The Velvet Hammer™ -

Reid is my daugher Alysha's boyfriend.  He comes bearing gifts.  An ornament for the tree from Denmark where he was studying abroad.  And this poem that he wrote last night on his way to see The Elf musical.

I come to Seattle, walkin' down Pike

I hear the sound of silence, that's the Velvet Hammer strike

She's a charged pack of power in an unikely form

A tiny little mama whose heart has only warm

Don't let that fool you if you're an opponent of hers

Her soft little voice is safe as Mountain Lion purrs

And...that's not all please don't get me wrong

She raised her girls like herself

so that's four women strong

video version by Reid:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQ3cRx2ICKo

My parents had a pretty good strategy on how to keep the five of us out of trouble.   Both of them worked.  We had various babysitters (one of whom ripped us off but that's another story).  This was in the days when neighbors kept a lookout for us kids as well.   Still, mom and dad left nothing to chance.

The strategy was to keep us busy.  For me, in addition to regular school it meant piano lessons (and practicing every day), religious school twice a week, being in various extracurricular school activities, and lots of time outside.  We had a mobile home between Stevens Pass and Leavenworth that we drove to (in the Chrysler town & country) every weekend. 

In high school I continued to take piano, practice two hours a day, taught students of my own, was co-editor of the student newspaper, in the orchestra (string bass), sometimes in the band, performed piano accompaniment for soloists, parliamentarian of student government, and was in charge of raising the "three little kids" (Susan, Jen & Greg the youngest of us 5). 

Forward fast.

Mary Ann has come to help with bookkeeping for the nonprofit organization that I head.  She takes a look around and remarks:  wow.  your desk doesn't usually look like this."  It is a mess. 

I'm preparing for my third trial in as many months.  But this trial is unlike the other two. 

Usually I can get ready for trial without causing hardly a ripple in our office.  With the exception of John and Anne my paralegals, Garth who handles jury instructions, and Mike/Ryan who help with tech set up; the other attorneys, paralegals and support staff go about their merry way.

Not so this time.

This is a very big case.  My co-counsel is here from out of state.  He's set up a trial lawyer's technological dream downstairs in our mock court room.  The 70" tv that we will bring with us is connected to our laptops and ipads and elmo and dvd.    We have a bag of cords, piles of big board exhibits,  easels, laptop and ipad stands.  The stuff keeps accumulating.  

Anne is the lead paralegal.  She's running around so much that she finally has to let go of something precious.  She takes off her gilt gold high heeled sandles that match her leopard skin sparkly flouncy top.  I do a double take when she shows up in sneakers.  There's a first for everything.

Jody is the second lead paralegal, she is in our Hoquiam office.  I can imagine her running around just like Anne.  John loads 100s of exhibits onto my ipad,  Mike is editing videos and dealing with tech, Ryan is dealing with tech and laughing at me, Patti stays late to help Anne (one time they were here til 10 - as in p.m.). Ken helps with exhibit creation and enlarging.  Thelma fields the masses of calls and mail. Jayne works for my cocounsel far far away.  And there are others in this wonderful firm of mine.  All helping us out.  Two of my partners, Paul and Garth have worked on the case for a long time.  Helping to fend off attacks from the defense.   It takes a village. 

My days now start at 8 and end around 2 in the morning.  Briefs have to be researched and written.  Witnesses coordinated.  Exhibits organized and digested.  Depositions read. Testimony outlines prepared.  Defense counsel handled.  Software figured out.  Other cases managed. 

I sit on the bouncy ball, surrounded by my computer screens, covered by paper, on the phone with an expert, texting co-counsel and a daughter,  Earth Wind & Fire Pandora playing, Nala crunching her bone in the background.

And silently thank my parents for preparing me so well.

Photo:  my desk centered with a card from Cristina

Note:  I do write trial diaries.  Portions of those diaries are sometimes published in this blog.  They are never posted until after the trial ends and the jury verdict is entered. 

Today is our last day to file motions.  For the third time since the trial has been continued twice.  Motion after motion, instructions, declarations, orders, notes.  We have been working like crazy to get them all done.  Garth and I have been doing all the briefing.  Anne and Jody are scrambling to format and get everything filed. 

Our goal is to finish by noon.  My plan is to go for a lunch run.  We finish shortly before one.  So a late lunch run. 

It is a spectacular blue sky sunny day.  Nala is happy to leave the office and we set off down to Myrtle Edwards park, run along the waterfront, along the train tracks, over the bridge to doggie daycare where she gets dropped off.  She is too likely to be naughty during the party.  Run back to the office.  Work a bit more.

At 4:45, tell John am heading out.

Bryce, Jean and Dana are coming over for a little dinner party.  To discuss whether we should have a 35 year joint high school reunion with Shoreline and Shorewood.  Have known Jean and Dana since Kindergarten.  Bryce we met later.  But still, that is a heck of a long time.  The four of us have planned all or almost all of our reunions (Shorecrest '78) over the years.

There's no time to think about anything other than execution.

Drive to Macrina.  Get desert and a kalamata olive tapenade.  Drive home.  Put desserts on cake stand and cover with dome.   Make up a little platter with the tapenade, pita chips and snap peas.   It is 5:15.  They will be here at 6:30.

The windows facing the deck are dirty on the outside.  Wipe them down.  Do a pretty good job but a little streaky.  Water deck plants, they look thirsty.  Put two more chairs outside.  Put two little tables outside.  Pause to admire beautiful Seattle. It is 5:35.

Call Orrapin Thai restaurant.  Order take out.  Yes, this is how I cook on a Monday.  It will be ready in 25 minutes.

Put tablecloth on dining room table and set it.  It looks rustic because nothing is ironed.   Put candles in votives and light them.  Run upstairs and downstairs for various things and actually break a slight sweat.  It is 6:05.  How did that happen

Have no make up on.  Hair is wispy (aka frizzed) from run.  And am wearing bad outfit.  Do not have time to primp.  Put on something clean, slick hair back and slash on a little black eyeliner .  Oh well.  They've known me forever.  I never wore any makeup until I was a senior in high school.  And even then, you couldn't see it.  Which still pretty much holds true.

It is 6:15.  Crud. 

Run downstairs.  Get in car.  Drive up to restaurant.  Have to park three blocks away.  Run to restaurant in flip flops.  Am actually pretty impressed how well I can do this.  Thought they would flap more.  Pick up order.  Run back to car.  Pull into driweway.  6:29.  No lie.

Run in house.   Knock knock.  Right on time.  Bryce.  Followed by Jean and Dana. 

Postscript.  We have a lovely evening.  Very fun.  They leave a little over three hours later.  Should I get Nala now, or clean up and then go get her.  Decide to clean up.  She won't mind an extra half an hour. 

Tidy up.  Get in the car.  Drive to doggie daycare.  Nala hops into her crate.  Usually I take her leash off.  But Cristina told me over the weekend that she never does. So I decide to leave the leash on.  It is only a three minute drive home.  Park.  Am ready to let her out of the car.  And just before she gets out, I see the two inch frayed stump of the leash sticking up on the top of her collar.  Completely separated from the rest that lays in a puddle.

I don't even scold her.  It's my fault.  I should have known she'd be mad at me. 

Am in an absolutely foul detesable mood.  The stupid office servers have had a "catastrophic failiure."  24 hours ago and counting.

Can feel blood pressure increasing.  Stomach is sitting at base of throat.  Have a prehearing statement of proof due today.  Am growling orders.  Punching numbers on the phone.  One after the other.  Apologize for being so awful.  Then go back to being horrible.

Co-counsel needs a trial exhibit.  Go to my little external hard drive to pull it up.  Computer says the file has been corrupted.  Call/yell for Ryan.  Our Tech guy.  Who has been here since last night (Sunday) dealing with chaos of server implosion.  He looks at hard drive.  Pulls out the rear plug and burns his hand.  This thing is dying he says.  He tries to back it up.  We don't know if that will work.

