Right now, at this moment, my life with my two dogs is pretty special. Their relationship with each other as well as with me is wonderful. They are both healthy and live life vigorously and zealously.
Or so it would seem.
Casey Mae, my eight year old Toller and heart dog, has a rapidly growing lump in one of her lung lobes. It was first seen on an x-ray about eight months ago. A follow up film in late November showed it had almost tripled in size. A needle aspiration was not helpful and so surgery to remove that lung lobe is scheduled for next week.
When she came home after being sedated, Jet, my 70 pound Flat Coated Retriever, was unintentionally rough with her. He just couldn’t understand why she couldn’t play with him. They had been apart for the day, which is a rare occasion. And as I watched them interact, I realized that Jet would need to be out of the house while Casey Mae recovered.
And that made me sad.
Jet follows me from room to room in my tiny house. He does this, even though he could easily see and/or hear me from any room. He supervises me making my bed in the morning and undoing it at night. He leans into me as I sit in my chair in the living room. He tries to come in the bathroom with me. He is my shadow.
And I am sending him away. I have never felt good about leaving my pampered dogs in kennels. So not what they are used to. But this kennel has “Uncle Tim,” our field trainer, and someone Jet dearly loves. And Uncle Tim is going to work with him and give him plenty of exercise – something I would not be able to do if he were here. He is going to have a great time. I hope that he is so tired that all he wants to do is sleep in his kennel when he is in there. I hope he does not feel loneliness.
I look at Casey Mae and her spunk and I cannot believe I have made the choice to have her cut open. She will have a drain tube in – maybe for as long as a week. Her coat will be shaved. And she will have one less lung lobe. They tell me recovery from this procedure is generally quick and uncomplicated. Also, that she will be able to run and play again just like before.
In three weeks, we will all be together again. And I worry that it will be different from the way it is now. That Casey won’t want to play with Jet the way they play now. That Jet will behave differently. That the perfection we have achieved will be gone.
It is not in my nature to worry. I think that I worry now, because it feels like doing nothing would be just fine. At least that’s what my heart tells me. But my head tells me this needs to be done. So I will carry on and have faith that I have made the right decision – one that will help my heart dog to live a long and perfect life. And that once this is over, our little family will resume its special existence.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
On My Discomfort After the Ferguson Grand Jury Decision
Often times in the defense closing argument of a trial, I hear my opponent ask a jury, when defining reasonable doubt: "is this the kind of information (coming from the State's witnesses) you would rely on in your most important affairs?"
Today I read a commentary in the Washington Post titled: “Inconsistency is the Only Constant in the Ferguson Case.” That commentary comes closest to how I feel about the decision by the Ferguson Grand Jury not to indict Officer Wilson. As a prosecutor who has worked closely with some young, inexperienced cops, as well as eyewitnesses who change their stories, this case has caused me much personal discomfort.
I agree the standard for indicting a police officer is not the same as for the average citizen, because police are authorized to use deadly force in certain situations. Just as the State bears the burden of proving a defendant did NOT act in self defense, the State would also have to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Officer Wilson was NOT justified in his use of deadly force. As all of my defense attorney friends would agree, a tie should go to the defendant.
My admitted cursory review of the evidence presented reveals a very muddled picture. I have routinely declined to charge cases where the picture is muddled, knowing that I face an even steeper burden at trial and that in the end, muddled pictures generally lead to acquittals.
My discomfort in expressing my thoughts supporting the decision not to indict comes from the fear that I will be deemed a racist for thinking this way. Or that I am sympathizing with prosecutors who “manipulated” evidence to get the result they wanted. Yes there are bad prosecutors and there are bad cops. But by far, the majority of us are in public service because we believe in a concept of law and order. Admittedly, the primary influence on my perspective of this case is my shock at the notion of Michael Brown reaching into Officer Wilson’s squad car and fighting with him for his service weapon.
I also cannot fathom how burglarizing, vandalizing and assaulting one’s neighbors and their property in response to the Grand Jury decision can, in any possible way, be justified. The sad truth is that it further emphasizes the appearance of lawlessness in a community already suffering. I do not pretend to know the answer. I can only hope that cooler heads will prevail. And I can continue to do my job as best as I can without prejudice or bias toward anyone.
I have posted this here because, truth be told, I am afraid to post it on Facebook. The extreme outrage expressed by many of my close friends makes me very uneasy. I have reached out to one in hopes to have a discussion. Her lack of response worries me.
Today I read a commentary in the Washington Post titled: “Inconsistency is the Only Constant in the Ferguson Case.” That commentary comes closest to how I feel about the decision by the Ferguson Grand Jury not to indict Officer Wilson. As a prosecutor who has worked closely with some young, inexperienced cops, as well as eyewitnesses who change their stories, this case has caused me much personal discomfort.
I agree the standard for indicting a police officer is not the same as for the average citizen, because police are authorized to use deadly force in certain situations. Just as the State bears the burden of proving a defendant did NOT act in self defense, the State would also have to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Officer Wilson was NOT justified in his use of deadly force. As all of my defense attorney friends would agree, a tie should go to the defendant.
My admitted cursory review of the evidence presented reveals a very muddled picture. I have routinely declined to charge cases where the picture is muddled, knowing that I face an even steeper burden at trial and that in the end, muddled pictures generally lead to acquittals.
My discomfort in expressing my thoughts supporting the decision not to indict comes from the fear that I will be deemed a racist for thinking this way. Or that I am sympathizing with prosecutors who “manipulated” evidence to get the result they wanted. Yes there are bad prosecutors and there are bad cops. But by far, the majority of us are in public service because we believe in a concept of law and order. Admittedly, the primary influence on my perspective of this case is my shock at the notion of Michael Brown reaching into Officer Wilson’s squad car and fighting with him for his service weapon.
