Flying

Flying, originally uploaded by IThinkYouShould.

One week from yesterday, we'll be back down at the Gulf. This picture if from last July and it was the prettiest I've ever seen the water. Of course, the water was also full of sharks, so we didn't venture too far out. Ironically, I'm the bravest ocean-goer in my family, but was standing on the shore to take this shot. Shortly after I took it, I spotted several small sharks and ordered everyone out.

My sister picked up my buddy today. I called them to check in while they were on the way home. She put him on the phone: "Sissy? I yuv you! I went to the beach. I yuv you. You talk to her." He spent last week at the beach with his male biological donor and that side of the family, but I know he'll be excited to go back next week.

I was a little older than he was when I started going with a friend from Hometown to the beach every summer. My family was never much for family vacations--there was always a swim meet or a choir tour--but I was lucky to join with my friends' families. There is no place better than the beach. I hope we'll get to make this a family tradition for him. After all, I'm really hoping he'll be able to buy me a house at the beach when he hits it big. He better love it.

We pull up to the interstate McDonald's and I wonder how many other such exchanges are happening all over this country. We all put on our brave faces and my sister does her best to hide her fear and sorrow and worry behind her big sunglasses. My buddy does his absolute best to distract me from loading him into the car seat in his grandmother's car by requesting that we run in the grass instead. Only, once we get into the grassy area, there was no "red light/green light" game as we had played that morning. He just kept one arm wrapped around my leg.

He eventually consented to holding his grandmother's hand and was able to keep his brave face on right up until the moment his mama leaned down to give him a hug. There are not many things more sad than the crumpling face of a 2.5 year old who is trying to be stoic.

If I Had David Sedaris's Talent, I'd Be a Gazillionaire

How do you explain summertime humidity in the South to someone who has never experienced it? I know greater writers than me have tried. It's like the air is so heavy you can feel it weighing down on you. We very often end up having late afternoon thunderstorms that feel completely inevitable. We're having one right now, and it feels like a fitting end to the last 48 hours.

My mom, dad and I headed to L.A. (Lower Alabama) on Wednesday afternoon in the middle of an early summer heat wave for Uncle Robert's services. Along with his mother and brothers (and technically a sister, but I try to marginalize her as much as possible), Uncle Robert left a wife, a grown son and a 16 year old daughter behind. My family is always high drama, but as one of my aunts observed tonight, funerals really bring out our best--drama that is.

If I were David Sedaris, I could tell you about how my 16 year old cousin with developmental delays chose to dress her father for burial and it would be funny. The story of my cousin who has been excommunicated from his mother's life (but not the rest of our lives) bringing his girlfriend who chewed gum and examined her belly button ring during the service would bring an out-loud chuckle. I could accurately describe my Southern Baptist cousin's face when she realized we were going to say the Hail Mary 50 times while praying the Rosary. Or maybe I could explain why we all held our breath when the aforementioned marginalized, excommunicating aunt stood up to speak at the service and why I snorted when she said she was speaking for her brothers. If I had talent, I could do all of this while still portraying how incredibly sad the whole situation was.

But, in spite of my southern roots and our proud literary history, I just don't know how to accurately convey the unbearable sorrow of my cousin's primal cries at the graveside or how that sorrow was tempered by the levity of the two largest floral arrangements being University of Alabama tributes complete with a little bear declaring that God blessed the Crimson Tide. There's really no way to explain how incredibly sad it was to see my big teddy bears of uncles and Daddy trying to figure out how to walk away and leave their brother there in the ground or to explain their excitement at seeing their former Pony League coach--Tiny. I can't vividly describe my great-aunt Margie,the epitome of a Steel Magnolia,who at 77 sat on the floor and played with my three month old cousin and helped her big sister bury her son without shedding one tear--until we were processing out at which point she discreetly buried her head in her own daughter's shoulder only after my grandmother had passed her by.

We ended the day as all southerners do--surrounded by food prepared by a Sunday School class. Of course, this time it was served in a volunteer fire department--it was for my family. And when it comes to funerals, we really know how to bring it.

The rain lasted about 10 minutes. And like most summer rains, it didn't really bring any lasting relief from the heavy air. But, it did give us just a moment of balance.

Uncle Robert

The Boys, originally uploaded by IThinkYouShould.

When I think of my Uncle Robert, I hear him laughing.