Lean backwards on big ball.  Close eyes and stretch.  Sit back up.  This is the absolute craps.

I wrote this blog then lost the whole blasted thing.  Tis sits about how my iPad experience is going.  Humbling. 

Am deep in the world of free apps.  Used Zite to create a magazine of things that interest me.  some of which already don't and are destined for the delete key. Now have an alarm clock that tells the weather.  My favorite tho is the kissing kitties am going to send them to my girls.

Still cannot figure out how to cut and paste. So much for editing documents and creating them which is what I really need and miss the most,  according to the blogs laptops still cannot be surpassed by the iPad in that arena. So don't feel too bad.

Took a cool picture of nancy Pelosi at the reception tonight in iPhone,  emailed it to myself,  figured out how to say it on iPad,  but cannot crack the code of how to get it on this blog.  Maybe it is the platform that is causing the problem. 

Finally have decided biggest problem of iPads s a work stations s that it is ergonomic sky poor,  a you have to bend your head too much to work on it. 

My dear friend Bill Bailey is now on staff as a professor at the U of W law school.  He asks me to participate in a writing project.  You can figure out his question by reading the answer. 

I’m Hapa.

That means I’m not Chinese enough to be considered Chinese.  And not German enough to be considered White.

A few years ago, a friend asked why I wasn’t more active in the Asian Bar Association.  Response – I haven’t even told my partners that I’m female yet. 

I have been quite fierce in the quest not to become the best Eurasian female personal injury lawyer – but rather to become the best lawyer I can possibly be.   Early in my career, I shunned minority specialty bars because I was determined not to be categorized.  Or marginalized.

Many of my views on race were developed by watching people struggle to classify me.  What compelled them.  Why couldn’t they just relax and accept me without affixing a race label.  By age twenty, I had come up with a variety of answers that were used interchangeably depending on mood:  a)  a human being; b) what do you think I am; c) what are you; d) does it matter.

Disco ruled in the 70s and early 80s.  I loved dressing up and shaking my groove thing.  During law school, I still managed to go out two nights over the weekend and one or two nights during the week.  It was incredibly fun.   The club scene had a dark side.  I chose not to see it.  I didn’t drink or do drugs.  I was there to dance and hang out with friends.  The blinders let me enjoy the light side.

In our legal world, I am known as a fighter for diversity and justice for others.  But when it comes to defending myself, I don’t tend to punch back (at least not immediately).    I choose to wear the blinders.  But they don’t always work.

• I speak around the country for the American Association for Justice and state trial lawyer associations.  Last year, a seminar chair asked me to speak. After I agreed, he said – it’s a good thing you are a minority.  I didn’t have one on the program and AAJ said they wouldn’t approve the agenda unless I got one. 
• I was nominated and elected to the executive committee of a specialized national injury group.  The lawyer who told me I’d been chosen, said in the same breath that they were trying to make a positive step towards diversity.
• In Snohomish County five of us lawyers spent half an hour in judge’s chambers discussing protocol.  We returned to the courtroom.  As the jury was being ushered in to begin voir dire, the judge leaned over and said to me:  “are you a lawyer?”

I have never tallied the number of times I’ve been called honey, sweetie, or been mistaken for the court reporter.   A senior partner at a very large Seattle firm, once proclaimed (in front of the court reporter, witness and half a dozen attorneys)  it was no wonder my husband was divorcing me. 

There is a mask that sits over my face.  Underneath I feel the hurt.  Outside I do not flinch.  Careless, boorish, prejudiced, ignorant comments fuel a relentless determination that burns within me.  

For the past decade, I’ve been involved in female and minority lawyers groups.   I feel both the need to belong and unhappiness that it is necessary. 

How has diversity made me a better lawyer? 

So many trial lawyers emulate their heroes.  They pattern themselves after their icons.  Early in my career I tried on some of those personas and they universally failed to attach themselves to me.  Being diverse has helped me not only to embrace my unique and authentic attributes.  But to celebrate them.   I have the pure freedom to only be me. 

Alarm goes off at 6:45.  Slap it off.  Get up at 8.   Must get to bed earlier than 2:30.  Must rush.  Suitcase is already packed on the floor resting on top of a towel.  Nothing can touch the floors.  We are in the new house … just barely.  Won’t bore you with the details of how a trial lawyer orchestrates a house move.  Let’s just say it is intense.  And it isn’t over.

Throw on workout clothes.  Hair gets scraped back into ponytail.  Not a high glamour day.  Truck computer bag and purse down two flights of stairs to the very downstairs and put them on the counter.  Walk back up the two flights of stairs. Open the door to the girls’ room.  Nala is sleeping with Cristina.  Pick her up.  Her nails can’t touch the pristine floor.  Kiss Cristina goodbye.  Carry Nala down two flights of stairs.  Her legs do crazy bicycle motions in all directions.  Manage not to drop her. 

Make it to the bottom.  Put her in laundry room which has a moving blanket on the floor.  Feed her.  Wait.  Put on red leash that has been half chewed through.  Pick her up.  Carry her out the door.  Put on shoes.  Go down the stairs.  Walk up the hill.  She promptly does her business.  Doesn’t spy the dog down the street so am spared her theatrics.  Walk down the hill.  Open car and put her in the kennel.  Go back into house. Retrieve purse and bag.  This is going to be our new routine.  Minus eventually  the carrying her part.

Get salad and raspberries at Whole Foods.  Drop her at doggie daycare.  Get to office by 8:40.  Do not panic.  Put oatmeal in bowl with hot water.  Will microwave it in a minute.  Go to my room.  Eat raspberries and watch the newest film footage of our client.  Super.  Grab Mike.  Need to put both day in life films on a DVD.  Need all witness interview films.   Need to pull stills out of the collision animation and the surgery animations.   How many copies – 13.  He will handle.

Begin pulling together the mediation letter.  Have facts and figures.   Need to add humanity and structure.  It absolutely has to go out today.   

Anne arrives.   Three urgent projects.  She blanches.  First, on the M/S case – Tom the defense lawyer won’t let us take perpetuation depositions of doctors.  Need to bring a motion for order shortening time and a motion to permit them.  Drafted the motion and declaration yesterday.  She needs to do the rest.  Okay.  Second, on the same case, I did the trial brief, general voir dire, jury instructions, and motions in limine yesterday.  They need to be filed today.

Aren’t those due next week?

What?

Trial is Jan 9 aren’t they do the 3^rd?

Thought they were due today.  Crap.  Spent the time I could have been doing this mediation letter getting all of that done yesterday…

Well, the good news is they’re done early…

Crap.

Okay so there are only two urgent issues.  The second is this demand is going to be a beast.  All the exhibits need to be hyperlinked.  She leaves in a daze.

9:30 realize have forgotten oatmeal.  Go to kitchen.  It is pretty pasty looking.  Add more water.  Stick in microwave.

Take it back to room.  Not particularly delicious.

Put on Do Not Disturb and begin typing.  Email pops up – need to approve a motion for reconsideration.  Read it, add one sentence.  Thank you Garth and Paul.  Actually about two hundred emails pop up before  will finish.  Deal with the urgent ones.  Like the court clerk asking for status of upcoming trial.  Am email addict.  Love and adore it.  Cannot live without it. 

Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

It is 1:40.  Realize missed lunch.  Delicious Whole Foods salad is in frig.  Go to kitchen.  Don’t have time to eat a salad. Box of donuts from the freezer are sitting on the table.  Cut off half of one and eat the frosting pretty much off of it. Sugar high is immediate.

Bounce back to office.  Anne comes in.  Deposition motion paperwork  is done.  Discuss who needs to be served with the mediation CD/DVDs.  Doesn’t know how to hyperlink.   Send an email out for help.  John the hyperlink master is on vacation.  Patti offers to do it.  Crisis averted.  Continue to type.  Gotta get it done.

Breathing is quick and shallow.  50 minutes later letter is finished.  It has to be.  Print it out and mark out location of all hyperlinks.  Anne takes it.   