I also cannot fathom how burglarizing, vandalizing and assaulting one’s neighbors and their property in response to the Grand Jury decision can, in any possible way, be justified. The sad truth is that it further emphasizes the appearance of lawlessness in a community already suffering. I do not pretend to know the answer. I can only hope that cooler heads will prevail. And I can continue to do my job as best as I can without prejudice or bias toward anyone.
I have posted this here because, truth be told, I am afraid to post it on Facebook. The extreme outrage expressed by many of my close friends makes me very uneasy. I have reached out to one in hopes to have a discussion. Her lack of response worries me.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
On Not Sleeping Alone
As long as I can remember, I never liked sleeping with another person. Inevitably that other person would fall asleep first, leaving me to listen to breathing....or snoring.....and wait for sleep to come to me.
Now that the weather has cooled down, I sleep with two dogs instead of just one. And every night the bed time ritual is exactly the same.
I open the bed about a half hour before bedtime, which allows them time to take their respective positions: Casey Mae, right in my spot, head on my pillow, and Jet, the giant flat coated retriever, sprawled out over the rest of the space.
As I get into bed, I gently remind Casey Mae that it STILL is my spot. She begrudgingly moves over to the other pillow. As I slide underneath the covers, Jet stands up and waits for me to get situated.
Then, they both press firmly into me and we all become one solid pile.
I am happy, safe and secure. And sleep comes easy for me.
Now that the weather has cooled down, I sleep with two dogs instead of just one. And every night the bed time ritual is exactly the same.
I open the bed about a half hour before bedtime, which allows them time to take their respective positions: Casey Mae, right in my spot, head on my pillow, and Jet, the giant flat coated retriever, sprawled out over the rest of the space.
As I get into bed, I gently remind Casey Mae that it STILL is my spot. She begrudgingly moves over to the other pillow. As I slide underneath the covers, Jet stands up and waits for me to get situated.
Then, they both press firmly into me and we all become one solid pile.
I am happy, safe and secure. And sleep comes easy for me.
Monday, November 3, 2014
On Feeling Boxed In
I am, as some would put it, a “career prosecutor.” I have held the same job since 2001 and have been in the same office over 20 years. I prosecute serious, violent felonies: rapes, robberies; burglaries; homicides. I made the local headlines a couple years ago because I prosecuted the wife of a popular sports figure. It was a somewhat surreal experience.
I have noticed, of late, that my peers are seeking higher positions, if not within the office, in other capacities, most frequently, as judges. I myself aspired to become a judge a few years back, coinciding with my short-lived fame. I applied twice and ran for election once. In that year, I rearranged my priorities to be a more appealing candidate. I marched in parades, I shook a lot of hands and participated in fundraisers. I used creative writing to make an application worthy of consideration by a higher commission. And got absolutely nowhere.
I hated it all. And I quickly got over any ambition I had to be a judge.
Fast forward to the present. In my particular division, experienced attorneys are leaving in droves; for private practice, for judicial appointments, for management positions. The reasons I hear about for this migration are fairly consistent: higher salary or to avoid the crushing caseload and ensuing heart attack/nervous breakdown. Trial work is not for the faint of heart. Most of us in this division are adrenaline junkies and thrive on the adversarial system we work within. But after 5, 10, 20 years, the constant conflict can wear a person down. Also, I think as we approach middle age, there is a need to manage and get out of being managed by others. With longevity comes credibility and respect, right?
So, as a result of the mass exodus from violent crimes prosecution, we now have brand new lawyers, eager, enthusiastic, and unfortunately, completely inexperienced. The direct result of this is more difficult cases piled on my already overflowing plate. I struggle to fight off the increasing feelings of bitterness and resentment.
The question then, is directed at me: why don’t you apply for a management position? Why don’t you apply again to be a judge? Why don’t you go do something else? The answer is pretty simple. I have no desire to manage or supervise anyone besides myself. And I have become so disillusioned with the recent batch of appointees to our local bench that I would rather not count many of those individuals as my colleagues. Plus, I still love trying cases. I’ve developed a good reputation as a strong, passionate advocate who plays by the rules. I am respected. I know how to do my job. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I feel somewhat uncomfortable in the notion of trying to learn something else at this stage of my career.
I went to dinner with a friend who has now been retired from my office for two years. I am extremely envious of her, but I also realize she put in close to 30 years at our office, some of them rather miserable at that. I whined a bit about my situation and then our conversation shifted to a co-worker who had recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. And my friend said to me, in that direct way I most appreciate about her, “at least you don’t have cancer.”
It’s all about perspective, isn’t it? So when I return to work Monday it will be with a full heart and immense gratitude for what I have. There simply cannot be room for anything else.
I have noticed, of late, that my peers are seeking higher positions, if not within the office, in other capacities, most frequently, as judges. I myself aspired to become a judge a few years back, coinciding with my short-lived fame. I applied twice and ran for election once. In that year, I rearranged my priorities to be a more appealing candidate. I marched in parades, I shook a lot of hands and participated in fundraisers. I used creative writing to make an application worthy of consideration by a higher commission. And got absolutely nowhere.
I hated it all. And I quickly got over any ambition I had to be a judge.
Fast forward to the present. In my particular division, experienced attorneys are leaving in droves; for private practice, for judicial appointments, for management positions. The reasons I hear about for this migration are fairly consistent: higher salary or to avoid the crushing caseload and ensuing heart attack/nervous breakdown. Trial work is not for the faint of heart. Most of us in this division are adrenaline junkies and thrive on the adversarial system we work within. But after 5, 10, 20 years, the constant conflict can wear a person down. Also, I think as we approach middle age, there is a need to manage and get out of being managed by others. With longevity comes credibility and respect, right?
So, as a result of the mass exodus from violent crimes prosecution, we now have brand new lawyers, eager, enthusiastic, and unfortunately, completely inexperienced. The direct result of this is more difficult cases piled on my already overflowing plate. I struggle to fight off the increasing feelings of bitterness and resentment.
