive feeling of being pulled in 67 directions at once (and with all the journal fun from above, it's more like 89 directions), while trying to make sure that everything is being paid on time, studied completely, noted diligently, and generally taken care of. I had the lovely reminder that this is not as easy as I would like to believe when I emailed my landlord this afternoon making sure my rent check had arrived safely--I was concerned since it has not been deposited as of this afternoon. Here's our exchange:

Hi L, I wanted to touch base and make sure you received my rent that was sent on Friday, November 30, 2007 since I had not seen it deposited. Hope you had a great Thanksgiving, DLS.

Response: Hi DLS--I did receive the check (Oops!!! Sorry for not letting you know!!!) but have not deposited it yet because you neglected to sign it.

Right. Awesome. My new morning checklist will now go something like this:
Laptop, check. Power cord, check. Keys, wallet, cellphone, check. Ability to fill out 4 lines on a check that is no larger than 3x7 inches so I can continue to inhabit my lovely apartment? Let's f*cking hope so.

At least the Starbucks folks have started giving me my free daily exam-time coffee to help counteract my moments of idiocy...I'll let you know if it helps..

Things That Make Me Smile

2007-11-30T14:32:00.000-05:00

Everyone says that the third year of law school is supposed to be a breeze: a lot of people have jobs (thankfully I do--but I'm now working part time at The Firm over the semester), you're winding down on the resume building activities (I should have remembered to do that before deciding to accept the position of managing editor of my journal), you can take the fluffy law classes since most of the bar classes would have been taken 2L year (oops..I did that the other way around. No wonder I enjoyed last year so much..). Anyway, point being, I generally have just enough time/inclination in the morning when I'm getting ready to leave the house to grab a pair of yoga pants and tennis shoes and run out of the house. I wear a shirt too, equally as whatever. To make my appearance even MORE attractive, while I was reading an article in my Self mag that J gets me a subscription to every year (and I put it to really good use: browsing through the exercises I think 'huh, those look like they would work' just before putting it down to continue reading Con Law) I came across this article on how you know if you need a new hairstyle: answer 5 questions. If you answer 3 or more "Yes", then it's time for a new haristyle. I answered all 5 of them Yes. My favorite being:

"Do you throw your hair into a bun or ponytail every morning before leaving the house even if you're not going to the grocery store/yoga class/gym?".

Ummmm.

Anyway, as sad as it might make some folks (mom), I put very little effort into how I look on a day to day law school existence basis (but I know she loves me any way I look!). I'm ok with that. I am sure the man of my dreams will like me equally as well in yoga pants as all dolled up. I hope.

So a couple of Saturdays ago when A's wedding rolled around, H and I decided it might be fun to make ourselves pretty (and by "make" I mean pay someone to do it for us). Pedicure for the first time since August (I know! Blasphemous!): check! Haircut/blowout for the first time since....April (?): check! Pretty new dresses and shoes and accessories: check! We figured it would be a long long time until either of us got to attend another wedding at the National Cathedral, so we could justify the splurge (not that we generally need that much justification).

H looked AMAZING in a floor length gown with her hair completely straight (anyone who knows her knows just how curly her hair is. I looked, I thought, fairly passable (we're all our own greatest critics). As we were standing on the side of the road trying to hail a cab at 3:15pm dressed like this, I assumed that we probably stuck out a little bit. And then my phone rang. It was my friend Ian who had passed us and just wanted to say that he thought "we looked absolutely stunning". Aww. Ian can always be counted on for a remarkably kind word for his ladies.

The wedding came and went, it was fantastic. Today, sitting at work, hair in a bun, wearing no make up (only the best for The Firm! At least I'm not in yoga pants...) one of my favorite associates was walking by. AO is a 7th year associate, he's remarkably put together, fills rooms with his presence. He's an Immigration attorney so I've gotten to know him well this fall sitting across from most the Immigration folks in my cube. He stopped when he got to my desk and did the following:

"Ms. DLS--where do you live"
"Umm. 17th and T. Why?"
"Well, a couple of Saturdays ago I was right on 17th and U walking to a hair cut and I could have sworn I saw you--but I don't know if it was you since you didn't say anything to me"
"Well, AO, did you say anything to ME?"
" No honey, I didn't. And let me tell you why" (AO is slightly...flamboyant. Which I love). " You were standing there, and I know it's you now for sure looking at your eyes right now, but you were standing there trying to hail a cab, dressed to the nines with those EYES. I don't know what you did to them, but you should do that more often!" (Note: it's called makeup).
" Aww, thanks AO--I was headed to a wedding"
"Well, you looked incredible! So striking so striking" (this part was said as he zipped away from my desk).

The exchange was hilarious (to me) but one of those super fun, unexpected, exchanges that kinda made me smile. While I may look like sh*t 97% of time, it's nice to know I can still pull it off when it counts, or at least some people think so. ;)

Clarification

2007-11-29T13:47:00.000-05:00

My post about Scalia, and how great it was to have him come to speak to us is not the following:

"Now that DLS has been graced with a S.C. Justice's presence in a class means that DLS agrees with everything Scalia says, thinks and does from the bench or from the podium in the front of the classroom".

No no, dear readers. It is simply a recitation and recognition from a lowly law student that it's admittedly kinda cool to have one of The Nine chatting with us.

I retain my liberal, sometimes irrational, always present views on many things and while the 75 minute visit was fantastic, it did not send me running across the aisle into the arms of the conservative viewpoints.

Carry on...

I've done it...

2007-11-28T22:29:00.000-05:00

Thanks to GT's post and my DC friends browbeating me into it...I've joined facebook...

AND I'M ADDICTED. No one can hide from me!

The Greatest 75 Minutes of Law School

2007-11-28T18:42:00.001-05:00

One of the great things about the law school that I attend is that it's less than a mile from the Supreme Court. A lot of the Justices visit the law school regularly--last year as I was waiting for a friend outside of the international law building the doors opened and out walked Kennedy, Souter and Ginsberg--and when you see the black sedans and SUVs parked in the spaces around the buildings it's often because one of them is on campus for one reason or another.

But it's a rare opportunity when a Justice visits a class to chat. A question and answer period where no question is off limits, and the Justice can opt to not respond, but the floor is shared between the students and him for over an hour. I had that opportunity this afternoon.

When I began law school, coming from my liberal Peace Corps and Vermont background, I did not like Scalia. It was an irrational dislike, as I had never actually read an opinion by him, but it was what he stood for--anti-homosexual, pro-life etc. My first semester as I was sitting in Constitutional Law 1 which focused on the federal system, I found myself highly confused for the better part of the first few months. In many cases I would finish reading an opinion (or a dissent, as the case may be) and be completely persuaded that the opinion was rational and correct. And then I would look at the author and BAM! Justice Scalia. Granted, there were plenty that I read of his and thought good god, I can never agree with that. By the end of the semester my confusion turned to a feeling of scholarly-ness, realizing that this was what law school forced people to do--think rationally about the LAW outside of the confines of our own moral and personal ideas in the context of the Constitution.

This semester it's Constitutional Law II--the version of Con Law where we DO get to the personal rights and liberties, the 1st and 14th Amendments mostly, the idea of "liberty" in the bill of rights and how that word has evolved (if you're of the mindset that it should evolve since the framers wrote the Constitution). We've talked about discrimination, free speech, pornography, due process, abortion and much more. We've traced the case law as it's changed through the years, or as it's been created. In this version of Con Law, Justice Scalia and I do not see eye to eye nearly as often as we did 2 years ago.

We've known about his visit since the beginning of the semester. My professor was a clerk for Justice Marshall in the '70s and has remained close to the Court, and her friendships with the current Justices has evolved as a result. While she and Justice Scalia also do not agree on most Con Law issues, they are good friends, and he graciously accepts her invitation to come and talk to her students each year, without being paid. Today was the day he came to our class.

My professor has spoken about the personalities of the Justices--how their demeanor in opinions and during oral arguments does not resemble their personalities off the bench. She says, for example, the Justice Thomas is one of the warmest, kindest men she's ever met and that his laughter fills rooms in social settings. Justice Thomas is the one Justice I have never ever agreed with or found any bit of rationale that I could relate to in opinions. 8 Justices are from earth, Thomas hails from Mars. I was excited to see how J. Scalia interacted with us, his demeanor, his reasoning.

He is not a tall man. And he has a large head. I had seen him wandering around the grounds over the past couple of years, but seeing him up close standing in front of us was a little different. His background is immense and impressive. He's worked in nearly every facet of law--moving from a firm to teaching to government (where he argued before the Court), back to teaching (both at my school and Chicago), on to different courts until finally being tapped in '82 by Reagan for the Supreme Court. He began with a short discussion, not of the living v. the dead Constitution as we had all assumed he would begin with, but by talking about the core importance, the backbone of the Constitution being the structure, not the bill of rights. The bill of rights, he said, is something that every country in the world has. It's the first thing leaders think up. He used the former USSR--their bill of rights was immense. It included detail that Americans would salivate over. But it did nothing. It's not what is important. And then he took questions.

Scalia has a personality. He's hysterical, quite frankly. In 75 minutes he broke into 3 different languages, banged his fists on his chest, told stories, had the entire room in stitches on more than one occasion. But he also candidly discussed his jurisprudence--his reasons for believing that the Constitution is not alive and growing, that it is dead and why he believes in an Originalist interpretation of the Constitution. He spoke about his acceptance of stare decisis in most cases, and his unwillingness to accept it in others. He was very difficult to disagree with because he is so rational.

He believes in orginalism because he does not understand how anyone can come up with any other criteria by which to decide cases and read the constitution. Allowing for a "living Constitution" allows for decision making that is not grounded in the words that the framers wrote, but in individual interpretation of words. He does not believe that Roe was decided correctly--the main reason is because he does not think that it is an issue to be taken up by 9 lawyers creating an umbrella law for the country in this area--he is uncomfortable with the notion that his three years of Harvard Law has somehow prepared him or any of the other 8 men and woman sitting on the Court to decide what an 'undue burden on the woman's right to choose' is every time a new dimension of abortion cases is presented. We have state legislatures for a reason. We have Congress for a reason. Those are the places where these battles need to be fought. Not in 30 minute oral arguments that will create or destroy state laws.

He was asked how his often harsh critiques of other Justice's opinion have affected his relationships with those people on and off the bench. He paused with this question. He said "first of all, I never personally attack anyone. I don't agree with some of the people on the Court. And they don't agree with me. Do I think their reasoning is often flawed, silly and wrong? Yes. Do I say that, sometimes in the form of calling it ridiculous or unbelievable (among other things)? Yes. But...my best friend of the Court is Ruth Ginsberg. Our families have been spending New Years eve together for the past 25 years. We do not agree with each other for the majority of opinions. I think that answers the question". He went on to say that writing a dissent is purely "for you guys--I mean hell, law students need something to talk about in class, right?". He also talked about why is such a vocal member of the Court in oral arguments--questions from the bench make a good lawyer great.

He talked about much more--why "substantive due process" is one of the most "completely irrational and totally insane" ideas he has ever heard (and made a great case for it, as well! As he said--close your eyes and THINK about the term substantive process. It makes no sense. It's would be the equivalent of saying procedural substance which is equally as stupid (his words, not mine)). He refused to answer questions on the D.C. gun laws (saying Ha HA! you cannot fool me, I know you're just trying to get me to have to force myself to recuse when this case is accepted!) or wire tapping for the same reasons. He talked about the 8th Amendment and the term "cruel and unusual". He spoke about whatever we wanted him to address and it was fantastic.

It was the best 75 minutes of my 3 years in law school. Of the 7 or so people who actually read this blog, I imagine the vast majority of you are not Scalia fans. But sitting in a room with a man who will most likely go down as one of the greatest legal minds, certainly of our time if not ever, was thrilling. I don't agree with him on a lot of issues, but I have an immense amount of respect and awe for him. An opportunity like the one I had this afternoon makes everything else in law school a little more...worth struggling through.

Correction

2007-11-26T19:01:00.000-05:00

It has come to my attention that I claimed that this would be my 7th exam period while in law school. While it certainly feels like that at times, I've proven once again why there is no math in law school. 3 years, 2 semesters each. I am, it turns out, beginning preparation for exam period #5. Not 7.

Anyone wanna hire me to be their accountant when I graduate?

It's Starting...

2007-11-25T21:35:00.000-05:00

I love the holidays, particularly after spending so many of them away from home in the past 5 years. I spent Thanksgiving in North Carolina with my sister and her husband, the first guests in their new house and town. H and I drove down together--leaving late on Tuesday night to miss traffic. It worked. We made it to Richmond in less than 2 hours and to J's house in less than 4.5.