Run across street to gym.  Am filled with adrenaline before even begin.  Hour whizzes by.   Drive home.  Take off shoes.  Up the stairs.  Gustavo the plumber is caulking in the bathroom.  Kick him out and take a shower.  Throw on clothes.  Finish packing.  Hurry downstairs.  Jon the genius builder needs to go over a few things.  Look quick.  Looks great.  He is the only reason am still sane.  Must leave.  Must hurry. It is 4:15.  Need to leave for the airport.  Flight is at 5:45 and it is rush hour.  

Step outside door.  Zip boots.  Dig in purse for keys.  Not there.  Dig again.  Nope.  Unzip boots.  Run upstairs.  Look in puffy coat pocket.  Not there. Look in bathroom, under bed, in closet.  Run downstairs and then back up again.  Like a hamster.   Am going to miss plane.  Am crazed.  Borderline panic.  Can draft a complex electronic settlement demand in a day but cannot find blasted keys.  Jon and Gustavo begin the search.  What the heck.  Fifteen minutes later Gustavo finds them.  In the kitchen. 

Rush back outside.  Zip boots.  Hop in car and hit the road.  Make it to the viaduct.   It is raining and traffic is at a standstill.  Call Anne.  Mike is still burning computer discs.  They’ve called Fed Ex and will drive to the airport to drop them off before 6:30.  If the traffic doesn’t get them first.  Tell Anne will call her back in 15 to report on whether will need her to reschedule the flight since may miss it.

After 20 minutes traffic breaks free.  Make it to the airport.  Barely.  The flight has been delayed half an hour.  Hurrah.  There are only a dozen people in the security line.   Grab a naked veggie burrito from Qdoba.  Cookie and water from Dish D’Lish.  Check email.  Load into plane.  Two and a half hours later unload in L.A. into the waiting arms of my sister Susan (President Pooh).

Probably around 11:00 will start preparing for the deposition.  Make that 11:30.

Photo:  Could not take picture of donut - already ate it.

Trial starts tomorrow.  There's just one little itty problem.  And it is at the end of my foot.

The saga started two months ago. (Packing whacking and a sick dog).   Basically thought the toe was chopped off but instead broke it.

Like any good trial lawyer - didn't go to the doctor.  No time for that.  Instead watched the toe swell into warm fat sausage with red black and blue tinge.  Figured it would have healed by now but oh no.

It is finally a little less balloon like.  But still red especially after running on it.  Here is the drill - tape it up and then try to pretend it isn't killing me.

Court means no blue jeans, shorts or leggings.  Suits or things that look like suits are the accepted uniform.  Also means no sandals.  For two months with the exception of running shoes, have only worn sandals.  WebMD says:  "Shoes may be painful to wear or feel too tight."  No duh.  Tried my lowest pair of heels, took one step, yelled - holy moly! - and that was that.

So tomorrow, will have to tell the judge there is going to be a wardrobe problem during this trial.

Run out the door, down the driveway turn left.  Am going to say goodbye to the neighborhood that has been my family’s world for the past 21 years.

It is the first bona fide over 80 degree day of the year.  6:30 in the evening.  Too hot for Nala.  Cross the street, and head into the next subdivision.  A man is power washing his driveway.  A familiar car goes by – ex-husband and his wife.  They turn at the next street.  We live close by. 

Down the road past the old elementary school.  Would run through it, but it looks deserted and saw a scary movie yesterday so no thanks.  Keep going, turn right up the hill.

Run through park with its baseball diamond and soccer field where Noelle used to have practice.  Families play on the swings.  Keep going. 

This neighborhood is one of the older ones.  The houses are smaller without Italian stucco or river rock exteriors.  Get to the fantastic garden that is my favorite.  She is out there tending to it as usual.  Today in yellow shorts.  Each time I pass she’s done something else.  It is the FAO Schwarz of gardens.  Every plant is alternated with something fantastical.  Plant - pinwheel (and not just any old pinwheel – every kind of color and some are double pinwheeled).  Plant –miniature flamingo (with bulbs for eyes).  Plant – dragonfly (with bulbs for eyes).  Concrete pieces with plastic trucks “working” and miniature orange cones.  It is grandma’s kitchy garden on steroids, and she is no older than me.  I tell her I love her garden as I run by and she smiles and waves her trowel at me.

Get to the big houses.  The roads have names like “Magnolia Lane.”   Weave up and off of sidewalks to avoid basketball hoops.  Arrive at Elizabeth Blackwell Elementary.   It opened in time for all three of my girls to go there.  Run around the back.  It is never empty.  A child is wobbling on a bicycle.  His father is running beside him with his hand resting on the child’s back – pushing him.  Barely pushing.  Pretending actually.  I can remember doing that.

Turn around to head back.  Run through the neighborhoods on the other side of the street.  Am thinking – this is like being in a movie about suburbia.  No one would believe me if I described this.  It seems so idyllic in an Americana kind of way.  Don’t pass any other runners.  But see the old couple holding hands.  The group of four friends laughing.  The father and son with their tennis rackets.

Am almost home, a car pulls over.  It is Cristina.  Going to see her dad.   Tell her am on my farewell run.  She takes off.  Think can this “movie” get any more nostalgic.  Am a little startled by movement just to the  left.  It is the brown bunny who hops around and drives Nala nuts as she watches it through the window. 

Cross the street, run up the driveway.  Am almost to the front door when a humming bird arcs around the roses in the garden.

A Farewell Run Indeed.

The Velvet Hammer took a hiatus during the family's Venice - Greek cruise trip.  Instead, you can read about our trip through Alysha's eyes.  Less one day when she go sick and Noelle blogged for her.

There are some pretty cool little videos too.  Which will get around to linking.  After dig out from the pile on my desk.

http://alyshagreig.tumblr.com/mediterranean

We do the math.  It will be way cheaper for us to have airport shuttle service than to leave our car.  Cristina makes the arrangements. An SUV is ordered.  Ding Dong.  Car is here. What happened to the SUV.   A white stretch limo has come to whisk us away.

The girls are thrilled.  Driver has barely made it down the hill and we’re all shuffling around inside.  Alysha and I are in the very back facing forward.  We have to.  The thing bounces around and rarely seems to go straight.  Nausea sets in.  Manage (barely) to make it to airport without losing it. 

Check in.  Drop off bags.  Grab nosh and wait until everyone else is boarded before we sashay up.  In our comfy cozy sweats.  We don’t care.  We’re not the Kardashians.  We’re from Seattle and are going to be on planes for the next 14 hours. 

Settle in and do the things that people do when cramped into ugly (Delta) plane with foam from seat backs poking through and looking at us.  Try to watch movie on notebook paper size screen fifteen feet down the aisle.  If you don’t have a good view (and who does), the screen is dark and blurry.  Noelle’s ear phone jack doesn’t work.  Give up.  Cristina and Noelle are seated in front of Alysha and I.  They recline which reminds me.  Try to recline chair but nope.  Turn around and look.  Knees smooshed up right to the back of chair by smooshed up guy behind me.  Poor fellow.  Have mercy plus would do no good anyway as chair isn’t going anywhere except into large knees.  Read entire book on kindle (love kindle).  The girls are asleep.  But it is only midnight so have at least another hour to go. 

Eventually fall asleep.  Mouth more or less closed which is a plus.  Flash.  Giggle.  Flash.  Blasted kids have woken up.  Are taking excrutiatingly horrid pictures of me that they will now facebook to the world.  Brats.  Ignore them.  Fall back asleep.  On and off until we arrive in Amsterdam.

We trundle off plane.  Good thing about sweats.  They don’t wrinkle.  Get onto next plane.   Fall asleep again.  More flashes and awful picture taking by tormentors.  Arrive in Venice.  Head to baggage claim.  The airport is nice.  Stand at carousel.  And stand.  And stand.  Until realize – no bags.

