A letter to my little sister upon the occasion of her first being a bridesmaid.

alternatively, what I wish I had known when I was twenty-two.

Wedding season is upon us. That lovely time of year when as, a twenty or thirty something, you spend most of your weekends  and much of your money at weddings and their related parties (showers, bachelorette parties, gown fittings, engagement parties . . . the list goes on and on.) I spent the last two weekends at weddings. Most recently it was my little sister's best friend from childhood got married, my dad officiated, our whole family was invited and my little sister was in the bridal party. This was the "first wedding" for my little sister and her friends (by that I mean the first wedding where the bride and groom were their friends and contemporaries.) Having had about six more wedding seasons and being part of the "adult table" at this wedding gave me an interesting perspective, and made me think of a bunch of advice I would give to someone as they start this phase of their lives.

1. Don't show up hungry: yes these events are about food, and there is a chance that you will have to be rolled out of the venue in a wheel barrow, but you can't assume that you are going to be fed right away. Maybe they will start with appetizers or maybe the service will be short, or maybe you will be in a stifling church for a high mass and you will be that person who fainted when the incense came down the isle. This is doubly true if you are in the bridal party, people will be plying you with champagne all day your friend will hate you if you have drunk eyes in all of her pictures.  
2. Wedges and flip flops: If there is any chance any part of the wedding is outside wear wedges. It limits the risk of falling on uneven gopher hole filled ground, and even if you have only had a tiny sip off champagne and your floor length dress gets caught on your foot, if you fall at a wedding everyone will assume you are drunk. I am aware that they aren't great for dancing but better that than becoming a one man aerating crew. Which is why flipflops, hide them somewhere, whether you are wearing wedges or heels, once you are done with photos and have enjoyed enough of the signature cocktail that you don't care about your outfit you will be ready to truly enjoy yourself (you can also embrace your inner hippy and just go barefoot, but that isn't always ideal.) 
3. Really just clothes you can dance in (without embarrassing your grandmother). So maybe your grandmother won't be there, but at a wedding there is a good chance someone's will be. Weddings have a different music than clubs, different dress codes and different dancing. You'll have a better time if you don't wear something that risks flashing Pop-pop during Twist and Shout and having it caught on camera for the happy couple to enjoy forever, (if this doesn't worry you, you are more confident than me and I applaud you. I tend to save it for the bachelorette and still worry that my spanx are showing.)

4. Treasure the day. This is the one that is most important. It probably the one that makes me seem like an old lady (although the my feelings on dress code have a certain "get off my lawn" feel to them.) In the midst of your first wedding it is easy to get irritated with your friends. You have seen a lot of them, you are all sleep deprived, some (or all) of you are in dresses you didn't pick out which might be unflattering or uncomfortable. But these are the last glowing days of the friendships of youth, and before you know it your relationships will have transformed in ways that are incomprehensible to you now. The transition isn't sudden or tragic, it is a necessary part of growing up and a consequence of the gift of the freedom to marry and work and explore outside our hometowns. The friends who are important will always be a part of you, but not in the same way. I wish I could say that even if you move apart they will only be a phone call away, but that isn't true. At some point someone else will come ahead of you, they will pick their husband before you, their children, begrudgingly their jobs, and they won't answer your call. Not to hurt you but because the realities of life are more pressing. But in the glow of your first wedding weekend you can forget all of that, strengthen the ties between you, grow the memories you will cherish. It isn't going to be the same again, but you can enjoy it now, and start your future together whatever it brings.

I told you I have been to a lot of weddings.

Don't tell me to "breath"

I have always been a terrible speller, just ask my second grade teacher, or my parents, or probably anyone reading this blog. It is better with typing than hand-writing, and I am better at editing others than myself, but it is always a struggle. I have to stay on top of it, especially because I know people are paying me to pay attention to detail, although they are also paying me to speed read, which cuts in the opposite direction. Which is to say that this isn't a rant about people who don't know the difference between "breath" and "breathe" or "draw" and "drawer" or "won't" and "wont" or any number of other words we get wrong because we were typing fast, or lazy or didn't understand the rule.
This is a rant about a very specific type of email I get much too often, in which a sender (usually older and male, although not always) responds to my concerns by telling me to "breath." Usually these emails come from someone I am on a board with or a pro se (self represented) opposing litigant; I have never gotten one from another attorney, although that does not mean it won't happen in the future.

Here is what  happens:

1) The event, some action is taken or occurs which concerns me. It usually has to be something that really sits with me for a while, something big, a client or colleague behaving badly, an important decision being made too causally, something that is going to impact more than me alone.