The question then, is directed at me: why don’t you apply for a management position? Why don’t you apply again to be a judge? Why don’t you go do something else? The answer is pretty simple. I have no desire to manage or supervise anyone besides myself. And I have become so disillusioned with the recent batch of appointees to our local bench that I would rather not count many of those individuals as my colleagues. Plus, I still love trying cases. I’ve developed a good reputation as a strong, passionate advocate who plays by the rules. I am respected. I know how to do my job. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I feel somewhat uncomfortable in the notion of trying to learn something else at this stage of my career.
I went to dinner with a friend who has now been retired from my office for two years. I am extremely envious of her, but I also realize she put in close to 30 years at our office, some of them rather miserable at that. I whined a bit about my situation and then our conversation shifted to a co-worker who had recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. And my friend said to me, in that direct way I most appreciate about her, “at least you don’t have cancer.”
It’s all about perspective, isn’t it? So when I return to work Monday it will be with a full heart and immense gratitude for what I have. There simply cannot be room for anything else.
Thursday, October 30, 2014
On Enduring Friendships
Thirty years ago, in the fall of 1984, I started college at the University of Wisconsin Platteville. I chose that school primarily because it had a good pre-veterinarian program and I didn’t want to go where everybody else from my high school was going. I only attended UWP for two years, before I decided I needed to be a diplomat and the best way to do that was to graduate from a school in Washington DC (more on that in another post).
While attending UWP, I had many adventures. I worked as a DJ at the campus radio station and at a local bar. I joined a sorority. I threw myself into all the fun and excitement that dorm life offered. And I made some friends along the way. Several of those friends have remained near and dear to me throughout the ensuing 30 years. One couple, who married right out of college, recently celebrated their 27th wedding anniversary. We live about 4 ½ hours apart, but have managed to see each other at least several times a year. We have celebrated the purchases of houses, the obtaining of jobs and we have supported each other through the challenges of health and unemployment issues.
Another friend eventually ended up in L.A. While I haven’t been able to see him as often, every time we get together, it is as though we only just saw each other last weekend. This friend was honored this year by UWP with a distinguished alumni award for his work on the Oscar winning movie “Frozen.” He is a media engineer at Disney and I have been lucky enough to visit him at his job. Due to another commitment which I will discuss in the next paragraph, I was only able to go down for the award presentation and a forum that preceded it. I felt like a proud parent when watching my friend participate in this forum, and part of me marveled that this was the same person as that quiet, gangly guy with whom I’d go out drinking at UWP. After the official business concluded, we went out for dinner and drinks with half of the aforementioned couple and another friend who had also been in their wedding. We all had a wonderful night, even staying out past midnight…just like the good old days!
The next morning I drove the five hours back home so I could attend the wedding of another dear friend of mine. This friendship has lasted almost 20 years. When I first met him, he was in a relationship with someone else. They had a cute house, which was the inspiration for the purchase of my house. They moved several times, adopted two children and ultimately broke up. I lost track of them briefly, but one Friday evening a few years ago, this friend showed up at my house. I made him a cocktail and we got caught up. Later that December, he brought his new boyfriend to my annual holiday open house. We renewed our efforts to get together, notwithstanding mutually busy schedules. I was delighted to be invited to his wedding and marveled that evening at the enduring nature of this particular friendship and how lucky I am to have him and other longstanding friends in my life.
Middle age gives me pause when I start reflecting on the decades through which I have marched/stumbled/flown. To go into…and through…middle age with people I have known since my 20s is a marvelous thing. We have each other to share the triumphs as well as the defeats. And we will carry on!
While attending UWP, I had many adventures. I worked as a DJ at the campus radio station and at a local bar. I joined a sorority. I threw myself into all the fun and excitement that dorm life offered. And I made some friends along the way. Several of those friends have remained near and dear to me throughout the ensuing 30 years. One couple, who married right out of college, recently celebrated their 27th wedding anniversary. We live about 4 ½ hours apart, but have managed to see each other at least several times a year. We have celebrated the purchases of houses, the obtaining of jobs and we have supported each other through the challenges of health and unemployment issues.
Another friend eventually ended up in L.A. While I haven’t been able to see him as often, every time we get together, it is as though we only just saw each other last weekend. This friend was honored this year by UWP with a distinguished alumni award for his work on the Oscar winning movie “Frozen.” He is a media engineer at Disney and I have been lucky enough to visit him at his job. Due to another commitment which I will discuss in the next paragraph, I was only able to go down for the award presentation and a forum that preceded it. I felt like a proud parent when watching my friend participate in this forum, and part of me marveled that this was the same person as that quiet, gangly guy with whom I’d go out drinking at UWP. After the official business concluded, we went out for dinner and drinks with half of the aforementioned couple and another friend who had also been in their wedding. We all had a wonderful night, even staying out past midnight…just like the good old days!
The next morning I drove the five hours back home so I could attend the wedding of another dear friend of mine. This friendship has lasted almost 20 years. When I first met him, he was in a relationship with someone else. They had a cute house, which was the inspiration for the purchase of my house. They moved several times, adopted two children and ultimately broke up. I lost track of them briefly, but one Friday evening a few years ago, this friend showed up at my house. I made him a cocktail and we got caught up. Later that December, he brought his new boyfriend to my annual holiday open house. We renewed our efforts to get together, notwithstanding mutually busy schedules. I was delighted to be invited to his wedding and marveled that evening at the enduring nature of this particular friendship and how lucky I am to have him and other longstanding friends in my life.
Middle age gives me pause when I start reflecting on the decades through which I have marched/stumbled/flown. To go into…and through…middle age with people I have known since my 20s is a marvelous thing. We have each other to share the triumphs as well as the defeats. And we will carry on!