We are the last hopeful (naïve) ones waiting for the luggage to come off.  The rest (and there are quite a few) have already hustled to the lost baggage line.   This means we are the last in line.  Wait almost an hour.  Fairly patiently.  Nice lady tells us it may arrive tomorrow.  She gives us little packages which turn out to be survival kits.  We grumble out the door but snap out of it.  It is pretty out!  We’re on way to the water taxi!  How cool is this!  So what if everyone will know we are Americans from Seattle land of black and gray sweats.

Taxi takes a very long time.  Alysha and I share a Dramamine.  Hope I’ve brought enough of them. We look with interest at the people as they get on and off.  A lady sits next to us.  We check her out.  Completely put together from the bottoms of her white, silver high heeled sandals and violent red painted toes – to the top of her perfectly highlighted, cut, curled and Sophia Loren sun-glassed head.  She pulls out an Italian fashion magazine and ignores us.

We arrive at our destination and debark.    One thing good about an airline losing luggage – don’t have to cart anything around.  Tell the girls to go one direction. They ignore me and go the other.  Which turns out to be the correct way.  As we are walking across the famed St. Mark’s square, we are acutely conscious that we are the only ones in the entire place who look like we’ve been on a plane for 14 hours.   And that we are going to be looking this way for at least another day.

Was at a retreat recently where we took a personality test.  Several of the questions dealt with things like spontaneity.  Are you the type to make plans in advance or go with the flow.  In other words - can you jump on a plane with a moment's notice or are you the stodgy detail oriented uptight plan everything in advance boring type.

Hello.  Don't consider myself boring.  But this is what it takes to go on a vacation with my kids.

Step 1.   Go online and look at three sets of school calendars to find available common window of time. 

Step 2.   Look at office calendar.  At least 5 to 6 months in advance.  Block off the dates.   The better practice is to block off the calendar at least one year in advance.  Otherwise, court dates and deadlines will fill it up.  Courts won't move dates unless you already have tickets or reservations.  And even then, have ended up losing/truncating a vacation due to trial which is a real bummer.

Step 3.  Figure out where you're going then make the reservation.  Usually this involves having the eldest child act as travel agent and doing the booking.  Expedia can be helpful.  Am Ex has a travel agent service that can be helpful.  Whatever you do - don't do it yourself.  Been there done that and always screw it up somehow. 

Step 4.  Don't give it another thought until about two weeks before it is time to go.  And then, only because kids are getting excited and remind you that a trip is coming up.  Sporadically make lists in head of things that should get done.  But don't get them done.  For example, there was the time waited a little too long to get the kids' passports.  Am not going to tell you what had to happen to make it work - but admit to various levels of hysterics along the way.

Step 5.  With a week to spare, write down the list that has been hovering around in your head and do the absolute essentials.  Somehow.  Or have your kids do them...which is a safer bet.  Send emails back to whoever helped you make the reservations.  Tell them you lost them and need them again.

Step 6.  Disregard the suggestion that working during a vacation isn't a good thing.  Figure out how or if you will be able to be online.  Do whatever it takes.  If yes, then breathe.  If no, then mentally have a conniption fit because there's nothing else you can do.  Am not kidding about this - not working on vacation is traumatic. 

Step 7.  Figure out if you have a bathing suit (or other essentials).  If not don't even think about taking an afternoon off to go to the store.  Won't happen.  Instead, at about 2:00 a.m. go online like I did last night at VictoriaSecrets.com.  Amazon will work too.  And don't use standard shipping.  You have to pay the extra ten bucks for next day service or it will arrive after you leave.

Step 8.  Don't send a "notice of unavailability" to the lawyers and judges in all of your cases.  Whoever invented that.  If you're out of town and someone schedules something and won't take no for an answer when your staff or the voice mail says - AM NOT HERE - then what's the worse that can happen.  Will a court get mad at you for not responding to a motion that you didn't get because you were out of town.  Actually had best friend file a notice of unavailability when she was on pregnancy leave and the other attorney still hauled her into court.  A jerk will be a jerk.  Paper or no paper.

Step 9.  As the due date approaches, think about all the things you haven't gotten done for the trip.  Then don't think about them as will drive yourself nuts. 

Step 10.  Close the office door behind you when you leave.  Channel your inner-bohemian.  Go with the flow, be in the present, enjoy.  And Do Not think about all the emergencies that will greet you when you return. 

Photo: Cristina's legs (mine are much shorter) from one heck of a good vacation

I wrote about the botox effect in October 2010.  Intuition is partially based upon micro-expressions. I worried about being handicapped in trial.  What if a juror or witness had been  facially frozen.    The article concluded:  "This all means that I better embrace my wrinkles because I need a jury to believe that I am me."

Well, now comes an article that should raise a few eyebrows (or not).

Social psychologists are finding that people who have BEEN injected are less able to read emotions.  They believe this is because we identify emotions in part by mimicking each other's facial expressions.  When we can't mimic, we are less able to feel our own emotions. This can potentially interfere with our ability to empathize.

Yikes!  That settles it.   Come hither dear wrinkles. I promise not to botox you.

Photo:  untouched

What do you get when you cross:

A professional D.J.  An African endangered species volunteer.

A man who's grown up with the internet and is a whiz at technology.  A woman who's yet to meet a person she couldn't charm with her superior people skills.

A toughie.  A softie (sometimes).

A notetaker by ipad.  A notetaker by pen and notepad.

An electronic paper king.  A hard copy paper queen.

Mr. Casual.  Ms. Sparkles.

Why, you have John Meyers and Anne Roberson.  The fabulous paralegals who take care of me and our clients.

Photo:  At the 5 Spot on Queen Anne - where we ate a delicious breakfast and then went through the status of all of our clients' cases.

The house is quiet.  Cristina and Alysha are at college.  Noelle is at a sleepover.  She starts college next year.

I'm looking through some old photos.  There are so many of them.  Boxes and boxes.  My babies.  Little girls.  Little women.  All of whom are now taller than me.

I'm excited, anxious and worried for them as they make their way into the world.  Want them to be all that they can be.  All that they want to be.  And sometimes, like tonight, I wish they were 3, 6, and 7.  Running around and making a racket.

Downtown Salt Lake City feels like several different worlds.  To the right and across the street is Temple Square complete with amazing church spires set within the background of a mountain range.  I've never seen so many men in suits and ties. 

To the right is the old Union Station which is now part of The Gateway.  This is where all the shops are.  A whole lot of 'em.  And a movie theater.  Not quite so buttoned up here.  Don't feel quite so alien.  Need to kill some time before the movie starts.  So  walk into Salon H20.   Can't tell you how long it has been since I've been a salon.  You'd feel sorry for me.

Actually feel just as out of place in the salon as I do hanging around BYU.  Try not to gape at all the goings on.   Hair gets washed and then it's on to Natasha from Russia.  She's been here for 11 years.  Quite the beauty wearing an outfit pretty much like mine.  Sweater tights and a sweater tunic.  Except hers is brown, belted and she's wearing high heel wedge boots that go over her knees.  Plus she has the type of haircut you see in a mod magazine. 

I tell her to trim it straight across.  She doesn't argue.  It must not be too uneven because it only takes about ten minutes.  She asks if she can blow it out.  Sure.

Curly hair is part of my identity.  People know me by this hair.  When I was in junior high and high school, I tried everything to make it less puffy.  My friend Liz and I wore stockings on our heads at night (a few of my mom's African American clients revealed that technique).  It didn't really work but we tried.  I used a Super Max - a hair dryer with a built in comb.  This would make it kind of straightish.  But by the time I reached the bus stop, Seattle drizzle poofed it right back up.  In college it grew down to my waist and the weight of it somehow kept it straighter.  But ever since, frankly, I've just let it be.

Natasha spends thirty minutes blowing it out.  I can't imagine doing this everyday.  It violates my two minute hair rule.  Finally she finishes and voila.  Here it is courtesy of my camera in the bathroom mirror of the hotel. 

The wind is whipping everything around.  Including the rain banging against the windows.   My Miami tan is covered in JBrand jeans, knee high flat boots, an H&M t shirt and a Donna Karan jacket I've had since the 90s that will never go out of style.  All black of course. 