My dad is the oldest of 5--4 boys (all within 8 years of each other) and 1 girl (16 years younger than my dad). Next was Robert, then James, then Steve. You can imagine the trouble four boys got into growing up in the 50's and 60's in LA--Lower Alabama. My grandfather was a no nonsense disciplinarian and when one of them failed to own up to any wrongdoing, he would line them all up and dole out punishment one by one until they caved. Uncle James caved by saying, "Wobbie did it!" This exclamation has become such a part of our family's lexicon that my dad doled it out to me yesterday when I was blaming my errand inefficiency on a store's closing. "Wobbie did it," he told me--right about the time Uncle Robert went out to mow his lawn 100's of miles away.

Unfortunately, mowing his lawn is the last thing Wobbie did. He collapsed and died yesterday, leaving a lot of life un-lived and a lot of people who loved him very much behind.

I left work yesterday debating whether to go to the grocery store or Target, decided on the grocery store and then turned to go to Target anyway. After looping back around, getting cut off by a douchebag in a chick car and having to park 2 miles away with a thunderstorm looming, I just wanted to get in and get out.

I was immediately greeted by a congregation of giggling teenagers inside the door (I totally deserve this since my friend Cathy's mom used to tell us all the time to stop the incessant giggling). I maneuvered around them and headed for the produce only to be greeted by a bunch of skinny, tan college students in their short shorts hogging the avocados. I made it around them and headed to grab some spinach. I saw a tall, thin, brunette dressed in a beautiful top--one I would wear out to dinner or to go out with friends--and shorts standing next to a cart pulled up close to my spinach. At the other end of the cart was another brunette, this one shorter and talking on her cell phone. As I approached, the yellow topped girl pulled out her phone and I was officially exasperated.

I had room to get my spinach so I relaxed a little while overhearing the shorter girl's phone conversation: "just press one after you enter the alarm code. Call me back if you have any problems." Her voice was not the teeny bopper high-pitched tone I expected and I acknowledged to myself I really had no good reason to be annoyed with her as she grabbed her baby spring mix and put it in her cart. I never even looked at her once she was back pushing her cart.

I moved on and got annoyed with the older lady blocking all the peppers so she could go put her baby carrots back. It wasn't until I was headed for the fish counter that I glanced at the shorter girl. She had on black shorts and a white button down shirt with a cute, pink headband in her hair. "Wow, she must be related to the Bachelorette." I live in the Bachelorette's hometown, so this is not completely out of left field.

Once I got to the fish counter, I turned around to catch a glimpse of her standing in the cereal aisle. "That may be the Bachelorette," I thought. So, I did what any pop-culture loving girl would do, I headed for the cereal aisle.

I've never been a loyal fan of the the Bachelor or the Bachelorette. My lack of complete fandom combined with the fact that not one single person was talking to her--or even taking a second glance at her--had me doubting my eyes. As I tried to nonchalantly peruse the granola bars, she glanced back at me and I was pretty confident that she was the one.

I relented at that point and got back on track with my own shopping only to end up at the same checkout with a lady in between us. When I saw her smile at the cashier, that sealed the deal. No more doubt. I asked the cashier about it when I got up there and she said that she didn't want to ask her so she just kept saying, "you look really familiar." DeAnna just smiled at her and neither confirmed or denied.

So, not sure what all of this means since I haven't been watching, but for what it's worth, the Bachelorette was shopping in Kroger with her little sister (I discerned this based solely on their interaction in the cereal aisle) on a Tuesday afternoon.

Food Tour 2008

As we traded e-mails in preparation for my upcoming trip to DC, I answer the ubiquitous question over and over again: Is there anything special you want to do?

Mind you, that question came after we had already made the big dinner reservations, but my answer always involved food. Thus, the Food Tour 2008 was born.

Although my plane was an hour late landing (that's what happens when it rains in Atlanta), we still managed to score a great table and the best burger I have ever eaten. We took it easy Saturday morning but stopped on the way to Ginger for some great pizza. Saturday night was incredibly fun and worth every penny.

Brunch on Sunday followed by a girls' gathering on the roof Sunday night with incredible cheese, great wine (in remembrance of our adventures in Provence) and homemade sorbet unofficially brought the Food Tour to a close (although we snuck in a lobster roll today).