On Making the Right Decision
Now that the days have shortened I am having great difficulty getting out of bed in the morning. It doesn’t help that it is immensely cozy with my two snuggly dogs. But along with the shorter days has come a decrease in physical activity, which has become painfully obvious, both in how I look and how I feel.
I spent last weekend in a hotel where the wall to wall mirror reflected my naked body right as I got out of the shower. There was no way to avert my eyes, much as I tried to avoid what I declared a most unseemly sight. Lots of flab and no visible muscle tone. Now I am not obese, but I am solidly in the “overweight” category on the BMI and probably closer to “obese” than “normal.”
I also have lots of aches and pains from muscles that are underused. Add low energy and tight fitting clothes, and you have the perfect recipe for wintertime hibernation in clothes with elastic waistbands.
So upon my return home (where, thank goodness there are no mirrors to catch me naked unless I make a conscious choice to stand behind a door), I knew that the magnetic force field of my comfortable bed was going to have to give way to self-improvement. When I worked with a trainer, we always started off with “how much do you think you can do?” That way, I would not be able to use the excuse that I didn’t have time, or it was too much.
So the first day I rode my exercise bike for 10 minutes and did some yoga stretches. The next day I did 20 minutes of a strength training routine with the lightest weights. And just in those two days I noticed an improvement in how I felt. Most importantly I felt motivated. Even though it is about to be dark when I get up and when I get home from work, I feel ready to get through the winter by taking better care of myself. The body has an amazing ability to bounce back from periods of neglect. I am almost back to the full routine I abandoned last spring and feel great.
Most importantly, I have eliminated that pesky force field around my bed at 5:30 in the morning!
I spent last weekend in a hotel where the wall to wall mirror reflected my naked body right as I got out of the shower. There was no way to avert my eyes, much as I tried to avoid what I declared a most unseemly sight. Lots of flab and no visible muscle tone. Now I am not obese, but I am solidly in the “overweight” category on the BMI and probably closer to “obese” than “normal.”
I also have lots of aches and pains from muscles that are underused. Add low energy and tight fitting clothes, and you have the perfect recipe for wintertime hibernation in clothes with elastic waistbands.
So upon my return home (where, thank goodness there are no mirrors to catch me naked unless I make a conscious choice to stand behind a door), I knew that the magnetic force field of my comfortable bed was going to have to give way to self-improvement. When I worked with a trainer, we always started off with “how much do you think you can do?” That way, I would not be able to use the excuse that I didn’t have time, or it was too much.
So the first day I rode my exercise bike for 10 minutes and did some yoga stretches. The next day I did 20 minutes of a strength training routine with the lightest weights. And just in those two days I noticed an improvement in how I felt. Most importantly I felt motivated. Even though it is about to be dark when I get up and when I get home from work, I feel ready to get through the winter by taking better care of myself. The body has an amazing ability to bounce back from periods of neglect. I am almost back to the full routine I abandoned last spring and feel great.
Most importantly, I have eliminated that pesky force field around my bed at 5:30 in the morning!
Friday, July 11, 2014
On Making a Joyful Noise
I have a 2 ½ year old Flat Coated Retriever named Jet. One of the traits that attracted me to this breed was their “Peter Pan” (read: never grows up) personality. Jet has more than embodied that trait, although at only 2 ½, he is still legitimately a youngster.
As a baby boy, he was a big barker. When we would pull up to the training facility for class, any class, he would begin barking like crazy in his crate. When we got home from anywhere, he would launch himself into the back yard barking away. As he got older, he would bark when I got home, even after I would release him from the room where he had been all day. He would just bounce around me and bark. In the morning as we made our way to the back door for the dogs to go out for the first time, he would bark. I have come to interpret his barking as: ISN'T THIS GREAT? I AM SO DARN HAPPY I SIMPLY CANNOT CONTAIN MYSELF!
When we started field training, I quickly learned that barking was a big no-no. This has posed some challenges for me, given that Jet loves field training just as much as he loves everything else in his life. It has been hard for me to stifle the noise when I know it comes from a place of joy.
So I have my work cut out for me. We are entering the next stage of competition in the field arena and having a “good hunting dog” is a must. Which means a QUIET hunting dog. My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to help Jet achieve a calm and quiet state of being without smothering his joy.
I look forward to this challenge.
As a baby boy, he was a big barker. When we would pull up to the training facility for class, any class, he would begin barking like crazy in his crate. When we got home from anywhere, he would launch himself into the back yard barking away. As he got older, he would bark when I got home, even after I would release him from the room where he had been all day. He would just bounce around me and bark. In the morning as we made our way to the back door for the dogs to go out for the first time, he would bark. I have come to interpret his barking as: ISN'T THIS GREAT? I AM SO DARN HAPPY I SIMPLY CANNOT CONTAIN MYSELF!
When we started field training, I quickly learned that barking was a big no-no. This has posed some challenges for me, given that Jet loves field training just as much as he loves everything else in his life. It has been hard for me to stifle the noise when I know it comes from a place of joy.
So I have my work cut out for me. We are entering the next stage of competition in the field arena and having a “good hunting dog” is a must. Which means a QUIET hunting dog. My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to help Jet achieve a calm and quiet state of being without smothering his joy.
I look forward to this challenge.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
On Living in the Moment
Today at work a colleague asked me if I had recovered from yesterday. At first I had no idea what she was talking about. Then it came back to me: I had a very difficult court appearance on a domestic abuse case where I had negotiated a settlement thinking it would spare the victim a trial. Instead, it put her into a psychological tail spin, resulting in a hospitalization. When I had gone to see her, she perseverated on how the defendant (her husband) had gotten away without admitting to all he did to her.
At his sentencing yesterday, I became pretty fanned up on her behalf and let the judge know just how this man’s actions affected this woman, who had previously functioned as a high ranking engineer in her native China.