We had a lovely 4 days in the south--it was fantastic to be able to hang out with the newlyweds and Lola the Dog--we cooked and drank wine, enjoyed the gorgeous Thanksgiving weather, and had a girls day out on Friday. Coming back to DC felt good since it's always good to be home, but I realized in less than 18 hours since arriving home what the next month brings.

In one month, I will be finished with my 7th semester of law school. I will have one left. In one month, I will have my first issue of the Journal for which I am managing editor at the printer on the way to distribution. I will be preparing to represent my first client on their last effort to gain asylum in the United States. I will be home in Vermont, sitting with my entire family in front of the fire, celebrating Christmas.

This is that time of the semester where the last few months start to feel like they are crushing in around you, when the folks at Starbucks learn my name and favorite drink and often give me my third soy Americano with an extra shot free in the evening, when going to the gym for an hour is the absolute highlight of the day because you can mindlessly watch tv and clear your brain and not feel badly about it, when I do my 20 hours on, 4 hours off schedule that I like to call bootcamp, and when I dream about Securities Regulations, Con Law II and Corporations at night and going home for Christmas during the day.

But let me tell ya, going through it all makes the holidays so much sweeter, so bring in on!

**Did I mention it also kind of makes you insane? Yeah, 7 exam periods later I might be permanently scarred.

On Celebrations

2007-11-17T13:41:00.000-05:00

It' amazing to watch as my friends from years and years ago grow up--it's a reminder of how far we've all come, and the joys in life that should be celebrated as the family we've become.

A and I met our first day of our first year of college. We were both recruited to row at UVA--she as a lightweight in her 5'10 slender body and me as a shorter than average power house that could just wail not only on the oar, but also on the ergs. Every morning at 5am A would come and pick me up in her green Jeep and we would drive out to the boathouse to be on the water by 5:30am. For a long time she was seat seven, I was seat 6. We spent countless hours moving across the water in a boat of 8, cross training in the afternoon, crying over blisters on our hands and exhaustion. I stayed with her at her parent's house in northern Virginia before most vacations from school when I would fly from DC to Vermont. We were sisters not only on the team, but away from our homes and sisters who were related to us by blood.

And then life intervened in ways not worthy of discussion on this amazing day. But we moved farther apart for a number of reasons--A transferred to GW, life encompassed both of us in our individual environments. I left for Africa, A started law school and I rarely spoke to her for a few years. I moved back to DC to find that by gal H had reunited with A--they lived only a couple of blocks from one another and their friendship was fast and lasting. I got updates from H on how A was doing, and saw her occasionally--A finishing law school and I having started did not leave a lot of time for catching up.

This past year I had the great fortune to catch up with A and to start rebuilding a friendship that never ended in a bad way, but fizzled for a number of years. Seeing the woman and friend that she has become--a pillar of strength, someone who is truly inspiring and has shown me that no matter how many times we get knocked down there is never a time when it's too hard to pull yourself back up--has made me feel truly lucky to have had the second chance to have her as a friend.

Today, A is getting married to a lovely and wonderful and perfect man for her. I could not be more overwhelmed with joy for the two of them, for her especially. There is no one on earth, I don't think, who has a larger heart of pure gold, who is selfless and kind, and who has done more for herself than any person could imagine.

I saw this poem on another site and it made me think of A and her fiance and their relationship. And I think it's perfect for them

Congratulations, A.

"Oh, the comfort,
The inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person,
having neither to to weight thoughts or measure words,
but pouring them all out.
just as they are,
chaff and grain together,
certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them,
keep what is worth keeping
and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away."

--G. Eliot

Stumbling Upon Family You Never Knew You Had

2007-11-14T09:38:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I went on a quest to find wedding attire for the marriage of a great friend taking place this weekend at the National Cathedral. DC shopping is abysmal, so I went to the only metro accessible place that had somewhat of an option in clothing: Pentagon f*^#ing City. On a Saturday. At 2pm. Imagine a Whole Foods the size of a mall on a Sunday afternoon. It still makes me kind of wince.

Earlier in the weekend, on Friday afternoon, a freight train carrying tons and tons of coal plunged into the Anacostia River--no one was hurt, but as the Yellow Line metro train made its way across the impossibly narrow subway bridge over the Potomac the next day carrying moi, I burrowed down into my coat and turned my ipod up, trying not to look out the window for fear of catching a glimpse of the fallen train. One of my favorite songs, "The Coast" by Paul Simon (but only the live version--not the studio one) was gliding through my ipod and I suddenly felt an intense wave of nostalgia for Mali--for one moment of my 27 months there.

We had been in country for about 2 weeks. All 56 of us in training, being carted through the streets of Bamako, to and from our training center, Tubaniso. The first few weeks were overwhelming and exhausting. It was hot, we were dirty, everything was new and hard. We were forced best friends but all still strangers event to each other. One afternoon, our massive white peace corps bus was taking us back to Tubaniso. It was close to dusk, we had been out all day for one reason or another. The training center was about 15km outside of the city--a trip that would take anyone in the U.S. 10 minutes to make, but from the Peace Corps bureau in the heart of Bamako generally took an hour or more for us. Crammed in, 5 to a row, we all kind of quietly rode thinking about anything other than where we were. Until the bus started sputtering and came to a halt on the side of the road--too far from either the bureau or the training center to walk back to one or on to the other.

Ah, Malian transportation. I don't know if there is anything less reliable on earth. We all piled out--grumpy. Our driver assured us it "would only be a minute, that it was a small small problem". It was early enough in our time in country that I think we actually believed him. As we looked around we realized that we had stopped next to a large courtyard where there was some sort of party going on. Upon seeing a group of 50 young, predominately white non-Malian people, the folks throwing the party coaxed us into the courtyard to join them in the festivities. Music was playing, everyone was dancing. We were shy--the kind of shy like small children at a party who don't want to let go of their mother's dress and shrink away from attention that is given to them. But one by one we all started to wander out, or get pulled out, into the circle of dancing, until we realized that every one of us was now in the middle. The sun set, the bus continued to be fixed, and we continued to dance.

I found myself opening my eyes at the stop for the Pentagon with a smile on my face and an ache of nostalgia in my heart. Eventually, our bus was fixed and we boarded it, somewhat changed--it was that first moment where you begin to absorb the country and the people who ended up absorbing us for the remainder of the time we all had left. The Coast ended as we pulled up to the Pentagon City stop and I quickly hit replay and joined the throngs of people in the corridors, my good mood quickly melting in the crowdedness of retail.

I walked into Nordstrom thinking it would be the best place to start the quest for the dresses for this weekend. I wandered through the racks, grabbing things left and right, arming myself with as many options as possible under the reasoning that if I had 20 things for the dressing room, there was a greater probability that something would work on the first try than if I had been choosier and grabbed only..5. A petite black woman with an accent came up to me and gathered the pile in my hands so she could go set up a dressing room for me while I continued to browse. When I finally made my way into my dressing room, this same young woman continuously checked in--was everything fitting? Did I need a tailor? Did I like the colors? Do I need shoes to try on with those dresses?

"Miss Emily", she kept saying, "you just let me know what you need". I whittled the original pile down to three dresses and a few other things, and went back out to make round number two of the racks, to make sure I did not miss anything. "Miss Emily!" "Ma'am, please, just call me Emily" "Emily--I will put this on hold for you, you just take your time" she said. So I went in and out of the rooms, with this woman always ready to stow away the keepers and dispose of those garments I did not want. After about 2 hours of this (yes, it seems egregious, but it takes a while to shop!) I found her in the racks and we went over to the pile that had become my "hold" pile. She and I went through as I decided on the true keepers (3 dresses, 2 pairs of pants and 3 shirts). One of the dresses I was buying to consider for the wedding and would return if one of the others was chosen instead, was missing a small piece of thread that held the sash in place. Knowing that Nordstrom had on-site tailors I asked my sales lady if I could purchase the clothes, but leave them at the counter while the garment was fixed and come back in an hour. She said of course, she would make sure it was less than an hour--I assured her that based on the sheer number of people in the mall I would most likely not be able to walk from one end and and back in LESS than an hour. She laughed while she wrote her name down on a card for me.

"Emily", she said, "My name is Binta. When you come back if you don't see me, just ask for me".

Binta. Huh. That's a familiar name.

"Binta--where are you from?"

"Guinea, West Africa", she replied. I looked down at the card she gave me: "Binta Diallo" was her full name.

In West Africa, and I assume other regions of the continent, you can tell what ethnic group someone is from based on their last name. Diallo is a Fulani name, I lived in a predominantly Fulani region of Mali, even though my village was Dogon. For the first three months in Mali, while in training, I had a Fulani last name--Cisse.

"Eh, Binta--are you Fulani?" I could hear myself get back into the West African speech patterns. She looked up at me like she had just won the lottery. "I lived in Mali, for 2.5 years", I explained. Immediately, she broke into French. "Emily, Emily, enchante, enchante", she kept saying. She gave me the West African combination between hand slap and hand shake and laughed and laughed. We chatted and little bit, and I told her I would be back in an hour.

I felt lighter--I felt good. I wandered through the mall quizzing myself on all the Fulani phrases I still remembered, almost three years TO THE DAY since I had arrived home. When I went back to the store, I saw Binta standing by a rack chatting with another sales lady.

"Giddo am--jam hiiri" I said. (My friend, I hope the afternoon has come peacefully--is the general translation and customary greeting for that time of day). As she turned around I thought she was going to burst into tears. We went through the extensive Fulani greetings and she continued to chatter away in the language. I finally had to say 'Binta, mido hali fulfulde seda seda tan" (Binta, I only speak a little Fulfulde).

"Emily, you are my family. You are my family". She said it over and over again. "W'ahhalai, allah, you are my family". She grabbed other women and pointed to me, in all my red haired and blue eyed glory, and declared, "This is my family, don't you understand--she's one of my people".

We chatted for a little while longer. It was getting late. I gathered my purchases and asked her if this was the department she always worked in. She said that it was and I assured her I would be back to see her soon. "Emily", she said, "you don't know what this means to me". I assured her I did--I thought back to that afternoon in Mali--surrounded by strangers, dancing as the sun set, feeling like a part of a group of people for the first time since arriving. Or arriving home to my village, my family, after being away and being greeted in the same manner that any family would greet each other.

I miss the family I had in Mali, and I look forward to going back next August. But until then, I'm thrilled to know that I have family in some of the most unlikely places, and it's so easy to feel like I'm right back at home at the most unlikely times.

Random!

2007-10-24T18:29:00.000-04:00

Keeping with the totally random posts--check this blog out. It's so strange. Don't ask how I stumbled upon it.

Calling All Decorators

2007-10-24T17:25:00.000-04:00

So, *sigh*, I'm in this great new apartment and I have zero decorating prowess. I don't even know how to use an electric drill. I'm feeling uninspired. I need help. Please come help me, but only if you promise not to judge me for my lack of vision almost 2 months in. I'll buy nice things for you and tell you witty jokes and funny stories while you're here. I'm desperate. Seriously.

In other news, SH and I are hosting a kickass barbeque this weekend. It's a kickball fest too, just 'cause. I think it will be a good way to kick out all the crappy that's been hanging around. I might bake a cake. And that's that.

Is There Something In the Air?

2007-10-22T19:56:00.000-04:00

I have a lot to say and I'm not sure how to put it all down. So here's what I'm thinking about right now in bullet point style and maybe I'll pull my thoughts together to throw down a real post at some point soon:

The changing of seasons in DC and how it seems that this somewhat lethargic movement from Summer to Fall has proved to be remarkably evocative in its ability to force feelings to emerge that I think some of my best gals would rather like to have remain buried;
The way people justify their treatment of the people who they've considered friends for years. FYI everyone: allowing ostensibly a good friend to find out about your engagement 2 weeks later from the 87th person who knew about it before her is kind of a kick in the balls to that friendship;
Why people (aka: some very dense boys) don't seem to see what I see in my gals;
O Canada Girls by Dar Williams;
Why boys we loved deeply and still love in many ways more privately have the ability to tug at our hearts. And maybe even have the ability to make us choke back tears when hearing the words "he forgives you" muttered on the metro after a long day;
Why I was a blathering idiot, reminscent of first semester first year, when called on in Securities Regulation today;
The Long Way Around by the Dixie Chicks;
The knowledge that, even at our weakest, we are all fabulous girls with fabulous lives, futures, pasts and presents--regardless of what our low points try to whisper to the contrary;
How wonderful thanksgiving will be in NC with my sister, bro-in-law, cousin and best gal pal HB;
Hope springing eternal.