Oddly, in spite of my food belly, the food is not what I'll remember most. Instead, it will be snapshots of crying while landing and looking out at the city I so dearly love and miss. It's decades-long friends jumping out of the car to greet me. It will be the immediate sense of comfort I feel--even though they could easily appear in a more tame version of Sex and the City and the majority of my wardrobe came from Target. I'll remember the way that they don't just abide my long stories and spontaneous bursts into song, they encourage them. It will be the satisfaction of the circuity of life--being able to purchase a beautiful dress and support my friend thousands of miles away and the fact that she offers my other friend a discount just for loving me. It will be the laughter--the always present laughter. Be it dragon's breath popcorn or the drum major move that invokes it--we're never short on the laughter. It will be seeing L's face as she gazes into the skyline off the roof deck, "Ya'll, look at the sky," obeying her order to see the beautiful sunset behind our National Cathedral and then turning back around to see the faces of many of those who love me most.

Ends up, Food Tour 2008 was much needed nourishment for my soul.

Now, to work on the food baby.

My Sunshine

When I try to conjure up my first memory of her, I have several flashes from our third year of life. I remember my mom taking me to visit her while she was sick at home and discovering that her own mother covered every inch of their floor with newspaper in case she vomited on the floor. I remember taking an old camera my dad gave me to "school" and the black and white pictures that resulted. I remember standing in the back of her dad's El Camino doing the "Firecracker Firecracker Boom Boom Boom" cheer together. We had matching silver lame bathing suits and I remember my mom having to jump in the pool at the country club to rescue her when our inflatable boat turned over on her head.

When we moved back to Hometown, she was there with open arms. She invited me to my first concert--Rick Springfield--and we spent the entire ride home rolling around in the back of her parents' hatchback looking at the stars and dreaming big dreams for ourselves. At some point, she started reading Revelations while bored in church. This was smack in the middle of the cold war, and she decided she didn't want to be away from her parents overnight in case the rapture came in the form of a nuclear bomb. My falling asleep at my birthday party in the fifth grade resulted in righteous anger from her and a late night trip to my house for her mom.

I remember the summer when we were 19 and we piled in the car along with two other friends to drive to the Sheriff's office to let them know that both she and her ex had violated the restraining order she had taken out on him. Imagine my delight when she called to tell me she was dating Heath--the name of her horrible ex and my ex who had died. I could not have been happier watching her walk down the aisle to become his wife.

I'll never forget holding her firstborn in my arms--little Lane. Born 4 months too early and not meant for this world but loved endlessly nonetheless.

Today, she gave birth to her fourth baby since December 2002. Another little girl to join Walker and Kate. She kept the little girl in as long as possible (37 weeks they thought) but Baby Barry is a wee little thing--5 pounds 8 ounces--and is currently getting some help with the little lungs. Mama and Daddy are still trying to come up with a name.

Welcome to the world, Baby Girl. The best wish I can make for you is that you find one friend as loyal, constant and loving as your mom. I love you.

Local Access

We have a horrible local access television channel here in Mayberry. It has a couple of different cooking shows, a Bible study, an "inspirational" Oprah wannabe, the Car Guys (not the ones from Boston) and interviews with the City's information officer. However, the mainstay are programs from the local performing arts centre.

We have a great arts centre run by a good friend of mine, but it is technically a part of the school system. So, all of the local schools can have their programs there. I've been having insomnia lately so the local talent shows from the various schools have been my late night entertainment.

Well, lo and behold if I didn't get an e-mail from a friend who sings with me in our community choir asking me to be a JUDGE at her middle school's talent show in a couple of weeks. I hesitated, but it wasn't the $50 I'll get paid that tipped the scales in favor of doing it. It was the blog fodder.

Beat

Although a large percentage of our practice is litigation, I made it nearly 5 years before having to assist at a trial. We had one other jury trial a couple of years ago, but the other side finally settled after we picked the jury. It just doesn't make sense for most of our clients to go to court--it's too expensive.

But, all the forces aligned and my workweek started last Sunday night at 8pm. We picked the jury Monday morning but there was another case in front of us, so the trial didn't start until Thursday morning. Talk about exhausting--having to be fully dressed and "on stage" for hours on end is hard work. I ate every meal at the office--lunch and dinner closed in a small room with my boss who doesn't really chew his food. He just smacks it down. To add insult to injury, the "Taste of Mayberry" was Thursday night, so when we arrived back at the office from the court house, there was no where to park and 10,000 people partying in the streets. He gave me 20 minutes to run home, let my dog out, change clothes and pick up our dinner. Admittedly, I was glad that the coffee shop across the street was still open at 9:30 when I realized we still had plenty of work in front of us.