Sitting on my psychedelic orange bouncy ball.  Staring at the two redwells of documents Anne just printed out so I could use them as exhibits.  We have four days of depositions down in Vancouver, WA starting tomorrow.   Everything is on my computer.  But we still need paper from time to time.  It took Anne about three hours to print it all out.  Ugh.

My intercom buzzes.  Someone wants to talk to me.  Sure.  Get on the phone.  For twenty minutes listen to monologue.  Person is being stalked by "mini mafias."  Four of them.  People are entering her home taking things.  They watch her.  They have gotten into her car and tampered with it after an oil change.  They probably are filming her.  They won't leave her alone   She moved to get away from them.  But they followed her.  What can she do legally.  I say - you should probably call the police.  Oh, did that.  She says.  They said I'm crazy.  hmmm.  Can't a lawyer go to court and stop them.

Tell her she can go to court and get a restraining order but she needs proof.  She should set up some hidden cameras.  Good idea she says.  Where should I put them.  We discuss this for awhile.  She's happy.  She'll probably call back one day.  Poor dear.

Go back to staring at the stack of documents.  Get a big box briefcase thing.  The kind we used before computers.  Some lawyers still use them.  Apparently including me.  Load it up.  Decide to take it to the car now and get something to eat.  Put on black puffy coat.  Get car keys.  Lug box briefcase thing to the kitchen on the way outside.  Pull meal out of freezer.  Stick it in microwave for four minutes.  Plan to pick it up on way back in.  Walk to the back entry.  Exit with briefcase.  Realize, don't have the card key to get into the office.  Reach for the door.  Click.  Too late.  It closes.

Rain is pinging off my coat.  Crud.  Go stick the box in the car.  Walk around the front of the building.  It is 6:30 pm.  Only Anne and Mimy are still there.  Push on the buzzer but no one hears it.  Bang on the door.  Sounds like thump thump thump.  Not very loud.  The traffic is louder than the noise from my fist.  The door is glass and don't want to bang too hard.  Rap on it with keys.  This is a sharper higher frequency.  But no one hears me.  Just about ready to stamp foot or start screaming.  Can't decide which. 

A huddled up woman comes rushing by. I say - do you have a cell phone.  Amazingly she stops.  If some woman dressed in black with a hood on approached me at night and asked me for a phone, I'd keep on walking.   But I must look harmless and pathetic.  So she stops and I give her Anne's number.  She dials it.  Goes to voice mail.  Drat.  Give her Mimy's number.  She dials it.  Ring. Ring.  And then thank heavens, Mimy answers.

Tell her I'm locked outside.  She starts laughing.  Click on her and hand the phone back to the savior.  Thank her profusely as she continues blowing her way down the sidewalk.  Mimy lets me in.  Shake the water off and grumble thanks. 

Climb the stairs.  Drop coat in pile in office.  Hustle to kitchen.  Food is done and now not hot.  Nuke it for another minute.  Oops now it is hot but partially hardened.  Take it back to my office.  Eat it and finish bookmarking documents.

We used to call my mom “The Dragon Lady.”    I haven’t yet read Amy Chau’s “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom.”   But hearing the buzz, I can tell there are many mommy similarities.

My mom was a chemical engineer who went to law school after my younger sister Debbie was born.  She gave birth to my siblings Susan and Jennifer the first two years and was seven months pregnant with Gregory when she graduated the third year.  To this day, her classmates recall that she seemed to always be “sick” and lying down in the black of class.

Here are a few of my memories:

•  Piano.  We all learned how to play the piano.   This included learning classical music only.  We only played pop music when the parents weren’t around.    When I practiced she would yell out “You Made A Mistake” every time I made a mistake.
• Orchestra.  I wanted to play in the school band.  I was only allowed to take the violin and be in the orchestra.  Eventually the horrible screeching paved the way for me to switch (slightly).  I took up the string bass.
• Brownies.  I really wanted to be a Brownie and go into the Girls Scouts.  This conflicted with piano.  So it was a no.
• Ling Gok.  This is a disciplinary technique that involves bending the second and third fingers and rapping them quickly on your head.  This can also be done with chopsticks.
• My hair.   My hair was disobedient.  It curled.  My mother felt it looked best when trimmed no longer than one inch in length.  In my grade school pictures, you can only tell I’m a girl by the clothes I’m wearing.  I have vivid memories of her chasing me through the house wielding scissors.  This didn’t stop until junior high school.
• Reading.  We were encouraged to read anything and everything.  There were no filters placed.   When she was in law school, she had me read her law books so I could learn to sound out complicated words.  We went to the Lake Forest Park library every week.  By high school I had read almost every book in there.
• Television.  We were not allowed to have a colored television for about a decade after they were in use.  We always had to sit at least six feet away from the tv so we would not be radiated.
• Eye for an Eye.   Kirk Gifford pushed me off my tricycle and I came crying inside.  Instead of giving me TLC, she had me march back out there and punch him.
• Cleaning our plates.  My mother would let her clients pay her “in kind.”  One client paid her with a load of smelt (little disgusting fish).  She boiled them and served them for dinner.  You are supposed to eat them by popping them in your mouth head and all – or at least that’s what she said).   Jennifer was too young to know better and ate her smelt.  The rest of us sat there for hours, gagging and retching.  We weren’t allowed to leave until they were all gone.
• Clothes.   We were not allowed to wear what was in fashion.  Clothes were about function.  I learned to sew at the community college.  With money earned from teaching piano, I made my own wardrobe by high school.  One time I was given blue corduroy and made an outfit for each of my siblings.  Just like little house on the prairie.
• Running away.  When I was about six, I just couldn’t take her anymore.  I decided to run away.  I told her I was going to.  She said -  good go ahead.  I got on my tricycle and drove down to the mailbox crying.  I stayed there for a while.  That’s as far as I got.
• School.  I had a lot of leeway here.  Both parents worked and I got good grades.  I can’t remember ever doing homework.  From time to time they’d complain to the school that I wasn’t being kept busy or learning enough.  One year they pursued the matter and had me tested.  The recommendation was that I skip a couple of grades.  After that I developed math aversion and was allowed to stay with my friends.
• Friends.  This about sums up how much friends liked to visit me.  My neighbor and friend Jayne knocked on the door.  My mom answered it, looked her up and down and said – Don’t worry, one of these days your breasts will start to develop.
• Boyfriends.  This is what she said to the person who would become my husband (now ex) the first time she met him.  John came to pick me up for a date.  She was up in the loft, leaned down and said – You don’t look as dumb as you sounded on the phone.
• College.  I announced I was going to be an English literature major.  She pursed her mouth and said – that’s not a real major.
• Law School.  When I announced I was going to law school, she didn’t say anything.  It was expected.
• Oh paying homage.  Everything we have ever done in life that is good is because of my mom.

Mary Fung Koehler is now 78 years old.    She still thinks she knows everything and her way is always right.

(Pictured:  Mom with grandkids Cristina and Ben at Dim Sum)

We have been waiting all week to go to the very tip top of Whistler Mountain. There is an Inukshuk monument up there.  We get off the chairlift and are amazed.  It is gorgeous.  Spectacular.  Imagine a superlative and it applies to the spectacle of the view surrounding us.  After taking it all in, we decide how to go down.  Alysha wants to go down the face.  Cristina is the first to say no.  Noelle and Susan follow Cristina.  Ed follows us, but takes a look over the cliff and turns back.  Alysha looks at me and I can’t say no.  (I need to learn how to say no).  So off they go and I turn left to follow my middle child.

We get to a path with moguls up to my waist  It is about six feet wide.  No bloody way.  Alysha is already down it, beckoning me.  I’m no dummy so I sit down on my bum and slide down it – bump by bloody bump about 10 feet.  The path widens and I’m in the bowl.  A little kid and his parents whiz by.  I stand up.