2) My irritation keeps distracting me and I write a letter. This letter will end up being multi-bullet pointed, written, condensed, fleshed out, made as clear as possible while still conveying my grave concerns. It generally is a couple days between the event an when I send the letter to the interested party.
Usually (ideally) this letter will then serve to start a conversation on the concerns, or I will be told that it is too late to address it but my concerns are noted, or it is ignored. All of these are valid responses, some of them are more irritating than others but I don't impugn them as options. However, that is not always the response a recipient will give.

3) I receive a patronizing reply, very often where the author tells me more than once to "breath." Then I become so angry I have to step away from my email and will generally ignore the person until we absolutely must interact again. It isn't the most mature approach, but it is better than the reply I would deliver if I let my baser instincts react.

Here is why the visceral and violent response:

It implies that I am hysterical, in a fit of emotion that is rendering me unable to breathe. Throughout history women with strong opinions were considered crazy, dangerous, bad mothers, unfit wives. The victims of the Salem Witch Trials we mostly single or widowed women who were able to survive alone, they stayed alive as long as their work didn't upset the male political and religious leaders in their communities. First generation feminists trying to get suffrage were locked away in mental institutions, force fed and had their children taken away from them because they were "crazy" and hysterical. In the 1950, 60, 70's women who were dissatisfied with their lot as wives and mothers without intellectual stimulation were medicated into placidity. There is a long history of women with opinions being told that they are crazy. While the battles I occasionally take on are not those of the women before me the reaction I get when I am told to calm down and shut up is part of that legacy.

If you call someone crazy, or hysterical or (my favorite buzz word) "emotional" it means that they are not thinking logically, analytically, (like a man) and you don't have to pay attention to what they are saying. So my angry response comes from the fact that whoever wrote that email clearly didn't take the time read what I wrote to them.

And to make it all worse they couldn't even do me the courtesy of responding with the correct word.

Bucket lists and ruins of the world.

Dip Girl (who is still a diplomat, but now married so maybe "girl" is unfair, but I am still Law Girl on her blog so I will leave it) and I have seen a lot of ruins together; we joke that it has kinda become our thing and have discussed where else we have to get to. (Easter Island, Nepal, Italy, Jordan, Egypt, Italy, Greece, India and Myanmar are all currently on the list- whether we will wait to make them happen together is another question.) I just got back from visiting her and a joint trip to Machu Picchu, which we added to our locations that already included Mexican and Cambodian temples.

Machu Picchu is on a lot of people's so called "bucket lists" and it is amazing. However- and I fully realize that this is coming from an extremely privileged and nit-picky place- Machu Picchu is amazing, but I would recommend other ruins first. There are tons of things Machu Picchu has going for it: the mystery surrounding its purpose and the "lost" city mythology (granted this is a very western view, people who lived in the area knew it was there,) the fact that it is in a cloud forest, the hiking around the site. However, like many tourist sights, it is very expansive; and it is difficult to get to, even if you don't do the hiking, llamas (I loved the llamas). My favorite part of ancient sights is the way details can remain. I loved the carvings in Cambodia and Mexico, the way mosaics in Rome remain. Unfortunately there aren't as many of those details at Machu Picchu, and I (mistakenly) went in with that as an expectation. Additionally, for all the work it takes to get to the site (you fly to Lima and connect to Cusco, then you take a train from Cusco, or as we did because it was the low season, take a car to a city further up the sacred valley to catch a train, then you take a train to Aguas Calientes (an incredibly unattractive place)  where you catch a bus to the site. In the dry season you can hike, but to prevent wear on the Incan Trail the Peruvian government has significantly reduced the number of people allowed to do that, and you are required to hire a porter. You can also walk parts of it along unattractive roads with busloads of tourists going past you) there is really only a day worth things to see, (that is with hiking up the mountain behind the site) and you spend a good portion of the middle of the day pushing through crowds. (And we were there in low season, I can't even imagine what peak is like.) Granted the whole of the sacred valley has more, but many people miss that taking the train quickly through and not spending any time in Cusco.