And afterward? I promptly forgot about it.
This weekend, a friend posted that it was 5 months since her young dog died suddenly and unexpectedly. Her post was brief: “5 months,” with an attached “feeling sad.”
After reading that, it dawned on me that I never celebrated anniversaries of deaths. My first dog died on Martin Luther King Day, so I will always sort of remember that, except the date changes every year. My second dog died a week or so before Labor Day, but I do not recall the exact date. And I never counted months. I barely even count the years.
The night after my first dog died I was consumed with grief. I bundled up and took the other two for a walk and was struck by how completely unfazed they had been with it all. She had even died at home and they had the opportunity to inspect her body, which they both declined. As I walked with them on that frigid January night, I made a determination that they had it right.
Most self-help books and websites extol the virtues of living in the moment. I have a history of Alzheimer’s in my family, so I am uncertain as to whether my lack of memory for certain events represents a decline in my mental functioning or a conscious choice to live in the present.
Either way, I’m okay with it. The vast majority of my days are happy ones. While there are a few sad memories that linger, my focus is on each day as it happens. It just feels right.
At his sentencing yesterday, I became pretty fanned up on her behalf and let the judge know just how this man’s actions affected this woman, who had previously functioned as a high ranking engineer in her native China.
And afterward? I promptly forgot about it.
This weekend, a friend posted that it was 5 months since her young dog died suddenly and unexpectedly. Her post was brief: “5 months,” with an attached “feeling sad.”
After reading that, it dawned on me that I never celebrated anniversaries of deaths. My first dog died on Martin Luther King Day, so I will always sort of remember that, except the date changes every year. My second dog died a week or so before Labor Day, but I do not recall the exact date. And I never counted months. I barely even count the years.
The night after my first dog died I was consumed with grief. I bundled up and took the other two for a walk and was struck by how completely unfazed they had been with it all. She had even died at home and they had the opportunity to inspect her body, which they both declined. As I walked with them on that frigid January night, I made a determination that they had it right.
Most self-help books and websites extol the virtues of living in the moment. I have a history of Alzheimer’s in my family, so I am uncertain as to whether my lack of memory for certain events represents a decline in my mental functioning or a conscious choice to live in the present.
Either way, I’m okay with it. The vast majority of my days are happy ones. While there are a few sad memories that linger, my focus is on each day as it happens. It just feels right.
Monday, June 2, 2014
On the Benefits of Being Lazy
This past weekend it occurred to me that I passed up both flyball and agility competition opportunities. These are two sports in which I regularly compete with my dogs. It was a wonderful weekend NOT participating in either of those activities.
I come from a mixed marriage; my dad has always been a bit on the lazy side and my mother is industrious to the point of being a bit obsessive. I was trained to do house work at an early age and always got good grades in school, ultimately going to law school and becoming a county prosecutor. It has been a job of high risk and high reward.
In the past, I thrived on adrenaline and conflict. However, as I have gotten older, I have learned that those two things provide a fertile breeding ground for stress, which, in turn, produces a variety of aches and pains, mental, physical and emotional.
Two years ago this summer, I campaigned (unsuccessfully) for judge. I was convinced by a few well-meaning people that I was a worthy candidate and had a fighting chance against a colleague who had run several times previously and had lots of money and connections. At the same time, I had my sole bathroom renovated, which required me to shower in a temporary setup in my unfinished basement. That summer also marked the beginning of the demise of my beloved gardens that I had toiled in for over a decade. I simply had no time to do anything but mow the lawn. As I look back on that summer I marvel at the fact that I did not have a nervous breakdown. I did come out of it battered and bruised, however.
Last summer I had a hip replacement and upon recovery, immediately threw myself into field training for my youngest dog. I was never home. The gardens continued their decline, culminating in a large tree falling in my backyard. Its removal was the final insult to any plants remaining; they were crushed in the process. I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of depression at the state of my backyard which, heretofore, had provided me such serenity and comfort over the years.
As the summer drew to a close, I began to envision what could be. I had a new screened porch built where my old patio once existed. I reconfigured my fence to allow for a new small garden outside the fence where the dogs could not make a muck of things.
Fast forward to this year. Earlier this spring, there were several weekends of strenuous physical labor, as I worked to wrest my gardens back from the clutches of weeds and bare dirt. And I must confess: I overdid it a couple of times. But it has also become a time of rebirth, as I replace many a long standing perennial. And, as a good friend advised during the period of destruction: it is all about opportunity.
And now: rest. Right now, there is nothing I like better than to sit on my new porch, listening to the birds and occasional rain shower. I also get to enjoy the fruits of my labor, as the new plants start to bloom.
Unstructured weekends give me great joy. And all of a sudden, dog competitions don’t seem as important anymore. What is more important is simply hanging out with my buddies (two and four legged) and truly savoring the sights, sounds and scents of summer.
In other words, being lazy.
I come from a mixed marriage; my dad has always been a bit on the lazy side and my mother is industrious to the point of being a bit obsessive. I was trained to do house work at an early age and always got good grades in school, ultimately going to law school and becoming a county prosecutor. It has been a job of high risk and high reward.
In the past, I thrived on adrenaline and conflict. However, as I have gotten older, I have learned that those two things provide a fertile breeding ground for stress, which, in turn, produces a variety of aches and pains, mental, physical and emotional.
Two years ago this summer, I campaigned (unsuccessfully) for judge. I was convinced by a few well-meaning people that I was a worthy candidate and had a fighting chance against a colleague who had run several times previously and had lots of money and connections. At the same time, I had my sole bathroom renovated, which required me to shower in a temporary setup in my unfinished basement. That summer also marked the beginning of the demise of my beloved gardens that I had toiled in for over a decade. I simply had no time to do anything but mow the lawn. As I look back on that summer I marvel at the fact that I did not have a nervous breakdown. I did come out of it battered and bruised, however.