The problem with sitting and sliding is that it is not exactly a confidence booster.  As I stand I realize I should have paid more attention.  The sign did say “most difficult” way to get down.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  It is very steep, raw and filled with high moguls.  I actually manage to get down it a bit until Alysha calls out: “we need to head to the right over those cat tracks.”

I watch her go down a bit more and traverse.  Looks easy.  So I follow her.

Now, it is a testament to my true love and devotion that I think Alysha knows where she’s going.  Alysha is notorious for getting lost.  Of everyone in our family, she’s the one most likely (other than me) to take a wrong turn. 

So off I go, traversing and following.  And then I am on the cat tracks and I realize.  Holy crap!  The only tracks are Alysha’s and I’m on the face of a boulder/cliff/drop off.  I freeze and decide to lie down on the mountain facing up. 

Alysha is about 30 feet in front of me.  “Come on mom” she yells nicely.  The fact that she isn’t acting impatient or put out is a clue to me.  She knows she needs to be nice because I’m stuck on a flipping cliff!

I can’t move.  I look down – there’s nothing.  If my ski moves to the right one inch, I’m off the edge.  “I can’t do this”  I yell.  And then I start getting borderline hysterical (ok maybe completely hysterical).  I’m thinking – I’m going to move and the whole thing including me is going to go over.  I start thinking of heights and how much I don’t like them.  I can’t get up.  I can’t move.  I start – yes I admit it – to cry.  Boo Hoo.  And tears float to the bottom of my goggles. 

Alysha takes off her skiis and begins to hike up a little.  She is still being sweet and encouraging.  Somehow I stand up and lean to the right. I'm shaking - almost shivering with fear.  I manage to stay on top of that gigantuously enormous rock and get to her before I start having a holy cow.  “I could have died” I’m blubbering.  And she is standing there smiling at me.  “Good job mom!”  Aaargh.  If I wasn't wearing skiis I would have stomped my foot.  “I will never ever follow you again you almost killed me.”  

She says something soothing and finishes floating down the face.  I’m going about as fast as a slug carefully picking my way over the terrain.  I have no confidence.  I feel like I’m about three and she’s become my mother.  Finally, we get to the bottom.  

Yay moomy!  If she didn't have on gloves she'd be clapping.  I try to give her the evil eye but it doesn't work.

The first run of 2011 New Year’s day.  Wonder what the rest of this year will bring…

Pictured: Cristina, Alysha, Noelle, my sister Susan and me (in the red coat).

It is a winter snowland.  Big soft flakes are floating down in a most romantic fashion.  Noelle starts laughing and says – Mom look at your dandruff. 

We are at the Snow Goose.  Our home for the next week at Whistler. 

Mission number one.  Unpack the car.   We aren’t exactly light packers.  Here is what we schlep up the stairs, around the corner, up the stairs into the condo. 

1. Four large stuffed duffle bags
2. One suitcase
3. Three laptop bags
4. One laptop rolling bag
5. Five ski boot/helmet bags
6. One Nike workout gear bag
7. One extra black tote
8. Two kindles
9. One xbox, controllers and games
10. One PS3, controllers and games
11. One Costco box of juices
12. One binder of DVDs
13. Three back packs
14. Two SKWC shopping bags filled with

• Granola
• Fruit snacks
• Oatmeal
• Popcorn
• Crumpets and English muffins
• Macaroni & cheese
• Applesauce
• Tortilla chips
• Rice cakes
• Three containers of Trader Joes cookies
• Tamari almonds
• Trail mix
• Salsa
• A couple of hot coca bags

15. One Soda Stream water carbonator and essences

16. Oh, and the one-third remainder of yesterday’s Red Velvet Cake

We then go to dinner at the Brewhouse.  Alas.  They have new chairs, new tables and a new menu that does not include Edamame stir fried in chili oil with ginger – our favorite.  We are too polite to walk out.  Eat the meal.  Only Noelle’s is good – macaroni with blue cheese.  We then head over to the Market Place for more stuff.  Leave twenty minutes later with three more bags of food, candles and presto logs.  Cristina, Noelle and Ed play Black Ops, violent X-Box game.  Alysha and I are here at the dining room table on our peaceful computers.  The candles are lit.  The fireplace is going.  Oh, and I just ate a piece of Red Velvet Cake.

Ahhh, the joys of roughing it in the wilds of Whistler.

I finish up at the gym and stop at Metropolitan Market in lower Queen Anne on my way home.  Park, rush down the elevator and turn the corner to walk down the stairs.  The woman's strong but not demanding voice stops me.  Please give me money I'm hungry she says.

Her hair is gray and long, not exactly unkempt but not exactly combed either.  She is wearing a black puffy coat, more worn than mine.  She has on a scarf and another long coat.  She's probably wearing her entire winter wardrobe.  In her left hand she holds a plastic bag.  I can see a newspaper through it along with a solitary apple.

Her brown eyes look at me.  They look right at me.  They are not lowered.  They are not red rimmed.  They are bright shiny clear eyes.  I say - do you want me to get you a sandwich.

Yes, she says and smiles delightedly.  Okay, I say, stay right here and I'll be back.  Do you want turkey.  That would be wonderful she says.  With horseradish. 

I turn the corner walk into the store and mumble - horseradish?  I don't think so.  Go to the deli section and get a Turkey sandwich with Havarti.  Swing by the sushi area and get my dinner.  Walk into the fruit section, peel off a banana.  Go to the bakery section, get an oatmeal raisin cookie.  Go to the frig section, get a bottle of juice.

In the checkout line I ask for a separate brown bag for everything but the sushi.  I put the sushi in my big carry all and walk out with the paper bag in hand.  As I walk up the stairs, I see her.  She is waiting for me.  Her breath is coming out in white puffs.  And her brown eyes are twinkling.

I hope you have somewhere warm to go I say, as I hand her the bag.  She thanks me and doesn't say anything about where she will be going.  I turn the corner and begin my assent up the escalator.  I hear the rustle of the bag being opened and a delighted loud chuckle. 

As I get in my warm car and head up to my warm home, I wonder.  Will she eat her meal.  Or will she exchange it for something I'd rather not know about.  Will she hide it and ask strangers for more money for food.  Or will she turn in for the night with a happy full tummy.

I will never know.

Get up.  Make bed.  Brush teeth.  Throw on yoga pants and Northface puffy long coat.  Fill Nala’s bowl with water and slightly less than a cup of dog food.  Wait 22 seconds until she scarfs it down.  Walk to front door.  Attach her leash.  Go outside.  Wait 1.5 minutes until she does her business.  Retrieve residue with ecologically sound cornstarch refuse bag.  Toss it into can.  Walk back into house.  Unleash Nala. Say goodbye to Noelle who heads off to school.

Prepare bags: 1) briefcase loaded with computer, all the cords, and little bag of gizmos; 2) gym bag – this needs some help – it is stuffed with multiple pairs and pieces of everything; 3) black recyclable bag with my law firm log on it, filled with running shoes that won’t fit into my gym bag due to overstuffed status, some clothes, 2 pomegranates and half a package of cookies (well, I did technically cut out candy – but a cookie is not candy); 4) suitcase stuffed with carryon bag and some clothes since I’m going to speak for AAJ in New York next weekend; 5) purse; and 6) black garbage bag of dry cleaning.

Get dressed in fifteen minutes.  It is a put on makeup day so that’s why it takes so long.  Water the plants.  Start the dishwasher.  Grab tray of raspberries, wash them.  Call Nala, put her in kennel in car.  Open garage door.  Get in car.  Back out.  Get out of car.  Close garage door.  Okay…we’ve lost every single blasted garage door opener and I haven’t gotten a new one.  It seems so complicated.  Does it need to be the same brand.  Two of the doors are a different brand than the third.  Sears probably has some that will work.  Or maybe I can find them on the internet.  I’ve been saying this for about six months now.  Maybe tomorrow.  Back out of driveway because the jeep is parked outside and blocking the exit end of the driveway (it’s “u” shaped).  Drive across bridge to downtown and traffic isn’t too horrid hurray.  Eat raspberries while driving and none of them are rotten which is a good thing.  Because you can’t look at raspberries when you are driving.  If you get a bad batch, you can taste the dank on them blech.  But today is a good day.

