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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.