Last summer I had a hip replacement and upon recovery, immediately threw myself into field training for my youngest dog. I was never home. The gardens continued their decline, culminating in a large tree falling in my backyard. Its removal was the final insult to any plants remaining; they were crushed in the process. I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of depression at the state of my backyard which, heretofore, had provided me such serenity and comfort over the years.
As the summer drew to a close, I began to envision what could be. I had a new screened porch built where my old patio once existed. I reconfigured my fence to allow for a new small garden outside the fence where the dogs could not make a muck of things.
Fast forward to this year. Earlier this spring, there were several weekends of strenuous physical labor, as I worked to wrest my gardens back from the clutches of weeds and bare dirt. And I must confess: I overdid it a couple of times. But it has also become a time of rebirth, as I replace many a long standing perennial. And, as a good friend advised during the period of destruction: it is all about opportunity.
And now: rest. Right now, there is nothing I like better than to sit on my new porch, listening to the birds and occasional rain shower. I also get to enjoy the fruits of my labor, as the new plants start to bloom.
Unstructured weekends give me great joy. And all of a sudden, dog competitions don’t seem as important anymore. What is more important is simply hanging out with my buddies (two and four legged) and truly savoring the sights, sounds and scents of summer.
In other words, being lazy.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
On Cleanliness.....Or Making a Good Impression
I recently spent a week and a half as a house guest in the home of a friend of a friend. I had never met my host, but as we were driving down, my friend described her as “interesting.” She is a professor at the University of Georgia Veterinary School, and double boarded in Anesthesiology and Critical Care. In other words: super smart.
When she answered the door, her first comment to us was that she had vacuumed. She and my friend laughed about that. Almost immediately I noticed numerous stains on the white carpeting. Our host has one dog and one cat. During our stay, I learned that the cat throws up fairly regularly, thus creating some, if not all of the stains.
At some point early on, I was in the bathroom designated for me and my friend and I noticed it had not been cleaned. It was not filthy, but it certainly was not spic and span. My friend mentioned that when she and her partner would visit, the partner would absolutely have to clean the bathroom herself, before she could even think about using it. At some later time, my friend informed me that the toilet bowl in our host’s bathroom was black. Of course I had to peek and I have to admit I was a bit horrified.
Fast forward to my return home. I was only home a day when I was to host a friend just for an overnight visit. I pay a cleaning service to come every two weeks and the service had cleaned my house the day before I left for vacation so I decided the house did not need to be cleaned upon my return. However, I needed to clean the room my friend was going to be staying in, as it was a room not cleaned by the service. Moreover, I needed to switch out the shower curtain liner because it was beginning to show some mildew spots.
This was all important to me. But as I think about it, I am not certain if I was motivated to clean these parts of my house out of my own need for cleanliness, or a need not to be thought of as a slob. After all, the friend that was staying with me has been a friend for 20 years, and is the male half of a couple that has stayed with me regularly. I have also stayed with them regularly. We joked about the need to have a clean house for guests and whether that translates into a clean house for ourselves. We agreed that the standard for guests is higher than for ourselves, which, in my mind, is driven by the need to make a good impression.
I finally broke down and paid someone else to clean myself because 1) I like a (reasonably) clean house and, 2) I hate cleaning my house. I am not one of those people who enjoy cleaning for cleaning’s sake. I can go many weeks without dusting or vacuuming. Before retaining the service, I would keep the bathroom and kitchen (reasonably) clean by myself, but put little additional effort into the rest of the house.
Which brings me back to my vacation host. She is making a comfortable salary, yet, it is obvious that a clean house means nothing to her personally. She also does not think that guests need a clean bathroom. It was a fascinating realization for me.
And fortunately for me, my lack of squeamishness made it possible to enjoy my stay without feeling compelled to do any cleaning myself. But I felt an enhanced sense of delight when I returned to my (reasonably) clean house. And the added bonus was that there was less work that I needed to do for MY house guest!
When she answered the door, her first comment to us was that she had vacuumed. She and my friend laughed about that. Almost immediately I noticed numerous stains on the white carpeting. Our host has one dog and one cat. During our stay, I learned that the cat throws up fairly regularly, thus creating some, if not all of the stains.
At some point early on, I was in the bathroom designated for me and my friend and I noticed it had not been cleaned. It was not filthy, but it certainly was not spic and span. My friend mentioned that when she and her partner would visit, the partner would absolutely have to clean the bathroom herself, before she could even think about using it. At some later time, my friend informed me that the toilet bowl in our host’s bathroom was black. Of course I had to peek and I have to admit I was a bit horrified.
Fast forward to my return home. I was only home a day when I was to host a friend just for an overnight visit. I pay a cleaning service to come every two weeks and the service had cleaned my house the day before I left for vacation so I decided the house did not need to be cleaned upon my return. However, I needed to clean the room my friend was going to be staying in, as it was a room not cleaned by the service. Moreover, I needed to switch out the shower curtain liner because it was beginning to show some mildew spots.
This was all important to me. But as I think about it, I am not certain if I was motivated to clean these parts of my house out of my own need for cleanliness, or a need not to be thought of as a slob. After all, the friend that was staying with me has been a friend for 20 years, and is the male half of a couple that has stayed with me regularly. I have also stayed with them regularly. We joked about the need to have a clean house for guests and whether that translates into a clean house for ourselves. We agreed that the standard for guests is higher than for ourselves, which, in my mind, is driven by the need to make a good impression.
I finally broke down and paid someone else to clean myself because 1) I like a (reasonably) clean house and, 2) I hate cleaning my house. I am not one of those people who enjoy cleaning for cleaning’s sake. I can go many weeks without dusting or vacuuming. Before retaining the service, I would keep the bathroom and kitchen (reasonably) clean by myself, but put little additional effort into the rest of the house.