Drop Nala off at Downtown Dog Lounge.  Run into office.  Grab green Japanese bowl from Uwajimaya which is perfect size.  Make bowl of oatmeal in lovely new kitchen.   It doesn’t erupt over edge of bowl and I am thankful.  Eat while handling things at desk.   Stay for just under two hours.  Leave and drive downtown to convention center.

Park, grab bags numbers one and five.  Walk up two sets of escalators because it is good for your backside to walk up stairs.  Say hi to Clare.  Look into seminar room.  It is in full swing.  Decide to sit in back by an outlet as I need to finish my powerpoint.  No chairs.  Walk back outside and look around.  Spy chair down hall.  Drag it back to room.  Lift it so I don’t make any noise.  Head to back of room.   Take off puffy coat.   Get on internet looking for picture of Leave it to Beaver and other things to finish up slide show.  Finish.  Put it on a thumb drive.  Give it to the webcast guy.  Go back to chair.  Listen to speakers.  Decide to twitter.  Pull out phone. Take pictures and tweet.

Look up.  There is an earnest looking gentleman who wants to talk to me.  I stand up holding my computer.  Here’s what happens:

Him:       Can you tell me how many hours you work a week

Me:        Laugh

Him:       He smiles, but he’s still earnest

Me:        Oh, I don’t count them

Him:       Well, if you did how many do you think

Me:        (Hmmm he’s serious, I wonder what he’s trying to get at)   Oh, I wouldn’t want to guess

Him:       Well, do you think it is more than 40

Me:        (I wonder what he’s trying to get at)  Oh, I’m sure it is at least that

Him        Do you think it is 50, 60? 

Me:        (I wonder what he’s trying to get at)  Oh, I really don’t know.

Him:       It’s just that I had a case where I tried to do everything thing that you (meaning the seminar speakers) suggest, but it was overwhelming.  Let alone for one case but if I was to do that for all of my cases…

Me:        (He really just wants to know work/life/balance)  Well, I do work a lot.  But not as much as maybe you think.  I don’t stay at the office constantly.   I wave my computer around and say – this travels where I do.  I don’t know how many hours I work – because there is “work” and then there are my “activities”

Him:       Is it possible to have a life and do all of this

Me:        Well, I have three kids and they will tell you I work a lot.  But they will also tell you that I do have a life.

Him:       I just don’t know how you do it.

Me:        Well, it helps that I am naturally efficient, but I also use this computer.  I wave it around again

Him:       I’m going to enroll in a community college course and learn how to better use a computer

Me:        Oh, that’s wonderful good luck

He leaves.  I’m checking my email, twittering, listening to the speakers.  Time for box lunch.  Get up with crowd get box lunch.   Say hi to friends.  Bring box back to chair.  Eat half the sandwich and all of the cookie (not technically candy).  It is oatmeal raisin and chocolate chip – quite yummy.  Time for me to give speech.  Unplug the computer from stand.  Plug mine in.  Get microphone from previous speaker John Budlong.  Give speech.  Go back to chair.  Talk to Janice Kim a little bit.  Tell her to sit in my spot tonight at the Hollyball as I will be late. 

Put on puffy coat.  Go back to parking garage, get in car, drive back over the bridge to house.   Get bag number two out of car and shoes.  Get ready to go to gym.  Noelle arrives.  Talk to her as she begins filling her car with items for the auction that she’s in charge of tonight.  She leaves.  My phone rings.   She asks me to get a balloon at the store so people will know where to go. 

I get in car, back out of driveway.  Go down to cleaners.  Drop off bag number six.  Go across street to Bartells.  Select lovely silver star balloon and three packs of gum (still technically not candy).  Drive to gym.  Go for run on treadmill while watching last half of Oprah.  She’s talking to women murderers.  This is the last year of her t.v. show.  What am I going to do without Oprah.  Then news comes on.   Finish up.  Get in car.  Drive back up hill to home.  Uh oh.  Gas light comes on.

It is 6:05 pm.  I’m pushing it as usual.  Shower and put make up on.  The Hollyball is black tie.  Dry hair fast.  It is crazy.  No time to do anything but put into half ponytail.  Oh well.  Pull out long dress that I wore last summer at an AAJ event.  Throw it on.  Put on high heels.  Oops.  Tie ankle straps too tight.  Loosen them.  Toss on coat.  It is 6:25.  Text Noelle that I’m on my way with the balloon.  Get a small evening bag (technically number 7).  Run out door.

Get in car, back out of driveway.  Drive down hill to church activity center where auction is being held.  School district won’t allow the kids to hold the auction in the gym.  How dumb is that.  Get to the church.  Don’t know where to go.  Call Noelle who sends two friends to get me.  I give them the balloon and they tie it to the stair entryway.  We go down to the auction which is for the Invisible Children’s Club.  I mingle and bid on things.  Oops should have waited first to get a number.  Get a number.  I’m standing in my long dress, high heels and trench coat the whole time. Everyone else is wearing jeans. Grab a piece of string cheese and a cookie (well, it’s just a little one).   Noelle makes several speeches.  I’m so proud of her.  Stay until the bidding closes on the silent part of the auction.  Noelle says I can leave.  I text Ed – he confirms that Janice is sitting in my spot at our table.  I ask him to have them save me some food.  It’s 8:00.

Rush out to my car.  Transfer a few things to my little purse, bag number seven.  Drive down the road.  Bell dings to remind me I need gas.  Get gas.  Drive back across the bridge to Seattle.  Pull up to the Fairmont, let the valet deal with it.  Rush in.  Find table – they’ve only eaten salads.  It’s 8:30.  Apparently I missed the “Austin Powers” part of the entertainment.  Happy about that.  Find table.  They get me another chair and squish me in.   See all my friends.  Have to say hi.  Hi Hug Kiss. Hi Hug Kiss.  Around the room I go taking pictures.  Come back to table.  Eat delicious ravioli with mushrooms and asparagus.  Run around.  Dance with Will and Ann.  Run around.  Balls of feet starting to hurt.  Run around.  Leave around 11:15.   Wait for valet.  Ed drove separately and says he will pick up Nala.   Janice is looking for a taxi.  Tell her I’ll take her back to her hotel.  Do that.  Get home.  Done.

About that work-life-balance thing…well…some days there’s a bit more to balance than others.

We are at a convention banquet and it is my last official appearance as President of my state trial lawyer association.  Gerhard – the Executive Director – is going to say a few words.  I’m sitting up on the podium along with other officers looking at the audience of smiling faces.  This is a tradition.  Time to pass the gavel.  And Gerhard starts off:  “I have to admit, I was kind of dreading having Karen as President.”  The audience gasps.  Not sure.  Is that a joke? 

I’m laughing.  It isn’t.  He definitely was worried about me being the “face” of the organization.  Sure I’m competent, but I also am hmmmm unpredictable.  Mainly because I don’t like scripts, speak my mind, and can be a bit irreverent.  He then goes on to say very nice things.  But still, afterwards people come up to me worried that I may have been offended.  Hahaha  not hardly. 

One of my goals as President was to keep Gerhard constantly entertained.  Each month I wrote a column for our newspaper.  He retained the right to edit it.  So, of course I would turn in the column late so he had to be quick.  Several times I managed to turn it in so late that he couldn’t do anything.    One of his favorites was probably the time I "threw punch" out our national association (AAJ) for failing to have a diversity plan.  I actually made some folk very angry.  The article called “DISSENT” had a photo of me with duct tape over my mouth.  AAJ’s ED called up Gerhard and asked why he let me publish the piece.  Hah!  Why indeed.   The following wonderful quotes came from that article.  

In the forward to A Mathematician's Apology (Cambridge University Press 1940) Prof. G.H. Hardy says:

It is never worth a first class man's time to express a majority opinion. By definition, there are plenty of others to do that.