At any rate, we felt good when the jury went out and were more encouraged when they did not return quickly. The good news--they did buy our arguments. We had managed to get most of the counts thrown out before the trial began, got another thrown out after the Plaintiffs finished their case on Thursday afternoon and believed that only one of the remaining three had any merit. The jury agreed. We gave them a formula for how to determine how much money to award and they agreed. Problem being, they didn't agree with one number in our formula and the result was that our client owes his archenemy several thousand dollars.

We left an attorney on the jury, and thankfully, she was willing to share with me the jury's reasoning following the trial. They all felt that it was a defense verdict and could not have been more complimentary of our lawyering. That did little to rid us of the sting when looking at our clients' faces.

So, I hurried home following the verdict, left my suit on the floor, and headed south with my mother to my grandparents' house. My grandfather celebrated his 86th birthday on Saturday and my sister and my nephew were already waiting for us. I let my mother drive (even after she nearly killed us a mile from my house) for a while, but when I realized that a 3 hour drive was going to take us 5, I took over. Then, my sister and I stayed up until 1 am talking. I woke up the next morning feeling like I had been to a lock in at the Y.

I tried to take a nap after breakfast, but my brain would not turn off. All the woulda, coulda, shouldas were just eating me up. So, I got up and helped my grandmother with lunch. My sister, nephew and myself left shortly thereafter heading home and I did nap on the way back. I awoke feeling fairly human to discover we were one exit past ours heading straight into downtown Atlanta--where road resurfacing had traffic backed up for miles. An hour or so later, we finally made it back to my house. Pizza, a Clifford dog from one of those "grab the stuffed animal" machines (it only cost $4), and some glossies later, I found myself in my bed with my 80 pound dog and my nephew. I had to draw the line at my sister joining us.

Will--the child who is a fabulous sleeper--was ready to go at 4:00. I convinced him to lie back down, but being sandwiched between two of my favorite beings does not make for the most peaceful slumber. Up at 7:30, they were gone by 9 and I only had 846 entries in my feed reader.

I sure hope I never have to do that again.

26-50

26. Biting into the proscuitto and arugula pizza at Otto
27. Hearing the senators vote "Yea" or "Nay" on the issue of the impeachment of William Jefferson Clinton while looking down at their faces.
28. Cruising along the Potomac on an early summer night
29. Riding and dancing in Autumn's car on the way to the liquor store after our final first year exam
30. "Hark I Hear" with Brooke
31. Watching Allyson walk down the aisle
32. Dinner at Tru
33. "Deeper Shade of Soul" in Allyson's Chevy Blazer
34. My conversation with Bill the night after Beth's wedding
35. Watching Mr. Shaw conduct
36. the way it felt to have my mom lift me out of bed and into her arms every morning for years
37. Watching Daddy mop the floor in his red sweatshirt
38. Coming up for a breath and seeing my sister at the other end of the pool telling me I was going to make it
39. Standing in front of the whole school as the lone representative from Mrs. Adcock's class to make all A's
40. watching my sister finally beat the record in a time trial in Tuscaloosa
41. Sitting on Ashley's stoop having 227 with Ashley and Burch following "Saving Private Ryan"
42. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes on Sunday afternoons
43. Christmas vacations when my sister would be home from college and the house would be full again
44. spending the weekend with Allyson and Walker--aged 3 months
45. sticking my toe in the Pacific Ocean for the first time
46. long afternoons on the Pontoon boat in Tennessee
47. watching Pebbles run back and forth over the sand dunes
48. Christmas morning when I got the Barbie Dream House
49. Eating crab cakes on the water in Maryland
50. the King's Singers at the Kennedy Center

Wonder

When people ask why I went to law school, I really have no good answer. My family always said I should become a lawyer because it was impossible to win an argument with me. Many of the people I admired in life are attorneys. I went to DC after undergrad to live a little and be sure law school was what I wanted to do. I LOVED DC. Absolutely loved (nearly) every minute of my three years there. But I knew that I had to go to law school or I would always wonder.

I don't hate practicing law, but it doesn't wind my watch either. I wonder if I was practicing somewhere else, I would be happier. I was successful in law school and had I started a year earlier than I did, I would have been able to write my own ticket. Instead, my first interview was on 9/11/01, and the market was in flux during the crucial hiring times for me. I had a horrible clerking experience the summer before my third year, so when my current bosses called and offered me a position I knew wouldn't suck, I jumped at it. Even though it was no where near DC (my intended location). So, I've spent the past 5 years in Mayberry. I don't want to be one of those people my dad always warned us about--if I can just graduate from high school, I'll be happy. If I can just get in the right college I'll be happy. If I can just find the right major I'll be happy. If I can just find a husband I'll be happy, etc. But I really believe I need to move in order to be happy.