Things I Learned in My Apartment This Week

2007-10-10T23:07:00.000-04:00

I am procrastinating going through my outline for my final tomorrow, so instead I'll impart some wisdom on everyone tonight:

Clean the lint filter out in your dryer frequently.

In my old apartment, I was the lint filter nazi. I even taped a note on the dryer to remind my roommates to do the same. The fear of the dryer catching on fire due to one layer of lint left in the lint trap was instilled in my at an early age by my mother. She continues to remind me that I will burn in a firey hell of lint and damp laundry if I don't.

This apartment has a different washer and dryer than the ones I am used to. They're new and kinda European-esque. They stack and are digital. They're super quiet (except for the spin cycle on the washer, which makes it feel like an earthquake that would register at about a 7 on the Richter scale is happening in my apartment). But I've noticed in the past...oh...2 weeks that the dryer takes a really astoundingly long time to dry clothes. I polled my friends to see if they had any suggestions. SG suggested it was an energy saver. OOHH. Ok, I could live with that.

Until it took me 3 friggin' hours to dry a load of laundry. I stared at my dryer. STARED. What is wrong with you, dryer? I considered calling Armo who has kidnapped the washer/dryer instructions to have her read them to me aloud over the phone.

And then it dawned on me: the lint trap. WHERE THE F%$K IS THE LINT TRAP???!! it took me, I shit you not, about 10 minutes to locate. They hide those suckers sleekly, the Europeans do. When I found it, the poor thing was packed and I gazed at all the layers and retraced my laundry doing ways over the past month in the colors stacked upon each other.

Oh my mother will be disappointed....

I sheepishly put my wet load of laundry in, spun the digital dial to "normal dry" and checked it when it softly beeped at the end of the cycle. Secretly hoping that the load, like the others the past few weeks, would still be damp, I reached in and shoved my hand in.

Nope. Bone Dry. Whoops.

Lesson learned. And, I might add, this is an actual lesson, not the bullshit one that was thrust on GT this evening, it seems. The gall of some people!

Would you like a side of global warming with that Chai?

2007-10-10T16:09:00.000-04:00

DC is gross right now. It feels more like mid-August than mid-October. It's seriously affecting my inner-self as it gets dark by 7pm (latest) but it's still 90 degrees and humid out. Eeew.

However--I'm laying down a secret plan, and have been for some time, to try to get it to cool off. While I never EVER drink hot beverages in the hot summer months unless a) I am traveling, b) I am sick or c) it's soup other than gazpacho, I have started ordering warm drinks once again. It's not done much, up until now, other than make sweatier than I would have been by just walking outside, but it's my own way of willing the season to actually change. I just ordered my favorite fall/winter drink, in fact, a nice, extra hot soy chai latte from (strike me down and light me on fire) Starbucks.

And wouldn't you know it--I just checked the weather and tomorrow is supposed to in the mid-60s! While I generally would not rejoice at a solid 30 degree temperature change this quickly, I gotta say, I'm looking forward to a brisk walk to the metro tomorrow morning (wake me up before my exam!) versus the walk that makes me feel like I need a shower..again.

Anyone up for some apple picking in this (hopefully) seasonably appropriate weather we're about to get??!!

Multiple Personality Disorder

2007-10-07T15:54:00.000-04:00

I've been having this strange experience the past few months here in the nation's capitol--I've felt, on a number of occasions since May, like I have been morphing into a person who is a stranger to the person I've always been. I don't think it's permanent, and it certainly only comes out on specific occasions, but it's unsettling because it's what I've said (and still feel) that I never want to become.

The summer experiences I've had while in law school have been diverse--from working in a refugee camp in a forgotten area of the world to working in the world's largest international law firm, I have spanned not only continents, but socio-economic, religious and law related spectrums. I left the refugee camp with the solid and sure sense that the experience would be one of many working with refugees in less savory parts of the world. I left with a deeper perspective about people, faith, suffering, desperation and joy. This past summer was also a learning experience, a perspective enhancing lesson in corporate America and world and presented struggles, like the refugee camp, that I had never confronted previously.

I've always maintained that I would step into corporate law for the amount of time it would take me to pay off loans and get some cushion in the bank--then I would waltz out and pursue a life that I would find fulfilling. But I have to say--being in this corporate, money soaked environment is like having a hook in you that isn't always noticeable, but that allows you to be dragged back in at a moments notice. And sometimes that world is alarmingly fun.

I felt myself being yanked back, most recently, this past Friday. A good friend and very senior associate at the firm and I had planned to get a drink that evening, most likely later in the night. Friday was one of those perfect full days--errands run, groceries purchased, banking done, house cleaning/laundry taken care of while a pot of Moroccan lentil soup simmered on the stove. My dear friend SG called after having a harried day and I invited her over for some soup and wine to unwind after being immersed in the gritty city. A little while later another good gal friend called. Soup's on the stove, wine's on the counter, come on over! Later CB, HB, and LH all made their way up 17th to my little apartment, all bearing wine, all wanting the company of friends and to just relax. At one point, as I opened my fridge and scoured for more cheese and crackers for this impromptu get together, I paused and was just kind of surveying the scene--it filled me with such great joy to have a home where people wanted to gather, to get away, to have some home cooked lovin' and just be comfortable. I, in my yoga pants and baggy t-shirt, was equally at home and it was just one of those good moments.

Having planned to meet up with the firm guy around 10:30, I hopped in the shower (leaving everyone in the living room), and transformed from yoga pants/t-shirt to high end city night life wear in less than 20 minutes. I gave SG my extra set of keys, put out some more cheese, gave kisses on cheeks and headed out of my apartment full of friends. This is where the transition begins.

Out of my warm, homey, friend filled apartment to a high end bar/lounge restaurant where everyone knows my friend the bill is never too high. 200 dollar bottles of wine, 60 dollar steak, the special duck pate (which is one of the places I had to draw the line) and just more and more and more. I realized, at the sight of the town car waiting for us outside, we would not be returning to my sanctuary anytime soon.

And I was right. The town car diligently waited outside the venues the firm friend took us to. When we left the first place, not having finished the second egregiously expensive wine, we simply emptied the decanter into our glasses, popped outside and into the hired car and drank it on the way. At each stop we would return to the car to have cold water waiting between the seats. It was one place after another until there wasn't anywhere else to go, and then the night was over.

The next day, as I stared at the blisters from the hot little shoes and nursed my hangover, I starting thinking about the decadence and frivolity that comes with the lifestyle I am walking into, at least temporarily. I find myself torn between having the ability to shake it off and balance the new with the old, and feeling like my ability to enjoy this extravagance has allowed me to misplace some of the conviction and perspective that I have held onto so strongly until now. I wonder if I should feel guilty about 500 dollar bar tabs never paid for by me, VIP rooms and table service at clubs. I'm definitely not looking for the answer here--It's just been on my mind.

Update on Crushing Sigh

2007-10-05T09:43:00.000-04:00

So. In typical DLS life fashion my crush ended far too quickly after beginning. But it's totally not my fault. It's his.

I looked cute on Wednesday night (if I do say so myself) and thanks to a nice sale in Ann Taylor that I stumbled upon that afternoon after a MAJOR clothes crisis hit at school, I snapped up two pairs of delightful shoes (both of which were super cute) and a couple of pairs of pants. JB had sent the bat signal out to him so I was totally hopeful an appearance would be made.

The event was great--tons of people, some major surprises of people who I had not seen for ages and was thrilled to reconnect with. And i kept glancing around for CICB. Until JB came over and told me she had just gotten a text from him and that he had his "own" "Intelligence Ctte" event that night.

Didn't he know I was there? That I looked super cute? I was disappointed for, about, .6 seconds and then got over it. People to mingle with and wine to be drunk!

Later that evening after the event and in the cab on the way to Poste with CB and the former Good Press Secretary, I got some more intel on CICB. Apparently, the man is SUPER flirty with everyone and has, *gasp*, commitment issues. OH! And, the gf I thought he had been dating for a few months, it turns out they've been together over a year!

So I'm over it. Crushes are fun while they last, but it's never fun to fall for the unavailable men (though I'm beginning to think they're ALL unavailable) with commitment problems. Oh well, I guess the game of world domination will stay packed up on my shelf a little bit longer.

Crushing

2007-10-03T14:04:00.000-04:00

*WARNING (mom): This post is a little more scandalous than others. Proceed with caution*

This week I've felt like a young 18 year old again, walking on cloud nine (or maybe my head has been more on cloud nine than usual, who knows), picking virtual daisies and singing (to myself, rest assured) show tunes as I stroll down the street.

Why? Well. It's been a long time since DLS had a "crush". Noo, I don't mean the "crush" that sometimes develops on the cute coffee guy (I swear he gives me extra shots every time I go in!) or like the one some people get on the UPS dude, or the person across the street you see every day when you're not wearing your glasses but he appears to be of the male persuasion so hell, let's have a crush on him too, just for good measure.

No, this is the kind when you meet someone and it's like an instantaneous connection. You become wittier, hotter, classier, and the most interesting person in the room immediately. I've had versions of those over the last year--but they've all kind of stopped before starting for various reasons (and by all I mean, like, 2. Ok maybe one. But let's say 2). But this past Thursday it happened again. And alas, there is, of course, a story. So let me paint the picture.

There was an event at the Good Senator's office to say good-bye to the Good Press Secretary for his committee. I always love going to these events as I get to catch up with folks who I rarely see and pretend I'm reliving my old days roaming the halls of Dirksen and Russell and Hart. It's great. My wing-gal LP had shown up, and we were making our rounds from the bar to the cheese plate back to the bar (you get the idea) interrupted only to say hello to people (including the Good Senator--on a side note--I did not realize just how busty my new cute shirt was until he casually glanced down. Whoops). Finally, our friend JB arrived. JB still works for the Good Senator and has a very important job, so it's normal that LP and I arrive first, but we hate that, because we like to travel in JB's pack since she knows way more people than we do (and it's guaranteed to be way more fun that way. In honesty, we try to sequester JB to a corner near the bar with us so the three of us can just stand around and catch up and drink cocktails, but that only works for about 13 minutes, tops, generally). Anyway. As LP and I strolled up to JB we noticed (ok, "we" means "I" since LP is recently and happily married) she was talking to a young man we had never met. We made small talk with JB until finally she introduced us.

*Cue Fireworks*

Cute Intelligence Committee Boy (CICB) and I immediate hit it off. It was like a ray of light had started shining on the two of us and we just chatted and laughed and I was super witty and hilarious. Now, here's the thing. I'm a dork. I own it, I live it (occassionaly) but it's hard to hide when my guard is down and I'm beginning to gush. CICB works behind, what JB refers to as, the frosty glass doors next door to where JB adn I used to share an office. It's very clandestine (In fact, I think I made that exact comment last week to CICB) and just adds to the sexiness of the person. I went into full flirt mode and I think it was going really well. Until I did the following:

CICB and DLS: lots of witty and fun conversation. DLS might have asked for a tour of the space behind the frosty glass doors. CICB might have said (verbatim) "I think that can be arranged" (but it sounded super hot when he said it). The DLS did the following (and should be shot for it):

DLS: OMG! Since you work in Intelligence, and you work behind the frosty glass doors where everything's clandestine, I have to ask: Do you play Risk? You must love risk! That's clandestine too!

Let's all just stop and pause at the statement above. WHO SAYS THAT? ME! I do. And the thing is, it didn't stop there.

CICB: Oh yeah, I like Risk.

DLS: You DO??? Ok, well, how about Castle Risk, I mean, come ON, that one is way better than regular Risk.

JB and LP: Oh holy Jesus. What is DLS doing.

CICB: You have Castle Risk? Wow, that is totally old School

DLS: Oh, I know (being as modest as usual)--I actually have the 1992 version off E-bay with Risk on one side and Castle Risk on the other. It's awesome!!!!

So you all get the picture. I am an idiot. As the party wound down in the committee room, we started making plans for the after party event (which staffers from the Good Senator's office are famous for). CICB had to go finish some stuff up, but said he'd meet us there. The minute he left I went mining for details. JB and the Good Press Secretary were the first to break the news: he has a girl friend.

I refused to believe it. How could there be SO much palpable chemistry if he has a girlfirend. I mean, throw me a freaking bone here! I convinced myself over the next hour it was all a lie. And then I met her. Frankly, she's not very nice. I'm way nicer. And funnier. And then the kicker happened. She latched onto me and decided, since we live in the same neighborhood, that we should be new BFFs and hang out together.