Which brings me back to my vacation host. She is making a comfortable salary, yet, it is obvious that a clean house means nothing to her personally. She also does not think that guests need a clean bathroom. It was a fascinating realization for me.
And fortunately for me, my lack of squeamishness made it possible to enjoy my stay without feeling compelled to do any cleaning myself. But I felt an enhanced sense of delight when I returned to my (reasonably) clean house. And the added bonus was that there was less work that I needed to do for MY house guest!
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
On Atheism
Two back-to-back tweets in my Twitter feed today:
From an atheist: Everything I have, hope for, love and look forward to is in this life. In death there is nothing.
From Pope Francis: Let us learn from Christ how to pray, to forgive, to sow peace and to be near those in need.
I was raised a Christian Scientist. Wikipedia explains Christian Science as a set of beliefs and practices belonging to the metaphysical family of new religious movements and goes on to explain:
Christian Scientists see their religion as consistent with traditional Christian theology, despite key differences. In particular they subscribe to a radical form of philosophical idealism, believing that reality is purely spiritual and the material world an illusion. This includes the view that disease is a spiritual rather than physical disorder, that there is no death, and that the sick should be treated, not by medicine, but by a form of prayer that seeks to correct the beliefs responsible for the illusion of ill health.
As a kid, I dutifully prepared for the lessons which had topics like these:
Ancient and Modern Necromancy, alias Mesmerism and Hypnotism, Denounced
Is the Universe, Including Man, Evolved by Atomic Force?
Suffice it to say, my comprehension of such lofty intellectual material was marginal at best. But I played the piano for the Sunday School and my mother saw Christian Science as a great source of comfort, so I just went along without really absorbing much of anything. One of my favorite quotes of hers growing up was “there is nothing lost in God’s kingdom.”
Conflict developed as I entered my high school years. We always went to doctors when we were sick, which was a big no-no in Christian Science. I remember needing to undergo a physical so I could play high school sports. I cannot recall whether or not I disclosed this to my Sunday School teacher, but I recall the discomfort of living contrary to the Church tenets. I also developed severe cystic acne. One of the key principals of Christian Science is that the material body does not exist – only the spiritual image and likeness of God. This really became difficult for me to reconcile as I suffered through sports related injuries and the humiliation of my acne. I would pray to be healed, but healing did not occur.
The last straw came my sophomore or junior year when I decided that I wanted to be a veterinarian. This, of course, was along the lines of being a medical doctor – something that was shunned. I seem to recall my Sunday School teacher at the time being gently neutral, but I began to struggle mightily with the subjects of death and dying as well as sickness. It seemed it was all a product of a weak mental state; that if I just believed, all would be good.
I last attended Christian Science Sunday School sometime during my senior year of high school. I got a job waitressing at our local country club and volunteered for the Sunday brunch shift. I recall conversations with my brother about how we just could not be true believers.
When I went to college, I would sometimes attend a Sunday service at the local non-denominational church. I found church fulfilling and the notion of God protecting me comforting.
My first serious boyfriend was an atheist. I remember being shocked as we spoke about religion in my dorm room. It was a fairly benign discussion overall, but my guess is that was the first time I allowed doubt to creep into my mind.
Fast forward to about ten years ago. With all the religious turmoil all over the world, I lost my belief in Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. How could he be THE Lord and Savior when millions upon millions of people have different beliefs? I thought it was plausible that he was a really good and decent person, but I could no longer wrap my head around the rest of the story. Instead, I began to look at Jesus as a motivational speaker. Always encouraging us to be our best and leading by example. A friend and colleague directed me to the Unity Church. It defines itself as a “positive path to spiritual living.” Jesus is an important component, but not THE Lord and Savior. I subscribed to the “Daily Word” email notifications and have somewhere between 20-30 saved on my home computer. The part I could best relate to was the philosophy that we make our own heaven and hell here on earth. The part I could least relate to was that we are all expressions of God.
I think I can pinpoint when I lost my belief in God. About five years ago, I attended a funeral for the ex-husband of a friend of mine. There was a Hmong priest performing a Catholic service. I found it all rather comical and struggled mightily with the notion that I was being internally disrespectful. But it was at that moment that I decided that there is no heaven. Mark would not be going to heaven. Mark was the ashes in the urn and that was it. The service was there to make the survivors feel better. In the few services I have attended since, it makes so much more sense to me. A belief in God and heaven and hell keeps us going. It motivates us to try to behave ourselves.
I don’t believe heaven exists. I don’t believe hell exists. I don’t believe God exists. I believe that my life right here and now is all I have and that I’ve just got to make the best of it.
I have rarely said those words out loud. However, over time, I have learned that three of my closest friends are also atheist. That has helped me immensely.
It is still not a very comfortable world for atheists. When the Duck Dynasty controversy erupted, I got into a very short, but very disconcerting discussion with a colleague. She was defending the Bible. I asked her: “what if I don’t believe in the Bible?” She then told me I would be going to hell. I responded by saying I surely do not believe in hell. She then yelled, “well you will be in for a big shock.”
Yikes.
I am grateful to have been released from that belief system. I just try to be the best person I can be every single day. To live with no regrets. To be kind to people. To forgive. Just as Pope Francis encourages us. However, I firmly believe I can do all that without worrying about pleasing a God of some sort or that I will be doomed to the depths of a fiery hell if by chance I slip up. It’s just the right way to live my life. The consequences as well as the rewards are obvious.
From an atheist: Everything I have, hope for, love and look forward to is in this life. In death there is nothing.
From Pope Francis: Let us learn from Christ how to pray, to forgive, to sow peace and to be near those in need.