I went to the beach this weekend with my mom, sister and nephew. My sister convinced my exercise-adverse self to take a 14 mile bike ride. During the long ride along Highway 30-A, I wondered at how and why my life has become so stagnant. Somewhere along the way, I lost my confidence. I went from a successful, happy young woman excited about life to someone content with status quo. Even once I decided it was time to take the plunge and make a move, I'm most scared of being successful. We saw one of my two best childhood friends and her mother on Friday night. They have always been two of my biggest cheerleaders. They still believe I'm great and that I can do anything I want. I'm trying to believe them.

The picture above is of my nephew and my mom looking on in wonder at the sea lion performing at Gulfworld. I'm looking for the wonder in this world again.

Perspective

I know there are several people who read around here who don't necessarily make your presence known. And I also know that every single one of you have some sort of Georgia connection.

Please go read this post about a sweet NOVA family who find themselves facing a challenge no parent should face in Savannah. And let's show them just how hospitable southerners can be.

Movin' On Up

My mom grew up in a house her parents built when she was in elementary school. It was across the street from the house in which my grandfather grew up. My dad moved from Mississippi to Alabama when he was young, but can drive you by his childhood home with no problem.

That game you play where you take your pet's name and the name of the street on which you grew up? Yeah, that one is kind of hard. I usually use the name of the road we lived on for 7 years. That's the longest I've ever lived in one place.

Not that anybody cares, but to the best of my recollection, here's a rundown of where my parents have lived since they got married:

1. small town Georgia #1. I've never heard them talk about their living situation in the first town in which they lived. They got married 3 days before my mother's 19th birthday. All I've ever heard them discuss is how they visited my grandparents quite frequently--to eat!

2. They moved to Hometown the following year. I think the first home they owned was a mobile home. I know they brought my sister home to their trailer in the trailer park where the Piggly Wiggly now stands. I think this was after my mom backed into it and knocked it off its foundation one morning while my dad was still sleeping. She went on to work.

3. At some point before I was born, they bought a house--I believe it was on Azalea Drive. This was were they lived when I came home from the hospital and it backed up to my friend Allyson's parents' house. Unfortunately, we moved before we were old enough to take advantage of the situation.

4. We moved into the house in Carlton Woods that my parents built. One of my earliest memories involves being "stranded" in the playroom upstairs which had a mini balcony. I remember standing on the balcony crying while every else laughed at me. This would become a common occurrence in my childhood.

5. The mortgage payments got to be too much for my school teacher parents, so they moved into a smaller house on Barbara Circle. It backed up to a lake and we had a trampoline. My sister's room had green shag carpet. Mine had hard wood floors with no area rugs (allergies).

6. We moved to Missouri--flattest place on earth. I don't really remember much about this house--other than swinging on the swing set outside when my mom called us in for a surprise. She had asked the manager of the grocery store to order grits for us.

7. The day after school got out, we moved to Birmingham. We temporarily lived in an apartment while looking for a house. It had a community pool and my sister taught me to swim butterfly in that pool. Every box we had got infested with tiny roaches which came with us when we moved.

8. After getting out of the first contract they signed upon discovering a severely leaking roof, we moved into what felt like a GIGANTIC house. It was a split level ranch and had a special psychedelic orange and yellow room that I used just for my Barbies.

9. We moved back to Hometown after a 4 year absence--to a house with a POOL! After painting over the oreo paint scheme outside, we loved it. We were there for 3 years.

10. They built another house. My dad helped his dad and brothers tear down a house in Mississippi and all of the hardwood floors, the moldings, the doors, the wainscoting, and the mantel were all used in our new house. My dad took advantage of summer vacation and worked on that house every single day that summer. We moved in right around Thanksgiving to an unfinished house and somehow managed to never have toilet paper holders or towel bars. This was our home for 7 years and we were all flabbergasted when they took an unsolicited offer from a very annoying woman to buy it near the end of my freshman year of college.

11. They moved to a rental house temporarily because the sale was so fast. I came home from my freshman year and couldn't unload my car because the house was already full. I watched the OJ chase at that house.