We exchanged numbers. The GF and I. Not CICB and I. But here's the problem: I don't want to hang out with HER. I want to hang out with CICB!!! I was advised it would be of poor moral character (Thanks EA!!) to hang out with her to get to him to break them up so I could marry him and live happily ever after (yes, that went through my mind. Breifly. Fine, I might burn in hell, but whatevs, I lived through hot season in the Sahara--it can't be worse than that).

So tonight is another Good Senator event. JB has been my diligent co-conspirator on the inside trying to ensure CICB would be there. I did my hair this morning and wore cute clothes. While I am hopeful that he arrives, sees me, and falls madly in love, I doubt that will happen.

So instead, I think I might invite him over for a game of World Domination (Risk) and see just who gets dominated in the end ;)

Dear Depressed Law Student....

2007-10-01T19:57:00.000-04:00

Dear Depressed Law Student sitting next to me at Steam Cafe:

I can't help but overhear your conversation with your (possible but improbable) girlfriend since the tables here are 4 inches apart from each other. Let me start by telling you this: I sympathize. We all do (ok, not the psychos who love every single aspect of 3 years on a law campus, but most of us).

I understand those first few minutes, seeing a good friend to "catch up", sitting there making awkward small talk. Glancing at the menu. Shuffling around nervously. And I understand the dam the size of Hoover that is waiting to burst at the first question of: And how are you really.

I could not help but smile into my Con law II reading on soft and hard originalism as you discussed the "exciting" aspect that you just received approval to teach an 8 week boxing class at the gym on campus, only to then spiral downward to reveal your true levels of depression as you exclaim how it WOULD be great, but they decided to charge for the class. They being, as you further explain, the state of the art gym that is being financed by thousands of student dollars that are masked in our tuition. And to top it off, charging means most likely no one will come.

Ah ha. YOU too, Depressed Law Student, go to my frugal law center. Now I can sympathize even more with your self professed "deep depression. Kind of like a mid life crisis".

Depressed Law Student (Funny, we share the same acronym), let me assure you: it will get better. Even though you state that "you know, my grades aren't that good" and reiterate "I'm just really depressed", believe me--some day you'll be walking down the street and that feeling of deep seeded depression will give way to blanket acceptance of the next decade or so of your life and what you'll be doing.

And trust me, Depressed Law Student, if you think law school is bad, just wait till you get to a firm.

Hugs and Kisses (and look into our discounted, though still inferior, therapy included in our really remarkably poor health care plan),

DLS

Observations

2007-09-28T12:09:00.001-04:00

So my fabulous world of 17th and T continues to give me more topics to ruminate over as water for pasta boils and the newest episode of the Sopranos waits (eagerly for me!) on pause. As a student, I have spent the last three years recognizing that my schedule is much, much different from most of the folks around me. My first year was consumed by part time work, evening classes, lots of time in the gym, mid-day naps now and then and strolls through the city at 2:30pm when most people were hunkered down for the rest of the long afternoon at work. Living on the Hill, I would occasionally see the housewives walking their babies and dogs but it was pretty quiet mid-day. Nothing was crowded. There was no bustle.

17th and T and all the areas surrounding me are not like this at all. In the last two years I have changed my schedule quite a bit as well--I rarely sleep in or nap, and I aim to get to school around 9am regardless of when I have class during the day. I don't generally leave school until the evening, having realized my productivity increases dramatically the more I am away from my comfy apartment (and the lure of Netflix).

But last Wednesday was a little out of the ordinary. I had errands to run so I took my time getting up and getting to campus and as I strolled down 17th St, I realized something seemed very extraordinary--the sheer number of people wandering around doing the same thing I was. Now, I know this is a very popular area of the city for young folks right now (as evidenced by the rent and difficulty in finding apartments) but good God! Doesn't anyone in this neighborhood work? Ever? During the day? I mean, I felt like I was walking around mid-day on a Saturday. Shorts. T-shirts. Flip flops. Dogs. It was very striking. What does everyone in my neighborhood DO? Could it be that we can all afford the rent because we're all students living on borrowed money? Noooo. I simply don't believe it.

Another observation I've had over the past few months has to do with this city and men. I don't normally discuss men on this, so turn back now should you not want to read my (possibly belligerent) rant...

So I have this group of fabulous single girlfriends here in D.C. And I mean we're really fantastic. Some of us are in law school having had amazing careers and continuing to have amazing careers. Some of us continue to work on the Hill, have played concert piano in one of the most prestigious venues in the United States before reaching puberty, have multiple advanced degrees and hold high level positions for current presidential candidates. We have lived overseas, volunteered in our communities and are all around fantastic individuals. And the group, by and large, is composed of very attractive women. But in this fair city, it proves impossible time and again for us to find lasting or sustainable relationships. It is mind boggling and has become a fairly constant topic of discussion within the group. Often over wine. Lots of wine.

Don't get me wrong--we also see, what CB and I lovingly refer to as the "epidemic", many of our friends settling into lasting relationships ending in marriage. And that's great. But we all wonder whether this phenomenon for us is a curse of the city in which we dwell or something more. There's a great scene in Sex and the City (I know, I kill myself referencing this show as well--how 2002) where one of the characters makes a revelation based on a famous scene from 'The Way We Were"--there are two types of women in the world--there are the boring girls, who, of course, Hubell ends up with, and there are the Katie girls--the ones who are a little bit larger than life, an little harder to tame. On more than one occasion while sipping mimosas on sidewalk cafes here in D.C. on lazy Sunday mornings, we have wondered if this stereotype is indeed true. Are we the Katie girls that are destined to be passed over for the easier and more controlled women? And if we are, should we change?

I believe the answer to the last question is a resounding Hell No! One of the things I adore and admire about my girlfriends is our drive and passion. Our strength of character and depth of emotion that makes it possible to constantly live a life filled with unrestrained laughter and a sense of independence that, well, some women lack. The same self assuredness that allows us to raise our hands, challenge a professor who has a lifetime of legal prestige behind him/her gives us the ability to walk into a crowded room alone and appear completely at ease, or stand up for ourselves eloquently in a professional environment. We don't hide our independence. It's something we celebrate as friends.

I would never change a thing about my girlfriends. Their strength, neuroses, brilliance and power is what draws me to them. I just wonder if it is the same thing that drives potential mates away. I love the sappy moments in television shows where the characters ponder the idea of soulmates. Eh, who knows. The other great thing about my gals that I have failed to mention until now--we're all happy. REALLY happy. With who we are and what we have, regardless of relationship status. But now YOU know that some stereotypes of female brunch conversation actually takes place. For whatever that's worth.

Rant over. Carry on..

The Eagle Has Landed

2007-09-24T23:18:00.000-04:00

My apartment is finally coming together, after a short three weeks since moving in--it's a good feeling and definitely nice to come home to at least one complete room versus just a lot of stuff and not a lot of places to put it all.

It was an interesting weekend, full of lots of humor and revelations about where I currently exist. And it was all positive. I had a startling, yet timely, realization that it was time to let people go who had been nothing but judgmental and unsupportive for too long, and it was also a weekend of realizing the great people who remained to keep me balanced.

One of my favorite people in D.C. (and in my life), CB, woke up early with me on Saturday morning to head out to Ikea as it opened to try to find this elusive dresser that has kept my bedroom in a seriously un-zen state for 22 days. We hauled ourselves up there, coffee in hand, and made our way through the maze that is Ikea, College Park. They force you to walk through the ENTIRE store causing people to believe they need far more than they actually do. I was a victim of it, as was C, but it was wholly successful and the afternoon was full of promise as we pulled back into the District.

An interesting thing has happened in the last few weeks. Everyone I know seems to be doing some sort of home improvement/restoration. It's fun to have a posse of people who are all thinking about the same kinds of things--color schemes, furniture placement, curtains and bedding. CB was no exception. Having bought a new fabulous bed and all the fixings that go with that, she, too, was in the market for some accents and new goodies. Most notably a rug. Now, here's the first downfall of shopping with good friends--we persuade each other that what sits before us is really what you absolutely need right now no matter the price!!!!! Thus CB walked out of the rug department with a beautiful Gebbe rug far more expensive than the ones she envisioned purchasing before we arrived. (But it looks great, girlfriend!).

Strolling through the aisles and maze of "rooms" Ikea sets up inspired both of us, but after I located the dresser I wanted, we headed down stairs to the abyss of $hit you have to walk through to first get to the aisles where the boxes of furniture sit, and eventually to the checkout. I call this area the abyss of $hit because it includes everything you never EVER knew you needed, but HAVE to have. Case in point: The Jello Shot Trays.

Let me paint the picture: CB and I, weary after making it this far through the store, walk through the kitchen area of the abyss, stunned by all the shiny things they have. OOOHH a Wok! (I hate stir fry, and I was tempted to buy it). OOOHHH new plates! (I just bought a brand new set before moving in here). OOOHHH a weird grilling thing that has a bendy handle that moves and causes me to think I broke the damn thing just by picking it up (I don't even know on which kitchen surface I would use this). So you get the point. Just when we think we're in the clear, the two of us strolled past a bin filled with rubber trays with cut outs--stars, puzzle pieces, hearts, (beer) bottles. A large sign was advertising "Ice cube trays, $1.99!!!!". The two of us stopped dead in our tracks. If one of us had had a Sharpie I think we would have taken the sign, crossed out "Ice Cube Trays" and penciled in "Jello Shot Trays" since that's what we both exclaimed at precisely the same time we saw them. Clearly, we were purchasing a few of these and of course, we would throw a dresser warming party that night and try them out.

An hour later we were in the car back to the city, a Saturday morning well spent.

One of the things I hate about Ikea is the self assembly required for all their furniture. CB had assured me she "loved" putting Ikea furniture together and was a "pro" at it, so I happily dragged her back to my apartment and put her to work on the dresser, while she sent me away to get lunch. Now let's be clear: this was not one of the three drawer Ikea specials you see in most college dorm rooms: it's a large (and pretty) 8 chest bureau. I don't know if CB really took that into consideration as she pronounces her love of furniture assembly. As she steadily worked on the dresser, employing me as needed, I put together some bathroom fixtures and ran out to get the necessary ingredients of Jello shots (Vodka. Seriously. It's the only necessary ingredient. Oh, and Jello is helpful) and sent out the email to the gals about the impromptu party being held that evening.

3.5 hours later the dresser was put together, the Jello shots were firming in the refrigerator and CB and I were lounging in the living room having a celebratory vodka soda. It dawned on us, somewhere between the first and third ounce of vodka, that this is one of those boy afternoons where you kind of don't realize what missing until you need someone power tool inclined and wicked strong. But we also realized that girlfriends can make a pretty good team and stand in for the boy (we exclaimed as we gave each other high fives!) and we settled back in to our drinks comforted knowing that we could be each other's boyfriends as the opportunity presented itself.

The gathering, impromptu and small, was a great event. IG, our local male captain of the Pink Team graced us with his presence, was charming and complimentary as an captain should be, and fed us all jello shots out of a spoon. (Note to those rushing out the door to hit Ikea and get the Jello Shot Molds after reading this post: The actual formed alcohol infused jello is quite tricky to get out of the mold. Proceed with caution). It was just the end as great a day as anyone could have asked for, and I got to show off my new bedroom and fabulous dresser in the "preview" to my housewarming party (which might take place in December, based on the rate things are coming together!).

I love the times when the negative is canceled and buried by the positive and you're left with only the good and a bit of a lighter step. Cheers to that!

Experiments

2007-09-16T19:57:00.000-04:00

The past few weeks have been an adjustment living alone. I love it, I love having my own space (even without a dresser and the apartment still largely packed) and the knowledge that the entire area is mine. But I'm social and I'm used to being around people a lot of the time, so sometimes it gets lonely. I don't have a TV right now, so when I'm looking to relax, unwind, have some mindless distraction, I have been reliant on my little Mac and the world wide web. I have cruised through most online shows offered for free on ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX, FX, CW, and MTV. I have even downloaded (for $1.99) and episode of Top Chef since Bravo doesn't give shows away for free. I have sampled most of iTunes's free TV shows (and have gotten hooked on a few: Gossip Girl, to name one) and have been loving my Netflix subscription.

My current obsession (since there were only three seasons of Arrested Development. Robbery!) is The Sopranos. Yes, I am one of the few 20-30 somethings in the free world who has not ever seen this show. But people talked enough about it for the last 6 years I decided I, too, would see what all the fuss was about.