None of this is to discourage people from going. Peru is amazing, the people are wonderful the food is INSANE it is so good. (Although, unfortunately the food around Macchu Picchu is homogeneous back packer fare, over priced, un-inventive imaginings of dorm food: that  people would leave with that impression of Peruvian food is a tragedy, and another way the site disappoints.) My point is that it doesn't deserve the premier place on people's bucket lists it gets. Macchu Picchu is served by being an amazingly photogenic place, but I think that it has elbowed its way higher in some people's estimations than it deserves because of the gorgeous photos people bring home. The Mayan and Aztec ruins in Mexico are amazing: closer to the states, better food and accommodations in close proximity, some sites are basically devoid of other tourists, it is inexpensive and you can add it on to a beach vacation. Cambodia has dozens of temples that you can explore, and while the town around them is rough around the edges, it has some of the worlds best spas and makes for a relaxing home base. There are options beyond Macchu Picchu that if you don't have the luxury of traveling you might want to examine before you buy your ticket, and if you do Macchu Picchu don't be in such a rush to check it off your list that you don't have the opportunity to appreciate it in context.

My point in all of this is the Peru should be the destination, not just Macchu Picchu. It is fascinating and beautiful and will make you fat in the best possible way. However, without the context of the world around it Macchu Picchu is poised to disappoint people who have been waiting their whole lives to see it.

I promise to post more about my trip, they will be happier I promise. It was an amazing trip.

How can you not love that face?

Some days my greatest achievement is not crying at my desk.

I think there is a reputation of law practice in general, and litigation practice groups within firms most especially, as stressful and emotionally trying places. (Although I think most people think their jobs are especially stressful and emotionally draining so I am reticent to claim special status.)

Anyway, we are in the midst of a trial. It isn't a trial I have done much work on, but once a trial start it becomes an all hands situation; whatever other priorities you may have had get put on hold and you help as soon as you are asked. I was asked to help with a research project that seemed like it should have an obvious and straightforward answer but, as is often the case with simple questions, had no discernible answer whatsoever. I cobbled together the best answer I could, but it was not what the partner wanted. (The partner who is under a huge amount of stress, who is sleep deprived, and who just wanted a clear answer.) He was not happy and I heard about it.

So I kept my head down and worked. I kicked off my super cute and impractical shoes and kept my "desk shoes" on- even in the library and copy room. I billed a ton (which is the upside of this) even with my headache from straining to keep it together. I talked myself out of buying a new pair of amazing work pants, that I really want but absolutely do not need. (When I get upset I have a very bad habit of saying f**k it, I am going to buy it.) Basically it was an entire day teetering on an emotional razor-blade because I felt incompetent.

The partner wasn't loud, or rude or mean; just exceedingly disappointed; which is so much worse. In telling the story to her my mom asked "but why didn't you defend yourself to him?" That is a complicated question. I am sure part of it is a passivity born of being taught the importance of being "nice" above all. But that isn't it alone, a part of it is that you can never be certain that there isn't a better answer you didn't find, with millions of cases and statutes and rules, not to mention articles and legislative history- you can't read it all. Plus there is the ever looming fact that the line between explaining and making excuses can be thin, and taking responsibility and fixing the problem (or at least moving on) is much preferred to perceived excuses.

Anyway, today is a new day and last night the second chair sent me an email thanking me for my help, which I am taking to mean I am not getting fired.

Upon the death of a patriarch

I apologize for the topic of this post. It is such a struggle to decide what to say publicly when someone dies. I think that the way it “ought” to be dealt with is something that many people have strong feelings about, and yet there is no consensus. So in a selfish attempt to sort through my own head after the death of my Grandfather, on this the day we laid him to rest, I am making my thoughts public. I promise this won't be too sad, more a reflection; death is inevitable and dying at nearly ninety is something of an accomplishment. Not that we won't miss him, but there is much more to be celebrated than mourned. 

 My Grandfather was not an easy man: raised in depression, served in the Navy and worked on the railroad, he had gained the requisite tough exterior. I did not have an easy relationship with him as a young girl; I was eventually able to hold my own, but there were years I lived in terror of his acerbic tongue. To this day I think I have spilled more tears over his short temper and impatience than any other man or boy. Eventually I came to understand that he had his own burdens, that he loved us but didn't express it well. That, for most of my life he was either dealing with being the caregiver for my grandmother as she suffered from a terminal illness, or mourning her loss, was a difficult realization that shed some light on his temper. As I grew up I came to appreciate that he was stubborn, not only in his demands but also his love for family.

 I also came to view and appreciate my grandfather’s quiet streak of feminism. I don’t imagine that is a word that he would have been very comfortable using, and he certainly wasn’t radically progressive in the area, but it was pretty clear that he viewed my grandmother as a partner and that they raised their sons and daughter to raise strong women of their own. He was nonchalant about voting for a woman or going to female doctors. He was raised by a single mother after his father passed away, and I am sure watching that strength of will had a great influence on him. He never batted an eye when I decided to work on the hill or go to law school, and he was an equal opportunity interrupter.