12. Before the end of the summer, they bought a house in Cherokee. It was time for the sweet lady who lived there to be taken care of. She had raised her family in that house and it was well loved. We became fast friends with our next door neighbors and he acted as the general contractor on the garage to master suite conversion. The Grays are definitely the best thing to come out of that house. Followed closely by the amazing rug they negotiated as part of the purchase. This was the first closing I worked on from a legal standpoint (I was working part time with my boss's father who is also a lawyer).

13. Daddy retired and got hired at a college in Atlanta. They moved to Mayberry--an Atlanta suburb--with the help of our old family friend (and my now boss). After much looking and realizing how spoiled we are by the beautiful homes in Hometown, they found a great house that we enjoyed for their 4 years there. I was in DC during most of their time there and its proximity to the airport was great.

14. While I was in Europe doing study abroad, they decided to leave Mayberry and head for the hills. They bought a house in a mountain town they had looked at for years. By the end of my two months in Europe, I was so looking forward to being home only to be told via e-mail that I might rather head to Law School town upon my return. The house was small and my grandparents were visiting. Mom solved the problem by flipping her VW Bug down a 30 foot ravine on the way to the airport. They spent the night at the hospital while I borrowed some socks from my (now) boss and crawled into their guest bed.

15. After one Christmas, 6 people, and 2 dogs, they decided they needed something a little bigger. So, a bigger house around the bend was purchased. The first night there was also our first night with Etta. We spent it on the new sofa I had purchased for my apartment at the Pottery Barn outlet that afternoon. While there are many happy memories from that home, we were all a little relieved to be away from the place where my nephew's sperm donor dropped his 29 day old head on the hard wood floor and gave him a skull fracture and brain bleed. That and the unknown rodent who had moved into the walls.

16. The lure of the boy proved so strong that they bought a house right around the corner from my sister's house. They knew it was temporary which leads to today--

17. The start of (according to my calculations) my parents' 17th move in their 40 year marriage. Right around the corner proved a little too close for everyone. They are now 20 minutes away and Daddy's working on a train room for the boy. When my dad said they got an interest only loan, he noted that it can't change for 3 years--and they will surely have moved by then.

Randomness

I spend the majority of my days in my office by myself. I have meetings and I talk on the phone and to my coworkers, but I am not enclosed in a small space with a group of people for long periods of time.

Yesterday, I had to go to a continuing legal education class and was enclosed in a small room with about 30 people all day. I suddenly remember why people drive me crazy. And I never wished so hard for my friends to be on Twitter.

For the love, people. Don't come into the room an hour late and try to squeeze between two tables that Kate Bosworth couldn't squeeze thorough. Especially when you more closely resemble Kathy Bates. Because you're going to knock over everyone's coffee and the pitcher of water on the table. Way to sneak in late.

And THEN immediately attempt to open the handy dandy jar top when contained the chocolate mints. Once you've finally figured it out, by all means, don't dump a couple of mints out of the glass jar. No, continue to reach in the glass jar and rattle around before chomping down on the mints. You and the guy behind me should take your routine on the road. Rattlerattlerattle CRUNCH!

And while we're on the subject, as annoyed as I was by the guy who answered his freaking cell phone and proceeded to REMAIN IN THE ROOM while having a phone conversation, I wish he would have stayed on the damn phone. Because once he got off, he felt the need to offer personal commentary all damn day long. When you're in a class about something as dense and confusing as Medicaid, I'm all for people asking questions. But there is absolutely no need to pretend you're asking a question when what you really want to do is hear yourself talk. And stop asking these speakers why the legislature did what it did. I finally had to tell him to call his congressman.

Between he and chocolate mint lady, I felt like I back in law school having just walked into a new class to find my two least favorite classmates were in attendance. At least in that case I could have just walked to the registrar's office and dropped the damn class.

And in other news, my sister and nephew are at the beach. My sister has recently gotten back on the exercise train. My sister qualified for the Olympic trials back in her swimming heyday, so you can imagine that when she gets on the train it is running full steam ahead. She just called to tell me that she biked all the way to Seaside (7 miles) with my nephew on the back of the bike. When she rented it, the lady told Will that Sheryl Crowe's son Wyatt had been sitting in the same seat yesterday. OMIGOD. We are Sheryl Crowe freaks. I guarantee my sister will see her before the week is up. Hopefully she will wait until I get down there.