I love it. I'm totally into the whole "sensitive conflicted mobster who goes to therapy and then blows people's faces in" thing. Love it. I mean, I have thought for a long time that everyone could use an hour a week of talking to an unbiased listener about everything happening with them. I can't wait to start working at the Firm so I can get quality medical insurance that will let me have a therapist of my own! But I digress. There is only so many Sopranos episodes one can watch consecutively. I just finished the first season this weekend and realized I had an unrelenting craving for Italian food.

Every episode revolves around food and therapy. And the food always looks GOOD. So today, after a little law school reading I decided to enjoy the gorgeous weekend weather and take a stroll to the grocery store. Along the way I passed Blockbuster...ooh the temptation of another disk of the Sopranos. It was too much. I couldn't resist. And then I thought OOHH Meatballs! So my plan for Sunday evening materialized.

Moving into my new place did inspire me to actually use my kitchen. After all, it would be largely wasted space if I just let it sit there for show, right? But I've never been a good cook. Or a cook at all. So anytime I take on a cooking endeavor it's never clear what direction it's going to go. I'm not good at "following directions" or "using cookbooks" or "knowing what kitchen terminology means". So when I went home and found a recipe online for what one online guru deemed "the best meatballs EVER" I scanned the recipe and hit the streets again.

It seemed easy enough. Meat, eggs, breadcrumbs, cheese. This recipe used a combination of veal, beef and pork. A fancy endeavor indeed. I imagined, as I walked to Whole Paycheck, my upcoming meatball glory. Making them and having the other apartment dwellers in my building knocking down my door by the end because the aroma was just so overwelmingly intoxicating. I was inspiring myself!

And then I got to the store. Note to D.C. dwellers: Do not attempt Whole Foods on a Sunday at 4:45pm. It's hell. My plan, to save money, was to get the meat at the expensive store and then stop at our Soviet Safeway on the way back up for the basics--eggs, breadcrumbs etc. I got to the first place and almost threw in the towel altogether. It was a zoo. I dodged couples and baby strollers for 10 minutes and decided that braving two city grocery stores in one weekend day would be too much--I would suck it up and buy everything I needed at the expensive place. 3 kinds of meat (all free range), one pound each. Check. Cage free eggs. Check. Parmesean cheese. Check. Now where the hell are the breadcrumbs? I thought FOR SURE Whole Foods would have 17 different kinds to choose from. Up and down aisle after all aisle. Not a bread crumb to be found. And this is from a store that stocks 27 different kinds of wheat flour.

Tap Tap Tap. Excuse me, sir. Hi. Can you tell me where a breadcrumb might be? What? You're kidding. Are you telling me there is not ONE breadcrumb in the entire store? Huh? Oh, what's this. Hmm. Wait, this looks like some sort of Japanese thing. Are you SURE this is a breadcrumb? I'm making meatballs and I really don't want them to suck. No, I see that it says "Italian flavored" right on there, but it just doesn't seem too breadcrumby. Ok, I'll try it. Thanks!

Seriously. That was an interaction with a kind Whole Foods employee. Suddenly my illusions of meatball greatness started to fade. After 20 minutes in the "express" line and 60 dollars later I headed home to try my hand at the meatball. I mean, at this point there was no turning back. I had 3+ pounds of meat that I had no other plans for. I turned my computer back on and brought the recipe back up. Reading it more carefully this time, I noticed something interesting: In the ingredients section it said "One pound combined ground pork, beef and veal. Not one pound each. Damnit. What the hell am I going to do with all this meat! Well, how many meatballs can one pound of meat REALLY make? Hmm. 20-25. Wow. I'm going to have *a lot* of meatballs by the end of the night.

Knowing that I couldn't possibly make 75 freaking meatballs, I decided to make some tonight and save part of the meat (without having ANY clue what to do with the rest of it. Suggestions??). So I kind of added about 2/3 of the meat to a bowl and decided I would "eyeball" the rest of the ingredients until they seemed right. You know, from all my meatball making experience from the past.

I added an egg to the recipe. Decided to just dump some of the suspect breadcrumbs until it seemed right. Used the entire thing of cheese I bought. 4 cloves of garlic rather than one. I did follow the directions to mix it all with my hands (icky poo) and thought the mixture seemed a little dry. Hmm. I really didn't want to add another egg because of the ick factor of mushing it around in the meat mixture (for all those vegetarians, hang in there, it gets better) and had a stroke of genius (I thought) while gazing around my kitchen for other options. Wine! I mean, when doesn't booze make something better? I dumped a little Fat Bastard Shiraz into the pot and gleefully mushed it in, enjoying the purple tinge the mixture took on.

The recipe called for putting the meatballs on the rack over a cookie sheet, but who the hell has this kind of rack contraption in their kitchen? Seriously. So I threw those suckers (far larger than called for, but I didn't want to be making meatballs ALL night) right on the cookie sheet and threw them in the oven. I had no idea how long they would actually need to cook, so I used my killer cooking instinct as well and gave them 5 extra minutes after I was sure they had to be done.

The result? PERFECTION. I'm not kidding. I could open a meatball store and have customers lined up down the street. I was so thrilled with the result I wanted to call everyone I know. I mean, I feel a sense of redemption from cooking gone wrong so many times in my life, like the now infamous pumpkin pie incident of 2001 (so fine, I tripled the recipe accidentally and made enough pie filling for 9 pies instead of three. Who doesn't love pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving?) I'm hoping my meatballs will redeem me this Thanksgiving and get me off of napkin and tablecloth ironing duty. And silver polishing duty. And "anything we can do to keep DLS out of the kitchen" duty. My prize winning meatballs deserve better than that....

Reflections

2007-09-15T17:50:00.000-04:00

I often forget that I have been out of college for almost 7 years and that my age is more than just a number, but a reflection of time that has passed and events that have occurred. I was thinking about that this past week, with the passing of the sixth anniversary of the World Trade Center attacks. I was startled at the realization that it had been six years since that day--one that is surely indelible in most adult American minds. It was jarring not only because the day passed with barely a mention of the attack, but because it caused me to have this jolt of thinking about the highlights of the last six years.

And it made me remember, as the day normally does, where I was and what I was doing. We all have the epic moments--where were you when Kennedy was assassinated (no, I was not alive), or when the Challenger exploded or the Berlin wall came down. The Bush v. Gore decision. September 11. Some events resonate more clearly in our minds than others, some more permanent and alive, like a photograph gazed at for so long that you memorize not only the features of it, but the feeling encapsulated in that day--that moment.

The Senate was a heady place for a 22 year old, my dad used to say. And he was right. And the funny thing is, it remained this elevated, kind of sexy place before, during and after the attacks. We were at the center. We were the speculated 4th destination. We worked for the Boss who ran back into Russell "because he had staff in there!" We were stoic, in some senses, in our place on the hill. We were united, not only in the cause and the legislative tasks at hand, but in some sort of unspoken fear. I remember the days and weeks after the attacks as clearly as the day of. I remember after the attacks, after the anthrax letters, the phone call. At work. From my father. "DLS. Your mother would like you to come home now".

I left DC the weekend after the attacks. I went to Charlottesville on a Greyhound to feel something familiar and more removed. I got on the bus at Union Station and wanted to sink into my chair as we pulled out, onto 395. I was seated next to an older black woman who seemed friendly enough. I have never been one to be overly friendly to strangers. I would have sat the entire 2 hours reading my book and exchanging the most occasional pleasantries when necessary with her. But it's D.C., and everyone is curious about what everyone else does. She started a conversation and was asking me where I was going. I had graduated from UVA in May, I said. Going down to see some friends for the weekend. No, it wasn't really planned before this week, but I wanted a little break. Oh, what do I do? I work for the Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee.

Pause.

We looked over to see the Pentagon, still smoking, with the rest of the bus crowding to their windows, taking pictures. I wanted to throw up. She took my hand and looked at me and said: "Child, you are doing something wonderful. The eyes of the nation are on you and your bosses and the rest of the angels who are keeping this government working in the aftermath of all that has happened. You are a leader and you are doing a remarkable thing."

I wanted to cry. I certainly did not think anything that I was doing was remarkable. Certainly not merely showing up to work in the morning. The following weeks, particularly post anthrax letter (I answered mail, for God's sake! it was unnerving), I would get on the metro at Dupont Circle and arrive at Union Station and more times than once, would consider staying on and not getting off. I mean, it would have been easy enough. But I never did. We just kept doing our jobs, one day at a time, with more security posted and less of a sense of being secure.

And six years later we look back to see the other tragedies that have amassed in that time. Katrina. The Tsunami. Virginia Tech. Myriad volcanoes and earth quakes. War. Life and death. I don't think that every year there needs to be a great pause every time we hit an anniversary of ones of these occurrences. Some events mean more to people in the fabric of their lives than do others. This one struck me this year because I remember the reflections I had on the first anniversary, when I was in Mali, not even a month into my 27 month odyssey. That morning, like the day itself is clear: Standing in open aired mud latrine with a bucket of warm water to take a bath, watching the night sky fade, listening to prayer call being chanted from the Muslim mosque down the path from my host family's house. Thinking of how far I had come and how peaceful this new place was. And about how much that day a year before had affected me.

I guess it's the same as the feelings I had at the end of last summer. It's always good to have things that keep you grounded with a strong sense of perspective. This reflection is one of those for me.

Jumping Back In

2007-09-09T17:29:00.000-04:00

I realized a few days ago that I had become a little out of touch on here--I did not realize how long it had been since I posted anything! I've started a couple of posts over the past month, but they didn't ever feel quite right for some reason. So I'm trying afresh.

The month of August lived up to everything I had hoped--it was a solid incredible month--getting an offer, finishing work, attending my good friend's wedding, roadtripping to Vermont and spending one of the best weekends I could imagine on the Lake, heading home to my family, going to Maine, and moving into my own place. It amazes me how quickly it all went--but it was perfect. I spent a lot of hours up north considering what my next professional move would be. DC? Chicago? The Firm? It was unsettling a lot of the time, but it was a necessary process for me to go through in my own mind and with those closest to me in order to be sure I would make the right decision. Maine was a large time of inner debate--the Firm, the past 365 days, the decisions made and that would be ahead. I read books and chatted with my parents. I thought a lot of about the former Boy who had occupied my room in the cottage the previous summer with me and the space that has kind of been left behind since the end of the relationship. It was good to have some quiet and to be able to sit on my private porch and watch the ocean and breathe clean air. I felt like myself. I began to feel balanced again--a feeling that was so welcome after a summer that largely left me teetering around trying to remain somewhat close to my zen spot.

So here I am. I'm on my old couch in my new apartment. For a week I have padded around boxes and bags that remain packed until I buy a dresser and tables. But I don't mind, because it's my own place and my own space. I wander around in my undies, and sit in my living room without a tv and listen to the hum of the refrigerator, largely because I CAN. I walk to Whole Foods and Safeway and local coffee shops and pubs. There have been times where I've felt like I was in an entirely new city, even though I have lived here for years.

I've started my final year of law school. The beginning of the lasts. The last first day back, the last painfully high loan application for school (hooray!). It feels good to be back on campus with friends and academic stimulation. It's jarring to realize how quickly the time has passed, but it seems to be that way with everything as of late.

I looked out my window the other day and realized the days have gotten a lot shorter than the last time I had noticed. I always have a slightly nostalgic feeling as one season fades and another emerges. It's like the lyrics from that great song by Dar: "Summer ends and we wonder where we are, and there you go my friends with your boxes in your car". The feeling of change, movement, re-evaluation. It's never a bad thing, but it does sometimes cause one to pause.

So things in the nation's capital are good right now, and life remains pleasant.

Here We Go!

2007-08-16T09:57:00.000-04:00

This is number one on the playlist for the next 10 days. It's going to be a glorious trip!

Wedding Day
Rosie Thomas

i've got my car all packed with cassette tapes
and sweaters and loose change and cheap cigarettes
i'm gonna drive through the hills
with my hand out the window
and sing 'til i run out of words
i'm gonna stop at every truck stop
make small talk with waiters and truck driving men
i'm gonna fall asleep in the back seat
with no one around but me and my friends

it's gonna be so grand
it's gonna be just like my wedding day

i've had enough of love
it feels good to give up
so good to be good to myself
i'm gonna get on the highway with no destination
and plenty of vision in mind
and i'm gonna drive to the ocean
go skinny dipping
blow kisses to venus and mars
i'm gonna stop at every bar
and flirt with the cowboys in front their girlfriends

it's gonna be so grand
it's gonna be just like my wedding day

so much for love
i guess i've been wrong
but it's all right cuz i'm moving on
i'm gonna drive over hills
over mountains and canyons
and boys that keep bringin me down
i'm gonna drive under skyline and sunshine
drink good wine in vineyards
and get asked to dance
i'm gonna be carefree and let nothing pass me by
never ever again

it's gonna be so grand
it's gonna be just like my wedding day

Wide Open Spaces

2007-08-16T00:14:00.000-04:00

I forgot what it feels like to have expanses of days with no obligations. Having finished my job on Friday, not having any schoolwork and having an offer (and a sweet one at that) in my back pocket, I have taken the past few days and have been able to really enjoy them.