 In his last days he asked for us all to come see him. He could be demanding, and we wondered if he was feeling bored, but, when we arrived, it was clear he was saying goodbye, taking his last moments to enjoy us all together. He had been sick for some time, and while we had joked that he was stubborn enough to live forever, I had accepted that his time was near. His last question to me was whether anyone actually read the books in our law library, which I could answer honestly that they did. I’ll think of that question any time I pull a reporter from the shelf, a small carried forward " I love you".

“Death is always on the way, but the fact that you don’t know when it will arrive seems to take away from the finiteness of life. It’s that terrible precision that we hate so much. But because we don’t know, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that’s so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.” 

—Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

My Grandfather had lost his front teeth to a horseshoe as a young man,
when my cousin and I lost our front teeth at the same time he tool the
opportunity to show off his inner first-grader. 

In which everyone thinks "oh, she is a lesbian."

But where I am actually just terrible at relationships.

I have an event to attend this weekend where I will be representing my firm and which is the type of event where people often bring a date. (The firm even offered to pay for said date's dinner.) Now because I am the type of person who would rather drink wine in her sweats and watch Scandal with her mother than go on a date, I do not have anyone to bring to this event.
While I don't overstate my own ineptitude at romance, there is also the problem of finding an appropriate date to bring to this type of function. My firm has asked me to be its representative on the board of directors for our chamber of commerce, and their annual gala [lets be real its dry chicken and a local band] is this weekend. Now I live on the coast in California and the town I live in is full of some of the last living hippies, probably easy enough to come out in and relatively relaxed standard for dress and decorum. The town I work in - a stone's throw a way- is still pretty old school. There is a huge agriculture industry and a lot of old timers (the fact that I was born in the hospital in town means something to some of our clients, even the corporate clients.) My firm is definitely part of that old guard, we still have octogenarian partners who come in every day (lets just say pantyhose are not optional.) It is the type of place where it might still be uncomfortable to come out of the closet. As a straight woman I am lucky not to have to deal with that hurdle, unfortunately it means finding a male date.
Honestly I have enough amazing female friends it would be much easier to find a woman to bring to this event. There appears to have been an outbreak of Peter Pan syndrome throughout my home town. As much as I would enjoy explaining why a suit is the appropriate dress code to the surfer who "doesn't own paints, except for snowboarding... does that count?" Or to watch as an artist who "doesn't like to have a schedule dictated to him" explain his aversion to my Korean War veteran boss; I decided to go alone. It makes for better networking, and there are many fewer opportunities for embarrassment.

It did mean that I had to have these conversations:

From the octogenarian: "So are we going to meet your young man?"
Me: "Nope, it is just me."
Him: "Oh, well, better luck next year"

From the Managing Partner: "The firm will pay for you to bring a date"
Me: "Thanks, but I would rather go on my own, better networking"
Him: "Okay, whatever you want"

From our accounting department: "Just $75.00 on the check? You know that just covers you, right?"
Me: "Yep, just me."
Her: "No date?"
Me: "No date."
Her: "Hmm, OK, $75.00 then"

From the president of the chamber: "I see you just RSVP'd for one, did you mean to include a guest?"
Me: "I know, it is just me."
Her: "People generally bring guests"
Me: "Do I need to bring a guest?"
"No, no, just it is an option you know."
"Okay, well just me then."

Honestly, tomorrow is going to be interesting.

The New Year (or Third)

I am not a devotee of New Year’s resolutions, and maybe it is a false hope to think that I will get back in the habit of writing, but a new year does seem like a good time to turn a leaf and write again. Of course the stated purpose of my writing was to keep in touch with my family from a distance, which is less essential now that I am back home. 

I am sorry that I have been so inattentive. Sometimes the practice of blogging feels a bit “navel gaze-y,” and I wonder if I am falling into the stereotype of a self-important millennial assuming anyone wants to read my thoughts. (Case and point: apologizing for not writing as if anyone was waiting with bated breath for me to post again; other than my parents. Insert gold star parent joke here.)

 I hope I have something interesting to say. Being back in my home town, with all of its quirks; practicing law at a firm that feels like a big fish because of our tiny pond; faking adulthood as a twenty something. Thanks for coming back. Let me know if I am being an idiot.