100 Things Worth Doing

Memories I hope pop up as my life flashes before my eyes--as inspired by Maggie

1-25

1. The way Will's endless newborn eyes opened to look at me the very first time I spoke to him.
2. Singing in Carnegie Hall with my dad directing
3. Driving the Pacific Coast Highway with my sister
4. My mom's face when she realized we were going to San Francisco
5. Driving around my grandparents' farm on their three wheeler
6. Standing at the top of the stairs as "Dolly"
7. Landing in DC by myself for my internship
8. Meeting Ethel Kennedy
9. Eating our picnic lunch in Provence with Sherri
10. Watching Etta running back towards me at full steam on the beach
11. Sunsets at Hotel Washington
12. Dave Matthews Band with Leslie
13. Dancing with my girlfriends at the Youth Center
14. Floating on blow up inner tubes all day with Aimee and Christina
15. Watching my mom ride the front of the raft at the end of our white water trip
16. Body surfing with my sister for the first time
17. The market at St. Remy
18. Doing the folk dance in Germany
19. Watching the skaters at Rockefeller Center with my nephew for the first time
20. Riding in the back of the Godwin's hatchback with Allyson after the Rick Springfield concert
21. Standing in the kitchen of some condo in Panama City eating oysters with Susie
22. Getting dressed for the Halloween party with Aimee and Autumn
23. Playing in the huge magnolia tree in Gracie's front yard
24. Cherry Blossoms in Macon and DC
25. The curtain opening on "Dreamgirls"--my first Broadway show

Because Balance in Important

You know what I hate? Mean old people. For example--

I just hung up the phone with a lady in the Midwest. We're handling the probate of her first cousin's will. The cousin's lineage worked out so that her first cousins are the people who would have inherited her estate had she not had a will. Therefore, they are all entitled to receive a copy of the petition to probate along with the will.

All I needed this lady to do was sign an acknowledgment that she received a copy of the will and petition. Her signature has to be notarized. She returned the first acknowledgment to me without a notary signature so I re-sent it to her. She just lit me up: I'm 86 years old and I live in the country and I would have to drive into town and pay a notary to sign this for me. Why are you asking an old lady to do that when I'm not going to get one thing from this estate? I don't care what happens!

I explained the reasoning behind the law but told her not to trouble herself. Instead, I told her that our alternative was to have the sheriff serve her with a copy of the petition. I told her we would do that and not to be alarmed if the sheriff appeared at her door. She then scolded me some more and lamented the stupidity of Georgia law. I told her I would be glad to let my congressman know that an 86 year old lady in Illinois thinks that Georgia law is stupid, but I was still charged with following it to the letter. She just continued to tell me she didn't care so I thanked her for her help and hung up.

[Our receptionist just came up to apologize for not being able to understand the lady when she told her her name. I told her I couldn't understand her either and our receptionist said, "Well, you were sweet to her." Glad to know I haven't crossed over the line yet.]

Last week, a friend of mine who works in admissions and fundraising for a divinity school was told by an octogenarian that she is a bad mother because is "riding the money train" instead of staying home with her nine-month old. Mind you, the octogenarian has no personal knowledge of my friend's situation. You think she would have said the same thing to my sister--the sole source of support for my nephew?

At what age do people lose the rudeness/judgmental/lack-of-common-human-courtesy filter? I mean, I'm the world's biggest smart-ass and it's well established that I don't suffer fools lightly, but I do generally try to treat people with some modicum of respect. At what age am I allowed to stop? I'm thinking 33.1 months is looking good.

My Love List

Inspired by She Loves Purple and SLynnRo here's my Love List.

The Beach--everything about the beach. Rolling down the window in the car to catch the first whiff of salt air once you've crossed whatever bridge puts you in official beach territory. First stepping foot in the sand. Curling up on a chair under an umbrella with a good book. Homemade watermelon mint daiquiris while you're lying under that umbrella. Watching dogs (especially my own or one I love) take off running with abandon. The weightlessness you feel when you catch the perfect wave while body surfing. Showering after a day in the sand and surf and all the crazy things you find in your suit. Buying fresh fish at a sea side market and cooking it up myself. The way your skin feels like it has shrunk after a day in the sun. Falling asleep with the windows open to the sound of the surf.

Homemade whipped cream. With strawberries. Or chocolate. A cold beer on the front porch after digging in the dirt all day. Zinnias blooming in front of a picket fence. Dahlias as big my head (well, maybe not my big ole head). Fresh basil. Coke in a bottle. Summer tomatoes and silver queen corn. A new good white wine. The smell of a steak on a charcoal grill. A great anti pasta plate. Warm bread.