Tomorrow I leave for my road trip to the cabin on the lake in Vermont with J and C and 8 of C's closest friends. I cannot wait. Lounging in the lake, drinking wine, grilling various meats (and fine, vegetarian fare of C) seems like the perfect mid-August weekend to kick off 10 days in the great NorthEast. I head south on Sunday to my parent's house to hang out and mull over all of the information I have regarding my offer, cities, moving, and my next big step.

Then it's off to the beach on Wednesday. 4 days in Maine, in the sun, on the coast with mountains of books and not much else.

So that's where I'll be for the next ten days. yippee!

Here's Looking At You, Kid....

2007-08-13T23:28:00.000-04:00

There are things I love about DC that I would never want to change. Tonight was one of them.

Picture this: The National Mall--dusk. The Capitol to my front, the Monument to my back. Sun setting over the great city. Blankets laid out with 5000 people waiting for the movie to play. 2 girlfriends, on blankets, wine cheese and a breeze that would make you feel like you were anywhere but here. Casablanca, the movie, ahead of us.

We take a lot for granted. No one can deny that. But moments like this night are those you cannot. DC is a great place for a lot of reasons, none so grand as what is given to all of us. I sat tonight, on my Dogon wedding blanket, three girls who I adore on hand, and laughed and drank and ate cheese and bread amongst so many other people. We talked about our happenings: One who is still with the Good Senator, who is making these amazing decisions and choices and calls, who has the bravery of no one else I know; One who is with me in law school, in firm life, in that crazy place we call normal; One who works for the Presidential Candidate, while in law school, while juggling the rest of the world. And we sit, on the National Mall, watching an old movie that has never lost its grace, and I see that we are the same.

I can struggle. And I can call out. But with the girls I have, the girls we all have, we will never lose our grace. It was a great evening. Looking at J, talking to her about our good friend's fiance who is now on tap for war, and questioning what has changed between 1943 and now.

So much. So much has changed. And that's what makes things great. And it's what makes things comforting. We live our lives ensconced in those of others. And there is an added richness in that. I am thrilled and blessed with those who grace mine.

Here's looking at you, Kid. And it's a gorgeous picture I see.

The Celebratory Summer

2007-08-11T10:08:00.000-04:00

*This was supposed to be published on Aug 11--it's a couple of days late getting up there!*

Today is the first day of the rest of all of our lives. I suppose every day is like that, but for my good friend LP I think that statement is really true.

LP and GC are marrying today--the same way I felt with my sister before her wedding is how I feel today-there is nothing more thrilling than seeing someone you love find extreme and true happiness with another, and being present and able to help them celebrate. Weddings are these great events--they are multidimensional because the day is truly about the 2 people who are getting married, but equally as much a celebration joined by the people who traveled down the path at so many different stages of life to get them here.

LP and I have been friends since working in the Good Senator's office--a moment after college, during 9/11 when L, J, R and I felt like we were the princesses of the marble halls of Russell and Dirksen. I think every young staffer feels like that--we were no anomoly--an it's funny to experience the metamorphisis from feeling heady and important (ha--22 years old--what a great and delusional age) to gaining the understanding that the work we were doing is important, but we are simply one of many many many people helping to make a machine run.

We were the fun ones in the office. We bonded at cocktail receptions that the Senator and his senior staff were invited to but passed their invitations down to us. It was comical--all of these lobbying groups, companies etc would provide lavish spreads--booze as far as you could see, mounds of cheese, h'ors doerves and when you looked around it was all junior staff coming to partake in the bounty. I'm not going to lie. It was hard living in DC on $26,000 a year. So we took advantage anytime free food and drink was offered. I used to say that it should be illegal to give away free alcohol to anyone who made less than $35k/year as it seemed to foster what some might call "excessive drinking".

As naive (but fun!) 22 year olds, L, R and I made highly intelligent decisions. The one we still laugh about (frequently) is when hatched the brilliant plan to document our escapades as young, single, bargoing DC girls in one of the hill online rags, HillZoo. We even got the committee's press person to ok it. We did not, however, cover our bases with the senior staff in the personal office. A decision that would come back to haunt all of us....

The posts were hilarious--witty, racy, and totally inappropriate. The editor of HillZoo loved us--probably because we thought it completely fine to use taglines such as this highly memorable one: "Brass Monkey: A bar where you start the night pounding shots and end it pounding a random stranger". (Mom, I know, you should feel proud).

We did this for months and months. When it took us more than three weeks to give them a new column, people would actually complain. L was famous for smacking people's asses after a few cocktails and having it end up in that week's column much to her chagrin and pleas of more editing. But it was harmless fun..until I left the Senate and the news leaked out...

I left to save the world (Peace Corps, duh) and we all decided to hang up our HillZoo shoes upon my departure. For months the editor wanted to publish our identities or who we worked for. We refused to let him (deep down we all knew that this would probably reflect poorly if, say, the Senator discovered his three young staffers penning this kind of article). When I left and we pulled the plug, the editor pleaded to keep it going between R and L, they said no. We told him thanks, but it was time to move on. I left for Vermont a few days later to get ready for my next big adventure and left L and R and J in DC...

Then the email arrives. "DLS: Chief of Staff wants to talk to you. Oh, and you might want to check HillZoo's comings and goings section". Oh. Shit. Our agreement with editor was that he would never reveal our identities--the most people new of us were our first names and that we worked for a senator. What we did not ban, or not overtly anyway, was the revelation of identity after we had all finished. That's right, front and center on the first page of HillZoo was an entire bio about me leaving, who I worked for, where I was going, and the column we all used to write. And L and R were implicated just as much. Oops.

I got off the easiest--I had already left the office. L and R had to sit face to face with Chief of Staff and Scary C and get their little life lessons. I sent an angry and forceful email to editor demanding he take the latest post down. Life went on.

J, L, R and I reminisce a lot about that year. They all stayed on for various amounts of time (J is still there, and is super important now, but this time for real). But we've all grown up a lot too in the past 6 years--it's a joy to think L is getting married today, and R will be in less than a year. And I have no doubt that our naive beginnings are being replicated by many more heady, ambitious and carefree 22 year olds. But I do believe that we had and continue to have more fun than any of them.

Congratulations LP and GC--you two are perfect for each other and I cannot wait to celebrate this amazing day with the two of you.

Keepin' On

2007-07-31T18:10:00.000-04:00

So. It's amazing what a little resolve can do for a gal. I have believed for some time that we posess and amazing ability to determine our trajectory. As mentioned before in other posts, there is something to be said about fate--it moves us forward in certain ways but is in no way an independant actor on the paths of our lives.

Today is the last day of July. And it was a good day. In the midst of all that is swirling around in the eye of my own personal hurricane, I am beginning to think that with my head down and eyes on course, the next month is going to be breathtaking.

I have 9 more days of work. My how far we've come this summer. I use the collective we--everyone who has stuck on through the most depressing posts ever, as well as the fellow summers who are feeling the weight that is this law firm bearing down on us. Nah, we're not through the hardest of it all, I don't think there really is a "hardest" in this kind of thing, but it's kind of like those last few weeks of winter. Tentatively looking outside each morning to make sure a NorEaster has not crept in, and beginning to see a little green bud of life poking through the snow. I do love drama, but I think anyone can get the idea.

August will be a great month. Will I get an offer from the firm? In ten days I'll know. Here is what I know right now, on July 31st, 2007: In the next 30 days I will move into a home with rooms of my own; I will road trip up to Vermont with two of my favorite Vermont turned DC gals and spend a weekend on Lake Champlain drinking wine, floating in the water, twirling in the sun, and blowing kisses to the stars; I will throw sticks to Phoebe the Dog in my backyard and grill veggies with my parents and listen to the crickets talk; I'll host a housewarming party/birthday party/revolution of life for myself and everyone I know; I will finally let go of all the rest; I will be happy.

None of the above are negotiable. They are givens and only a supreme act of fate can make me change my course. Sometimes being a little lost is kind of exciting. In the process of finding yourself you get the opportunity and excuse to open your eyes really wide and rediscover everything that has been obscured underneath that shroud.

A Tale of Two Cities

2007-07-29T14:01:00.000-04:00

What is it about new cities that makes things a little clearer? I think it is the feeling of freshness--of everything being new, a little exciting, kind of scary and very anonymous. An ability to reinvent who you are, even for a few days, in a place where no one knows your day to day routines and habits, habitual haunts or skeletons that peek out from your closet. The feeling of being lost and found all at the same time.

I was in Chicago this past week. Ostensibly for work but secretly to see if this change of scenery would suit me. Moving from the shores of the Potomac to those of Lake Michigan in an attempt to find an answer to a question that I am not sure I can even articulate now. Driving in from the airport to a skyline dotted with daunting buildings rather than low lying monuments, on streets that were dominated by cabs rather than personal cars, in an office on the 39th floor gazing down at the boats on the lake, Indiana in the distance, picnic blankets on the amphitheatre rather than looking from the 12th floor onto the home of the President.

I am at the point where I think I need to shake things up, make a change in my life. I have been searching for something not only the past 2 months, but since embarking on this journey of law school as well. And I think in every journey, whether it is to the grocery store, through grad school, wandering through the abyss of dating, or meandering through life, we all occasionally get lost. But I think there are different levels--ranging from turning a virtual corner, ending up in a real bad neighborhood, recognizing it immediately, and correcting your path as quickly as you strayed off course. And then there is when you find yourself in, what I like to call, the abyss of what the fuck. Where up is suddenly down, things that are tried and true seem to be failing, where you find comfort in the most unlikely places and people and no matter how often you close your eyes and hold your breath and click the heels of your ruby red wedges, when you look back up you're still in the same place.

A lot of what I have blogged about this summer has lead me to the stark realization that I am ensconced in my own abyss of what the fuck. I was sitting in Chicago, looking out my window onto the shores of Lake Michigan when it became clear that all of these different threads that I have written about largely in an individual manner have woven into a thick shroud that I am not sure how to come out from under. Actually. That's a lie. I do know how to come out from under it, or at least start peeking out once again from under it. But it's hard and unpleasant and I hate being forced into self confrontation. That's not to say that I am averse from taking responsibility for my own turns in the road that has left me stranded in this abyss--I just hate knowing that when I turn around and start trying to get myself out of this abyss, there will be people who will have to be cast away--those who I have held onto and put unnatural faith in and who seem to have powers that bring out some good and a lot of bad. And I know that even being on the road back I will most likely make some missteps and the path is not going to be..clear.

So Chicago. It feels like it's a million miles away (ok ok, 659 miles away) but right now I have this twitching in my gut that says it might be the end of this road back. But that's getting ahead of myself. It can be a lonely journey--much of what is in your head and heart--and it's scary. Searching for a path that is not wholly clear even for the explorer is daunting. I'm kind of hoping to stumble onto a magic map that will give me all the answers. Until then, I'm stuck with dusting off whatever compass still exists within me, strapping on the hiking boots and hoping that I meet some of the kind and deep souls along this journey that have graced those in the past. And as always, continuing to keep a little faith in myself, since, well, it's gotten me this far, right?

Collect Ephemera

2007-07-06T10:10:00.000-04:00

I caught some flack from a few loyal readers (thanks mom) about the removal of what had been my most recent post. I am not going to repost it, because I didn't feel it fair to the person who was causing the sadness and pain that it described. As I said, I don't know who reads this thing, and having addressed the situation privately it just didn't seem...prudent.

But I stick by my stained glass assertion and the need to let light in to catch the most compelling reflections that make up the intracacies of individuals. So there you have it. Moving on.

This week's topic is going to stray a bit from the angst ridden posts of my life in a law firm to something far far more joyous--my darling and wonderful sister's upcoming wedding which is taking place in 8 days. Not surprisingly, this momentous event has caused me to contemplate a number of different emotions surrounding weddings. Both for the bride to be, as well as for those who are merely the spectators and revelers in such an occasion.