I was raised a Christian Scientist. Wikipedia explains Christian Science as a set of beliefs and practices belonging to the metaphysical family of new religious movements and goes on to explain:
Christian Scientists see their religion as consistent with traditional Christian theology, despite key differences. In particular they subscribe to a radical form of philosophical idealism, believing that reality is purely spiritual and the material world an illusion. This includes the view that disease is a spiritual rather than physical disorder, that there is no death, and that the sick should be treated, not by medicine, but by a form of prayer that seeks to correct the beliefs responsible for the illusion of ill health.
As a kid, I dutifully prepared for the lessons which had topics like these:
Ancient and Modern Necromancy, alias Mesmerism and Hypnotism, Denounced
Is the Universe, Including Man, Evolved by Atomic Force?
Suffice it to say, my comprehension of such lofty intellectual material was marginal at best. But I played the piano for the Sunday School and my mother saw Christian Science as a great source of comfort, so I just went along without really absorbing much of anything. One of my favorite quotes of hers growing up was “there is nothing lost in God’s kingdom.”
Conflict developed as I entered my high school years. We always went to doctors when we were sick, which was a big no-no in Christian Science. I remember needing to undergo a physical so I could play high school sports. I cannot recall whether or not I disclosed this to my Sunday School teacher, but I recall the discomfort of living contrary to the Church tenets. I also developed severe cystic acne. One of the key principals of Christian Science is that the material body does not exist – only the spiritual image and likeness of God. This really became difficult for me to reconcile as I suffered through sports related injuries and the humiliation of my acne. I would pray to be healed, but healing did not occur.
The last straw came my sophomore or junior year when I decided that I wanted to be a veterinarian. This, of course, was along the lines of being a medical doctor – something that was shunned. I seem to recall my Sunday School teacher at the time being gently neutral, but I began to struggle mightily with the subjects of death and dying as well as sickness. It seemed it was all a product of a weak mental state; that if I just believed, all would be good.
I last attended Christian Science Sunday School sometime during my senior year of high school. I got a job waitressing at our local country club and volunteered for the Sunday brunch shift. I recall conversations with my brother about how we just could not be true believers.
When I went to college, I would sometimes attend a Sunday service at the local non-denominational church. I found church fulfilling and the notion of God protecting me comforting.
My first serious boyfriend was an atheist. I remember being shocked as we spoke about religion in my dorm room. It was a fairly benign discussion overall, but my guess is that was the first time I allowed doubt to creep into my mind.
Fast forward to about ten years ago. With all the religious turmoil all over the world, I lost my belief in Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. How could he be THE Lord and Savior when millions upon millions of people have different beliefs? I thought it was plausible that he was a really good and decent person, but I could no longer wrap my head around the rest of the story. Instead, I began to look at Jesus as a motivational speaker. Always encouraging us to be our best and leading by example. A friend and colleague directed me to the Unity Church. It defines itself as a “positive path to spiritual living.” Jesus is an important component, but not THE Lord and Savior. I subscribed to the “Daily Word” email notifications and have somewhere between 20-30 saved on my home computer. The part I could best relate to was the philosophy that we make our own heaven and hell here on earth. The part I could least relate to was that we are all expressions of God.
I think I can pinpoint when I lost my belief in God. About five years ago, I attended a funeral for the ex-husband of a friend of mine. There was a Hmong priest performing a Catholic service. I found it all rather comical and struggled mightily with the notion that I was being internally disrespectful. But it was at that moment that I decided that there is no heaven. Mark would not be going to heaven. Mark was the ashes in the urn and that was it. The service was there to make the survivors feel better. In the few services I have attended since, it makes so much more sense to me. A belief in God and heaven and hell keeps us going. It motivates us to try to behave ourselves.
I don’t believe heaven exists. I don’t believe hell exists. I don’t believe God exists. I believe that my life right here and now is all I have and that I’ve just got to make the best of it.
I have rarely said those words out loud. However, over time, I have learned that three of my closest friends are also atheist. That has helped me immensely.
It is still not a very comfortable world for atheists. When the Duck Dynasty controversy erupted, I got into a very short, but very disconcerting discussion with a colleague. She was defending the Bible. I asked her: “what if I don’t believe in the Bible?” She then told me I would be going to hell. I responded by saying I surely do not believe in hell. She then yelled, “well you will be in for a big shock.”
Yikes.
I am grateful to have been released from that belief system. I just try to be the best person I can be every single day. To live with no regrets. To be kind to people. To forgive. Just as Pope Francis encourages us. However, I firmly believe I can do all that without worrying about pleasing a God of some sort or that I will be doomed to the depths of a fiery hell if by chance I slip up. It’s just the right way to live my life. The consequences as well as the rewards are obvious.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
On Writing
When I was very young, I was a voracious reader. Soon after I learned to read, I developed a passion for "creative writing" as it was called when I was in fourth grade. My teacher encouraged this and we even had books we made which contained our musings on various topics assigned.
In middle school and high school, I journaled, in notebooks I stashed between the mattress and box spring of my bed. As I think back on it now, I know that I chronicled a fair amount of conflict. At some point when I went away to college, I celebrated a feeling of freedom by throwing them all out.
I never wrote in that way again.
Until now.
I have friends who write professionally and friends who blog. I have been very impressed when I read things my friends have written. And yet, the notion of putting my thoughts into words has intimidated me, although as a lawyer, I have to do it for a living.
It was suggested to me that a blog might serve as a vehicle for expressing myself on the written page.
I guess we'll see how this turns out......
In middle school and high school, I journaled, in notebooks I stashed between the mattress and box spring of my bed. As I think back on it now, I know that I chronicled a fair amount of conflict. At some point when I went away to college, I celebrated a feeling of freedom by throwing them all out.
I never wrote in that way again.
Until now.
I have friends who write professionally and friends who blog. I have been very impressed when I read things my friends have written. And yet, the notion of putting my thoughts into words has intimidated me, although as a lawyer, I have to do it for a living.
It was suggested to me that a blog might serve as a vehicle for expressing myself on the written page.
I guess we'll see how this turns out......
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