Driving on a country two lane road. With the windows rolled down. And music blaring. Especially when the farmers have their irrigation systems running. Or right after they have picked peanuts. Roadside farmers' markets. Eating boiled peanuts purchased at a roadside farmers' market while driving on a back country road with the music blaring. Right after it's rained.

Driving over the 14th Street Bridge when the cherry trees along the tidal basin are in full bloom. Driving along the GW Parkway while listening to Dave Matthews sing about sitting on top of the world with our legs hanging free. Walking along the Mall at sunset. Sangria at Jaleo.

The exhausting feeling of finishing a long, productive choir rehearsal. Singing with people I love. A rich bass voice and pure tenor voice. Boy sopranos' voices. That one chord in "Island in Space." Any performance conducted by Robert Shaw. A Capella's performance of "Heavenly Light" at the 1988 ACDA Southeastern Division conference. Looking out into the audience and not being able to see anyone but knowing you've got them in the palm of your hand. The Moses Hogan Chorale singing "Elijah Rock."

Finishing a file, boxing it up and putting it away. Original hard wood floors and crown moldings. Gas ranges. Planning a trip. Friday nights with a house full of groceries and a full TIVO. Pulling the Netflix envelopes out of the mailbox. Drinking homemade lattes from my Washington, DC mug. High school football in South Georgia on Friday nights. High school marching bands. Live performances. Sitting down to a chef's tasting menu with someone who loves food as much as I do.

A feed reader full of entries.

Favorite Line of the Week

[Telephone conversation]

What are you doing, Buddy?

I runnin aroun nekkid, Sissy. Come on! Run aroun nekkid with me!

I love that kid

My sister just called to tell me that my nephew just told her he wants to go to Yew York and ride the train and go ni ni with his Sissy (that's me). I spent the weekend up there to celebrate my birthday, and we spent a lot of time snuggling. Every now and then he would look at me and say, "Oh, Sissy. I yuv you so much." He also told me he was very proud of Etta. As my dad would say, he is quite the kid.

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Super Bowl of yore

Five years ago (God, how did that happen?), I was in my third year of law school living in Melrose Place. We lived in a row of townhouses that were built for the staff of this place. There were two apartments in each building (one upstairs and one downstairs) and probably seven buildings total. We didn't know everyone that lived there, but we knew most people. Downstairs from me was a medical school student, on my right in the downstairs was our law school buddy K, on the left were Aimee in the upstairs and Teener in the downstairs. K and Teener were 1L's so they were a LOT busier than we were, so Aimee and I often tried to feed them.

I volunteered to cook fajitas for Super Bowl Sunday. Etta was about two days post op from getting spayed and seemed to be doing well in spite of some swelling in her belly. I mentioned it my sister (the nurse) when I called her and she got me worried about the cause of the swelling. I called her vet and they put me at ease so I just kept cooking.

The gang arrived for the feast about the time my sister called back. They had all gotten a head start on me with the drinking, and they were being plenty rowdy. My sister finally convinced me that Etta's belly could be swollen due to internal bleeding, so I sent everyone home and looked up the number for the emergency vet.

I called and discovered that it cost $150 to walk in the damn door. $150 is a lot of money in the life of a law student. My mom had gotten in on the game at that point and called me crying to tell me to use her AMEX to pay for it but to take Etta in immediately.

Aimee and I headed to the vet which is in the ghetto. We walked in and took a seat in the waiting room, but were quickly ushered back to a room. Only, the room had no back wall. It was completely open to the back of the clinic. There was nothing in our line of sight, but we could hear the howling of some poor animal as if he was in the room with us.

Drunk Aimee and I got the giggles, but Etta saw nothing funny about the situation. The hilarity only escalated upon the vet (who was Nigerian) beginning to bellow, "STAPLES! STAPLES!" Etta was unsuccessfully trying to find any possible place to hide.

Ends up, she was allergic to the internal sutures her vet used during surgery. I can't even remember how this guy came to that conclusion. He also gave her a diruetic and told me that she shouldn't be climbing stairs. Naturally, our apartments were built on a hill. This required us to climb about 15 steps to get to the sidewalk in front of the house, then there about 10 steps up to the front porch, and of course, I lived upstairs so that was another 35 or so steps. Etta was about 50 pounds at that point, so I made the executive decision to skip the diruetic since I didn't feel like hauling her up and down 100 steps all night.

She fully recovered and has only a saggy belly to show for it. Aimee and I, on the other hand. . .

I made Aimee's famous guacamole today, and as Etta stood at my feet waiting for me to drop something, I was thankful.

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