Being a witness (albeit a distant one down here in DC) to the preparation of marriage has definitely made me pause a little bit. Watching this gorgeous person who I have known my entire life go through the processes of marriage makes wonder where the past 28 years have gone. When did we grow up? How is this possible?

My AP English teacher in high school gave my class some great advice before we graduated. She told us wherever we went and whatever we did, to collect ephemera. It is in the passing moments, she explained, the ones the glimmer and fade quickly, that create the fullest patchwork of our memory and experience. This conversation and piece of advice has come up a few times in the last few days and J's marriage makes me wander back through the ephemeral moments that I've caught with her since high school. I was looking at photos the other night--one in our backyard the day J came home from camp for a day off with her gals, the two of us standing, arms around each other, while her friend took a photo from the ground. I remember the day clearly--it was a gorgeous Vermont summer day, I had been working at the pool, they all came down to swim whisked me back home before they had to take back off for camp.

Or a night more recently, after parents had gone off to bed and my sister and I sat bundled on the front porch on a very quiet winter's night drinking wine and talking about past sadnesses and regrets, while gaining a deeper respect for the similarities we share.

Or my freshman year, sitting in my college dorm room alone, crying my eyes out after finding out that my legs weren't well enough to put me back in the boat for our race against Cornell, that my whole family was going to attend, and that I would not be going to, and getting an email with a small stanza from The Boxer and the quiet words of encouragement and support.

Coming home from Mali and watching my sister bounce past security before I had made it out of the secured area to be the first to embrace me.

I could go on and on. But some of my favorite ephemeral moments will remain ours to share. The point being--looking at some of these moments I see the richness and grace that has been infused into my life through them. And I watch a woman prepare to get married and feel a deep sense of joy and respect, knowing that the moments with us will continue regardless of age or place or relationship status.

I am so very very proud of the steps that have led my sister to this marriage that is coming so quickly and the moments we have shared along the way.

Go See 'Evening'

2007-07-01T12:29:00.000-04:00

This movie is astounding. I think ever mother, sister and best friend should see it.

There are no mistakes. There is life. We move with purpose and grace. We are mysterious creatures.

Go see Evening.

Revolutions

2007-06-30T11:36:00.000-04:00

I turned 28 on Thursday, and it has was a great day. I had a birthday gathering last night to celebrate and enjoyed the easy company of my dear friends. It has been a good week.

And, surprisingly, it has been a good week professionally as well. I'm a pleaser. I like to make people happy. I like to fix things that I sense are not quite right. Professionally and personally, I do my best to create harmony among the people in my life.

It turns out it's not so easy to do in a large international law firm. I tried. Oh did I try. Based on the last couple of posts I think it's fairly clear that I failed. Miserably. But I don't think it's my fault. We are armed at the beginning of the summer with ways to politely say "no" to work. Things like "I would really love to help you, but let me tell you what is on my plate now so you have an understanding of my constraints that already exist" or "I appreciate the chance to work with you on this project, but I think you should talk to Other Partner I am Currently Being Enslaved By to decide what percentage of my time (blood, sweat and tears) should be going to each project".

In theory, those lines really do seem like magic bullets. Easy ways to take the pressure off of the young associates (or summer associates) to keep piling work on when they are already completely over extended. Well. Here's what they don't tell you in training: Partners are greedy and they don't give a shit about another partner's project. You know why? Because, that other partner's deal is not going to raise their personal paycheck at the end of the day. You eat what you kill. You do not feast, at partner level, on another partner's bounty.

So therein lies the problem. And that has been a big problem for me. Using those great lines, getting half of it out of my mouth to be told "I don't care about the other project or the other deadlines you have. Here's my project. I need it in 35 seconds". Bitch. Slap.

By Tuesday of this past week, at 5pm, when the third person said this to me in, oh, a week, I hit my tolerance threshold. I envisioned an act of physical violence (I am a really passive person. Make love. Not war) while saying GET IN LINE, SHITHEAD. Instead, I curtly sat, tersely responded and in the end stayed at the office until 3am trying to get it done. But the breaking point had been hit.

My friends who have followed the path of this summer with me, most often steadily walking with me, supporting me and giving me all of the zen and positivity they have, or the one(s) who have given the dose of reality in pointing out that I do have other choices, I can make an independent decision, and to stop being so desperate appreciate that it's not easy to speak up and assert unhappiness. Tuesday, I had an epiphany while sitting in the office getting dumped on. I don't need this. I don't deserve this. And I will not spend the next six weeks wallowing in a trough of misery.

So I stood up for myself. In a calm, collected, unemotional and professional manner. I was honest. I had lunch on Thursday with my partner mentor and the woman who I have been working with on the project finance deal. We went to a lovely restaurant (for all the DC kids--go to Blue Duck Tavern--it's delish) and mid-meal when they asked me how things were really going, I told them. I was tactful. I did not say "You people must be batshit crazy if you actually think I would actually come back here when I get an offer". Instead, I stated three things: I have noticed a lack of respect among partners for other partner's projects. I have noticed and felt a great lack of respect from work providers when I try and assert balance with them. I have noticed a lack of communication generally, and a lack of respect for other's deadlines.

It was a good place to start. I did not want to complain or bad mouth other partners or projects. But I needed to open the discussion for "here is what I have noticed and here is why I have and some other summer's might not see this yet". And I think it worked. They were embarrassed. And horrified. There were follow up conversations. Promises of change. Profuse apologies.

I do not hold my breath. But at least in the firm my feet are solidly placed, I am standing upright, and I feel a sense of strength. I feel like my fierceness has returned.

My associate mentor--an amazing little powerhouse of a woman--and I have spent a lot of time the past week honestly talking about my experience and hers. She has been really concerned about my situation and has done what she can, in her junior position, to try to help. She has given some great advice. One of the best pieces came at 2:30am on Tuesday as we were both stuck at the office. "DLS, get your offer. Get your reviews which will be glowing. And then look around. You do not have to come back here. And no one will be surprised if you don't. You have other options.'"

I can't predict what will happen between now and August 11. But I am have regained at least a semblance of control over my life. And that, I think, is what is ultimately important.

Things DLS Is Thankful For

2007-06-16T00:04:00.000-04:00

I know it's not November. But come on, sometimes it's good to reflect on the...good.

Sometimes my posts can be kind of downers. I know this, it's kind of the way it is, because sometimes life can be a downer. And I worry, at times, because this is a snapshot of what I am thinking about at any given moment, and I hate to alarm people.

But then there are the times when those snapshots are more panoramic than I care to admit. I have these great friends who comment on here--and I adore that. And then I have my family. None of whom have crossed the comment border. But I get emails from them, effectively commenting on posts. Last night I got many.

We all get lost every now and then in our own lives. It's inevitable. I use my gals, my darlings, my loves, as compasses. I am remarkably fortunate to have them. And sometimes I feel very very far from the rolling hills of Vermont. From the wisdom I gained in the farmhouse in which I was raised. But other times, like today and last night, I have a moment of clarity as to where I have come from, and why I am who I am.

I love my family. I always have. I always will. I love that I come from 2 people who are as unjudging and supportive as my parents. I adore my siblings. I bask in the friendship my sister and I have developed, sometimes painfully, over the years. I am humbled by their support and honesty. I am guided by their peace and wisdom. And I feel free to be who I am, without apology or struggle because of their strength that they impart on me.

I do, I feel lonely right now. But I never feel alone. And it's because, sometimes in the quiet night when only the crickets are chirping in our fields outside the house, I get a note of steady and unwavering support from my family. I can hear my mom's sing song voice reminding me of the beauty of the day, my dad's wit and sarcasm and always adoration of the prospect of learning and growth, my sister's slow, steady and solid voice of reason, and, every now and then, my brother's jovial pat on the shoulder and I know, I am comforted knowing ,that no matter what path I travel, I will never be alone.

This has been a tough week, a tough day in DLS's world. Work, friends, life. It's never easy. I hope it's often rewarding, but sometimes it's just one big struggle. But I know no matter what is happening, no matter where I am, no matter what my paycheck or loan payment is, I will always have home. And for that, I am thankful.

Where Am I Going, Where Have I Been?

2007-06-14T11:08:00.000-04:00

I am fairly certain that no one is actually checking this blog anymore since I have been silent for weeks now. But as it is a great mode of decompression for me, I am going to keep writing and hope that anyone who loyally reads might come and take another look.

The past three weeks have been...intense. And tiring. And have forced me to really evaluate what it is that makes me happy, where I want to be, and what I want to be doing with this kind of complicated life that I lead. I exhaust myself, at times, in the sense that I feel like there are so many people making the decision to just join the firm, work the corporate law job, put one foot in front of the other as we are told to do in law school. And then there's me. I struggle against the easy decisions. I like to make things more complicated than they have to be. I question everything and often to my own detriment. But in this case, in the case of my job, I like to think it's because I actually value being happy. I know, most people do, but unlike a lot of other folks, I actually have a fairly strong sense and handle on what creates my happiness.

Project finance, shockingly, does not. Corporate finance also does not rank too high on the DLS happiness scale. I like to think that I can be that person who gets the job done, who reviews financing agreements for 100 million dollar deals 17 times to make sure commas are placed in the right spaces, defined terms are capitlized, and that every last period is placed exactly where it needs to be. But where is the fulfillment in that? Who am I helping? What am I contributing to? Surely, our client. Perhaps acting as the lender, perhaps in the role of the borrower on any given deal. I can argue that in this firm I am helping the environment, as much of the project finance work that is being done is for clients who are working on renewable energy projects, biodiesel, windmills, etc. But at the end of the day, where is the tangible gain that allows me, in my somewhat crazy and not always rational world, to put my one foot in front of the other?

This job makes me feel lonely. It's what I realized about 2 days ago. It's a feeling that has been creeping very slowly over me since week One. It makes me want to be dating someone so I can feel a physical and emotional closeness to a person, because there is no emotional depth at all to the work I am doing. I commented to my friend J that this is the first time, I do believe, in my professional life (or my personal life) that I feel like I am not doing something that has a positive impact on individuals, or that makes someone's life a little easier (ok ok, except the partner's, who is making BANK from these deals. His life is easier. Thank God). It is bothersome, and depressing. To this same friend (poor guy, he bears the brunt of my musings these days), late one night, as I was chatting with him while watching the clock tick eternal at my desk while drafting schedules to agreements, I realized I actually felt really really sad.

I don't balk from emotion. I appreciate it, I bask in it, I like to feel because it makes me feel alive. But I don't like the empty and lonely sadness I have felt passing over me, sometimes lingering, in waves over the past month. But what do I do? Where am I going from here?

I have been many places in my life. I like to think that from each place where I have paused, I have taken something with me. One of my most prized takings is the volumes of journals I kept while in Mali, and the very public journal I kept on this site last summer while I was in Kenya. I revisited both of these this past weekend and was reminded of where I have been and where I would like to be going. After a particularly trying week in Mali, about at the time I had passed a year in my village, I wrote "There are times I want to stand on my roof so everyone in the village can see and hear me and tell these people who keep bringing me their children and their parents and their relatives who are ill, asking me to heal them with by touch or magic medicine, that I CANNOT SAVE YOU PEOPLE, the only person who can save you is yourselves." The last post I wrote while in the refugee camp last summer ended with this:

"But that is why I will keep coming back to this as the place where my heart lies. There is such honesty and truth in suffering, and the only way to respond is likewise. I cannot imagine a life that is void of this feeling--trying to find a way to better the lives of people who cannot do it on their own. In the end, there is no us and them."

I still feel that way. But now, in this moment, or from the moment I re-read it, it dawned on me: the only person who can save me is myself, and I have not lost the desire to feel as intensely passionate about something as I did last summer. Dramatic, but true. I can sit at my desk and feel...helpless. I can look around and come up with myriad reasons why this firm and the people here are creating my depression and angst (and it would not be a lie). But I am the only person, just me, who will determine where my foot is placed next. And when I make that decision about where I am going, I will know that it is right.

Maybe it will be back here. It most likely will be, as 180k in debt aint gonna pay itself off. But a lot can happen in a year or two. (Yes. I just linked to myself. Because I am that cool). I'll let everyone know when my footing is back to be being solid.

What's a Girl To Do?

2007-05-27T09:42:00.000-04:00

It's Memorial Day weekend (moment of silence folks, memorial day...), I am sitting in my future apartment with two cats who love me, straightening up before my gals come over for mimosas and chit chat before brunch, and what do I see when I turn on the TV? LEGALLY BLONDE. oh wow. Sundays do not get better than this.