Progress is made, not by comfortably agreeing with the conventional wisdom, but by having the courage to say what no one else is saying and to say it with clearly articulated reasons that motivate people to change their opinions.

Perhaps the greatest value of dissent is "that the sponsoring and protection of dissent generally have progressive implications" for social change because "[d]issent communicates the fears, hopes, and aspirations of the less powerful to those in power." Dissent, Injustice, and the Meanings of America. Steven H. Shiffrin. (Princeton University Press 1999).

 There is a reason why law students are taught to argue both sides of a case.  Lively debate is considered a fundamental touchstone to the truth finding process necessary in a democratic society.  An organization that shies away from embracing the expression of dissident opinion, no matter how insulting, is an organization that risks being undermined and weakened by its own self satisfaction. 

But the peculiar evil of silencing the expression of an opinion is, that it is robbing the human race; posterity as well as the existing generation; those who dissent from the opinion, still more than those who hold it. If the opinion is right, they are deprived of the opportunity of exchanging error for truth: if wrong, they lose, what is almost as great a benefit, the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by its collision with error.

John Stuart Mill, (Oxford: Blackwell, 1947) at 15.  Quoted in Justice Brennan’s opinion in New York Times Co. v. Sullivan, 376 U.S. 254, 270 (1964).

My friend  Ron Ward, a true hero for the cause of diversity, sent me this quote:

".....If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet depreciate agitation, are men who want crops without plowing up the ground; they want rain without thunder or lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters."

FREDRICK DOUGLASS, West Indian Emancipation Celebration at Canandaigua, New York, August 4, 1857.

Speak up.  Be heard.  Make a ruckus every now and then for something you believe in.

My emotional claw reaches out from time to time, grabbing at Noelle and holding her tight.  My last child left at home while the others are in college.  For one more year.    As I get ready for this next week,  I reminisce about these past eleven years of being a single mother who goes to trial.  The logistics!  

Several months ago, I had a trial in Olympia Washington. The drive was shy of two hours each way - worse during rush hour.   One of my partners said - oh there's a great hotel you can stay at right next to the courthouse.  And I said, I have Noelle with me.  I can't stay in a hotel.  I think he gets it, but probably not.  It isn't his fault.  My reality is a bit different than his.

The weekend before a trial means that I do trial preparation, but I also am still a mom.    Here is what I do today:

I wake up at 8:30 which is late, but justified because I was working on trial prep until 2:30 a.m.   Noelle is at church and then going to the pumpkin patch with her youth group.  I feed Nala and take her out for her morning ritual, work a few hours, start a load of laundry, clean up the kitchen and the family room, get a call from Alysha.  Talk to her, agree to meet her at Target for some supplies at 11:15.  Put first load of laundry in the dryer, start a second load.  Drive to Target, hug and hang with Alysha.  Then go to Trader Joes with her to get her some food and an orchid to brighten her place.  Hop over to the Chevron, fill up her car and back to the house.  Ed is there waiting to see me.  Give him a hug.  Alysha bops around for a few minutes, then leaves to go back to the UW.  Hug her.  Fold laundry load one.  Put second load in the dryer.  Check email, review a deposition.  Throw on gardening clogs, grab bucket and clippers.  Cut down two withering clematis vines clinging to side of house.  Prune a few roses.  Stuff into recycling bin.  Back into house.  Bid Ed and Nala adieu as they leave to go on a hike at Twin Lakes in Northbend with a friend around 2:00.  Fold second load of laundry.  Get back to analyzing depositions.  Work for two hours up to the last possible second, throw on running gear.  Run down along the Sammamish trail in perfect sunny fall weather.   Glorious. Clear head and think of the cases.   Rush back.  Hug Noelle who is back from pumpkin patch and doing homework.  Jump in and out of shower.  Ed is back with Nala.  She is filthy and he washes her but...I have to start a third load of laundry.  Start dishwasher.  Run out the door with Noelle.  Ed follows us. 

Arrive at Thai Kitchen for an extended family dinner at 6:00.  Kiss and hug everyone.  My sister Jenny, her two boys and husband John.  Alysha and her boyfriend Reid have brought my mom and niece Erin.  There are eleven of us and we have a feast.  I think the phad see ew is the best.  Ed says the curry.  Mom says the appetizers.  How did we eat appetizers on top of everything else.   I'm sitting next to EJ, the four year old who is quite entertaining.  I give him and his five year old brother Ben, Buzz Lightyear plates to eat from and a halloween coloring book (thank you Target).  He's busy with a skeleton and a spiderweb.    We have a great time.  Finish.  Kiss and hug everyone and leave.

Drive home with Noelle, talk about life.  Back in the door by 8:00.  Get wood from the back yard and start a fire in the wood stove so she can be cozy as she finishes her homework.  Light candles.  Put away some of her clothes (because I'm feeling nice today).  Make a bed with clean sheets from second load.  Continue working on trial prep.  Look at an email from yesterday from my "4th" daugher who calls me her mom2.  My 5th is my god daughter Jataun.  #4 is Noelle's best friend since grade school.  She asks me for input/help on the essay for her college admission paperwork.  I edit it.

Check on Noelle.  She's fallen asleep.   Dishwasher buzzes.  Empty it.  Tell Noelle it's time to go to bed.  Her eyes are barely open as she tells me to go away.  I persist until up she goes, off to her room at 11:20.   Take Nala out.  She sees a squirrel.  Runs in circles, pulling my arm this way and that.  Is on full alert as she begrudgingly does her duty.  Runs in circles around me until we get back into house.  Bolts off to stand squirrel vigil at the window.   I go check on Noelle, give her a kiss goodnight.  Blow out candles.  Get back on computer.  Decide to write this blog.  Finish it.  Back to trial prep.

My kids will tell you that they love that I am so passionate about what I do for a living, and they hope one day they can find a career that they care about as much as I do. But they also say they don't want to be lawyers because I work too much. It doesn't help when I remind them that I didn't start working full time until Noelle the youngest started Kindergarten. Their memories of me when they were little children don't appear to count.

Today they are dispersed - at camp, at a summer camp out, and at the pizzeria. Where am I? On an 80 degree glorious Seattle Saturday? Writing a blog in between answering legal discovery, synthesizing information for a focus group, writing emails, and clearing off my desk. Now I haven't been here the whole time. I took Ed to the airport, met my middle daughter for pancakes, and took Nala to the dog park. But still, here I sit as the clock clicks past 5 pm, on this not entirely comfortable chair, confessing that THIS is what happens when you work too much.

I spend more time in my office (awake) than any other room in the world. I have two computers, one of which is currently playing '70s funk music. There is  cool artwork on the walls and I will find myself fixating on different colors or shapes throughout the day. I have no paper files hogging space so my few books can breath alongside pictures of my girls and Ed. There are two bronze busts of Brandeis which were gifts from my trial lawyers association, and two plaques but otherwise the rest of the certificates are buried somewhere. I have a palm tree that has lived with me since I joined this firm in 2004 and usually there's an orchid perched on the corner above one of the monitors. There's also a little bin of doggie toys and the bones up high on a shelf. There are a few things that I could use to make this room complete: 1) a treadmill with place for a computer so I could type and surf while walking or I could go for a run late at night - now that would be excellent; 2) a stair stepper; 3) a big bean bag - I used to have a small purple one but it was made for an infant; 4) sliding panels that I could open on each of my walls so I could talk to Kevin and Mimy without having to pound on the walls or buzz them; 5) a 60" computer monitor/LCD screen built into the wall. I might have to move a picture but it would be worth it; 6) a silent refrigerator - that way I wouldn't have to share with everyone - very selfish and not green I know - I probably can abandon this; 7) a scanner that works - I got a cheap one and it lasted about a month; 8) tons of candles - apparently we can't have any candles due to fire hazard which is unfortunate because it's hard to set a "mood" with fluorescent lights; 9) a small locker for my work out clothes which are currently on the floor; and 10) a walk in closet would be nice.