Here is the fave line thus far (3 minutes after turning it on): What does she have that you don't? Three tits?

HAHAHAHAHA. DLS might kind of be losing it. But it's fun!

Week One: Done

2007-05-26T09:48:00.000-04:00

So I had a bit of a panic attack this week. As I was wandering the labyrinth of my firm's halls looking for one of the zillion conference rooms over looking the White House, I started to wonder how I got here. Was it a product of free choice or one of expectation? I think a little of both. I know what the motivations were for taking this job (cash. seriously. that was the motivation and I am not ashamed to admit it) but really, I don't think I ever expected to actually start. You get the offer in October, 8 months before the job begins. So it's pretty easy to forget that you actually have start.

But you do. And panic attacks aside (please-this is the first of many. I have been called melodramatic more than once) the first week was...decent. Lots of work, fantastic people, good dining on the firms expense, and a few drinks here and there and my first paycheck. I don't think this summer is going to be life changing, or riveting, but it will definitely be challenging. And I have never been one to run for challenge.

Off to my massage. It's the perk of the paycheck.

What Would You Do In 4 Months?

2007-05-17T15:10:00.000-04:00

This has been an intense day for DLS. It started so nicely. A leisurely morning in bed, followed by a lovely walk to the Metro Center area of DC for some shopping for "firm wear". (Ok ok, I got two firm appropriate shirts and 2 fun ones. What's a gal to do??).

I was walking home, about a block from my house listening to some Dar Williams and feeling pretty good about the day. When all the sudden a man came careening out of his house, grabbed me and said "Please help me! I don't know what to do!". DLS likes to think she's level headed and a good person, so she calmly said "ok, calm down, what's going on"? The man explained that his partner had collapsed in their house, he was very hard of hearing and could not call 911 and needed help. Clearly, I pulled out the cell phone and called the dispatcher. I had to relay all of the intimate details of his partner's condition. He has leukemia. Had been given four months to live. Code blued on vacation in Miami just two weeks before. The dispatcher had me find out his history, his family history, personal history. I gave her my cell phone number because the man could not remember his own. I stayed with him until the ambulance came--I am certified in CPR and his partner was barely breathing.

I watched the scene unfold and could not help but be reminded of my own mortality. As I wandered home 15 minutes later, anonymous once again, this but a momentary flash for me and the rest of this man's life, I started to wonder how I would spend 4 months if I knew they were my last. With family, no doubt, and friends of course. Would I fly to Morocco tomorrow and climb the Atlas mountains? Or would I go back to Vermont and sit on our deck with my parents and Phoebe the dog and watch the sun set over our field each night? Maybe go back to China and wander through the hutongs in Beijing, or maybe go to 6 flags and ride every scary and death defying ride they have. Most likely I would go back to Mali and spend a month in my village with the people who changed my life the first time around.

I don't know what I would do. It's interesting to think about. What would YOU do? While you think about it, I'm going to continue sipping my 3pm gin and tonic to calm my nerves and enjoy the space I occupy in this world right here and now.

What's in a Year?

2007-05-17T09:21:00.000-04:00

At the closing of any occasion of accomplishment, I am someone who finds it difficult not to pause and kind of take stock of where I am and from where I have come over the previous 365 days. It's a great way to do a mental and emotional check and to evaluate ways in which I can move forward in the most positive manner.

For those readers who are new to this blog, it actually started out as an account of my summer working in a refugee camp, with all of the first 15 or so posts detailing that experience. I started it a year ago, thanks to my friend H's suggestion after noticing, I am sure, the 100+ names on my group emails. And it struck me today, as I woke up without setting my alarm, surveyed the mine field which is my room, and laid in bed thinking about things to do today on this glorious and empty morning, how different this time last year was for me.

I left for Kenya on May 27, 2006. For the week leading up to it, this week, I was working on my journal writing competition, called "write-on". Let me explain a little but about this for those not familiar. Journals are big in law school--they are great for resumes, and they are basically student edited, selected and reviewed scholarly journals. Most put out about 4 issues a year, and each journal is topical (for example, mine is the International Law journal). The write on competition is held for 11 days after exams your first year and it's your only path onto a journal. Students buy a packet (making money off us any way they can!), with about 300 pages of topical research already compiled and a 50 question "bluebooking" test, and we have 11 days to write a 10 page note addressing the controversial area law at hand using only the sources and articles contained in the packet. See, the reason why write-on is stressful is because once you finish, you wait until the end of July to see if you were selected to be on a journal that you ranked. Immediately following finding out is when the interviews for 2L summer associate positions begin. Who wants to be the person who has to explain to their interviewers why there is no journal listing on their resume when the 10 people prior to that interview all successfully wrote on? It's awful.

So that's what I was doing. And packing my room. And saying goodbye to friends. And shopping. And having panic attacks daily. And figuring out how to pack for 6 weeks in a refugee camp followed by 4 studying law in London. And trying not to go insane.

So the summer came and went (I won't rehash it here--it's all in previous posts) and as I sat with S on the plane to Boston from London, after spending about every waking minute together since May 27, she looked over at me and said "So where do you think you'll be one year from now? Did you ever think this is where you'd be a year ago?" We both paused and thought about that. She continued and said "That's what I love about life: the best laid plans always change, and in a short period of time things can change and all of the sudden you're on a UN plane from Nairobi wondering oh my god, how did I get here!".

And I think that's one of the truer statements I have heard. I think there are times we fight change, because it's easier to keep putting one foot in front of the other than to allow yourself to veer off course, make a change, close your eyes, hold your breath and jump. I look back at where I was a year ago and am forced into pause to see how much I have grown through the experiences, some remarkable and some remarkably hard, that I have confronted, created, or dealt with over the last 365 days.

So where do you see yourself in a year, I wonder. I am trying to envision myself in 7 days since I will be 4 days into my life as a lawyer and that's hard enough. Having a moment and taking stock is good, though, for me, since it reminds me that an occasional jaunt off the beaten path keeps things interesting and has the ability to change your life.

I Feel Like I Just Gave Birth to a 31 Page Paper

2007-05-15T11:37:00.000-04:00

I am done! Hooray. I could not be happier and turning in my final paper which has been the focus of this semester this morning was like a 2 ton weight being taken off my shoulders. And I have to say I am pretty happy with it. Let's hope my professor is as well...

I have 5 days to make the "transition" from exam mode to work mode. Lots of mixed feelings, but I feel that this summer is going to be a good one--challenging, a little scary, but a good chance to see if I can hack it in this corporate law world I am being shoved into.

I am going to continue sipping my beer in the journal office enjoying the freedom of being...DONE.

I Think I Love My Mac...

2007-05-09T12:05:00.000-04:00

So, I caved in September and bought a Mac after having 2 HPs arrive at my doorstep broken (everyone boycott HP!!! they're evil!). And after a few weeks of staring lovingly at my Mac, all shiny and white, practically coaxing me to start my own garage band just 'cause I could, I finally became, what one might call, a devotee of Apple products. Nothing makes DLS happier than calling with questions to the Apple helpline, and being received by some nice person with a hearty Midwestern accent, who listens to DLS without judgment (as she is a self-proclaimed computer idiot), and who DLS can feel nodding and practically patting her head over the phone, then offering unlimited time and support, to help DLS figure out how to log onto the internet.

I was calling Apple those first few weeks just to chat--I would come up with anything, really, that I thought they might be able to help me with. It was kind of like therapy included in the price of your computer. What could be better?

But then in December something horrible happened, right in the middle of exams: DLS turned on her computer one morning and instead of the *DING* and happy little apple picture popping up, a very scary blinking question mark flashed instead. And there was no ding. DLS spent 90 minutes on the phone with the technician. DLS was not a happy camper, and I think the technician could tell. So, with his inability to aid me over the phone, I popped on the metro and went to my neighborhood Apple store for some in-person freak out session/therapy/technical support. The hard drive was dead, they informed me. But I left my computer, wrapped in it's fun neoprene case, with the Apple people and did what any self respecting law student who was in the middle of exams and was told her computer just died would do: soothed myself with some retail therapy.

Here is what I love about Apple: 3 hours and about 300 dollars worth of clothing and makeup later, I got a call from Apple. My computer was fixed. THREE HOURS PEOPLE. It was not shipped to Hong Kong, DLS was not asked to take the back off and remove random chips (thanks HP, you freaks), no, the computer stayed put and the geniuses at the store fixed it. In 3 hours. However, while I had the foresight to buy the 3 year protection (DLS is not good with technology. Sometimes things break), there are some things that the warranty does not cover. Like water damage. I arrived back at the store, hopeful and glowing, to be told that, in fact, my little computer had been a victim of water damage. (Maybe as a result of my shower leaking into my bedroom for two months without my LL fixing it. Just sayin'). I looked at my now empty wallet and my stomach SUNK. Hard drives are expensive. DLS did not want to return her new fun things. I think the Apple man saw the desperation in my eyes, and had witnessed my panic attack 3 hours before, and pushed the invoice toward me, this time really patting me on my shoulder while saying: "You know, based on everything you've been through, and in the spirit of the holidays, we're going to not mention the water damage, and not charge you for the hard drive. We'll pretend it was just a malfunction". Ladies and gentlemen, if I had had a ring I would have gotten on one knee and proposed to Apple man at that moment. Seriously. And then I would have drugged him and forced him down the aisle. I was THAT thankful. And stable.

So my Mac has been happy. Until recently. I am in exams..again. And suddenly my shiny new hard drive is telling me that I have no disk space left, that I can't save anything else. How is this possible? It's new! Is it the 2500 photos? 4000 songs? Being a responsible (fine, semi-responsible) adult, I called Apple man back. Apple man, what the hell. Apple man was patient and calm, once again. Apple man sold me an external hard drive, the same thing DLS's parents had been begging her to buy since she got the new computer. Apple man told DLS to move stuff over and make some room.

So today, as I was gearing up to start my take home exam and the mean little icon popped up saying there was no more disk space, I finally decided to take the external HD out of the box and see if I could make it work. DLS had to call Apple again, because she could not figure it out. (Do you like how DLS so flawlessly switches between 1st and 3rd person narrative in this? I think it adds a little something). So all my photos, every one of them, were moved from the snappy and smart iPhoto to my ugly gray external HD. I figured there would be at least half the disk space open after that move. When DLS opened the little thingy that tells you this information she saw that in fact, only 2GB of 75 had been freed.

DLS is not a happy camper. It's time to go visit the friendly Mac people again, in person. I think I love my Mac, but the verdict could go either way....

Lawyers DO Have A Sense of Humor!

2007-04-30T20:30:00.000-04:00

It's exam time. It's really here. There's no getting around it. Every day I sit with the other (more) diligent students in the library, staring out the window at the lovely weather we're having. And then stare back at my computer screen and books and whimper silently to myself.

So, it's not surprising that any small piece of humor is welcomed with open arms, breaking up the monotony of whatever class I'm studying for at that moment.

Right now that class is Decedents' Estates, also known as "Wills and Trusts". I have a closed book exam for this class on Thursday, and there's a lot of information. A LOT. So I did what any other law school student would do who is hoping to get an above average grade on the exam: I went right out and bought all the study guides I could find, including a box of flash cards that cost me $42.95. In the past week I have been working my way through the 765 cards included in this box, and I have to admit, they weren't a bad investment. The full realization of just how GOOD an investment they were came the other day, while I was quizzing myself on the creation of valid Last Wills and Testaments:

So the topic at hand was latent and patent ambiguities in Wills (those not familiar with this subject, fear not, it really has nothing to do with the hilarity which ensued as a result). I'm reading my cards, learning all about how courts go about determining the intent of the testator when ambiguity is present in the will. First we (the cards and I) go through the black letter law. Then we move on to the hypothetical questions. Now, in all of these study guides, the authors (all law profs and lawyers) like to use witty names, often cartoon characters or other well known pop culture icons as their subjects. However...this one took the cake (and this is full and unabridged, from card #175):

"Dr. Doolittle is a bona-fide animal lover. In his will, there is a bequest to the Society of the Protection of Tits and Asps, in CT. Now, CT has a Society for the protection of Tits, a bird lovers group. And it has a Society for the Protection of Asps, for reptile lovers. But there is no Society for the Protection of Tits and Asps. When Doolittle dies and his will is probated, should the court allow testimony and personal correspondence regarding Doolittle's intent?"

WHO CARES! This box of cards was DEFINITELY worth the 43 bucks for the laugh I got out of card #175. It's the small pleasures that keeps DLS going through exams. What can I say, Im easy to please.