It’s 10:00 o’clock, do you know where your kids are?

Ever so often my older sister and I let the statute of limitations run on something bad we did as kids and fess up to our parents just for the guilty pleasure of seeing the shocked looks on their faces.   We started doing this every now and again once we realized we’d reached an age at which they could no longer ground us.  And, while we still haven’t divulged all of the crazy things we did when we were younger, there is one particular story we shared with my mom and dad that caused their jaws to drop.  It went a little something like this:

When my sister was around 20 and I was about 13, my parents let us take my mother’s car on a pretty long road trip to visit some of our friends in the town where we used to live.  So there we were cruising along in my mother’s Cadillac laughing and listening to loud music, and, although I don’t remember exactly how it happened, I talked my sister into letting me drive for a bit.  She pulled over, we switched seats quickly, and I had us back on the highway in no time flat. 

I was thrilled.  See, from almost as far back as I can remember, I’ve loved to drive.  While I could care less how a car operates, I love to drive them.  My grandfather would take me out on country roads when I was really young (try 8) and turn the wheel over to me.  I know, what was he thinking???  At any rate, I’ve been comfortable behind the steering wheel for far longer than I’ve had a driver’s license.

While she was relaxing in the passenger seat, I was enjoying myself tremendously.  I was in charge!  I was driving!  I was on the highway!  As we cruised along at 60 mph, I guess my sister suddenly realized the error of her ways and she told me to exit IMMEDIATELY.  Problem.  I knew how to drive a car and how to stop, but I didn’t have the first clue about how to get off the freeway.  Before that day, that fastest I had ever driven was probably 40 mph and it was on a straight country road with no other cars in sight.  Everything gets kind of blurry from that point, but I basically recall the two of us screaming at each other and me taking an exit ramp at full speed.

Do you remember the Dukes of Hazzard?  Well picture my mother’s landyacht flying through the air as I steered it at full speed into an empty parking lot just off the exit.  We flew into the parking lot, hit a humongous pothole, went airborne and eventually came to a stop.  And I’m pretty sure we weren’t wearing seatbelts, because who wore seatbelts in the 80s?  Back then, we had a devil-may-care attitude that seatbelts would just wrinkle our clothing.

Once we gathered our senses and our blood pressure came back within normal range, we made a pact then and there that Mom and Dad would NEVER know about this.  We were fine, the car was fine, and there was no sense upsetting them…well at least not for another 15-20 years.

So, for all those parents out there, just wait.  Sit tight with the realization that, someday when you least expect it, your kids will let the statute of limitations run out on something they did and they’ll tell you a little story about their childhood hijinks that will make your hair curl!

More Isolated Oat Product, Please

I have a confession to make:  I love Taco Bell.  Since I consider myself to be a foodie, this is a difficult and embarrassing admission.  Bean burritos sustained me through my college days and I’ve refused to give them up in favor of something more wholesome.    So, imagine my dismay when the news broke this week about the lawsuit alleging that Taco Bell beef is only 36% beef and the other 64% consists of isolated oat product, water, etc.  Ewww!  This was a sad day for a girl who could eat bean burritos until the cows come home (and, apparently as a Taco Bell cow, you have a 64% chance of not being used as taco meat – at least that’s very good news for the cows).

This got me thinking about other fast food places…what is in the Chick-Fil-A chicken sandwich that causes everyone I know to covet it?  Have you ever met someone who doesn’t love Chick-Fil-A?  No!  If they don’t love it, that probably means they’ve never had it.  They have such a loyal following that I have friends campaigning on Facebook to get a store to open in their area.  In fact, several years ago, a group of my girlfriends and I were at a mall about to eat lunch in one of the nicer sit-down restaurants when one of my friends announced she had never eaten Chick-Fil-A.  The rest of us gasped in horror and we immediately left the restaurant and headed to the food court to remedy the situation (said friend is the one who joined the Facebook campaign).

Recently, I had another friend email me a link to the free spicy chicken biscuit coupon so I could print it out for her.  It seems her printer was broken and the idea of missing her free chicken biscuit was just too much to bear, so she begged me to help her get her fix.

I even attended a friend’s engagement party not too long ago and the tables were decked out with the most delicious and beautifully prepared food you’ve ever seen.  At the end of the table of this gorgeous display of culinary delights was a platter of Chick-Fil-A chicken nuggets for the children at the party.  As the night wore on, I guarantee you I did not see one adult plate without at least a couple of nuggets on it.

It doesn’t seem to matter whether you’re 5 or 55 – everyone I know enjoys Chick-Fil-A now and again.  Yet it’s such a conundrum as to why it’s so beloved.  I mean where else would you go to get a sandwich that consists of a bun, chicken patty, and two pickle slices and not expect more for your money?  If you want anything else on your sandwich, you have to pay for it.  Who pays for a piece of iceberg lettuce and a slice of tomato?  No one! 

My theory, while not scientifically proven, is that Chick-Fil-A chicken contains chicken, breading, peanut oil, and a small percentage of mind-altering drugs.  The drugs make us forget that we’re overpaying for a chicken sandwich.  Keep it up, Chick-Fil-A.  Whatever you’re doing is working.  If you ever get sued, I am sure your legion of followers will happily contribute to your legal defense fund.

Just let it all slip away...Om.

Have you ever just had a bad day?  Duh, of course you have!  It happens to all of us now and again.  Well, one day last week I had one of the absolute worst days I've had in a VERY long time.  In hindsight, the actual events themselves really weren't that bad, but, taken as a whole, I was completely spent.  While I won't go into the details of what happened, they did involve, among other things, a couple of old bully attorneys.  I mean really old-school attorneys who probably think women are better suited for fetching coffee and putting dinner on the table when they come home at night. 

As I listened to their nonsense, my mind travelled elsewhere and all I could picture was Rocky and Mugsy from Looney Tunes.  I kept imagining the younger of the two geezers saying, "Yeah, yeah, boss.  That's right.  You told her." 

After I finished with those two characters, I headed elsewhere in the courthouse to deal with another character all together.  The pro se litigant.  As the old proverb goes, he who represents himself has a fool for a client. In this particular case, he couldn't possibly be more foolish.

So, after dealing with this cavalcade of idiocy, I was looking forward to spending some time with my Flying Turquoise Twin.  She had once again come up with something for us to try.  This time it was "marma" work at a local yoga center.  Don't ask.  I'm still trying to figure out what marma is.  

I arrived at the yoga place in full attorney business suit regalia complete with a bad attitude.    There I was greeted by a very crunchy woman in yoga attire and bare feet.  She took one look at me and said, "You look like you've had a rough day."  She then told me could take my mind off of everything.  Boy, the yogi was right!

Yogi Bear led me to the center of the room (picture lots of furniture from India, tapestries, and Tibetan accoutrements) and told me to close my eyes.  Despite not knowing what was coming, I followed her instructions.  As I closed my eyes, she took Tingshas (Tibetan chimes) and began to walk around me in circles while banging the chimes together.  While it is almost impossible to really draw you a picture through words, it was by far one of my funnier moments in recent history.  Here I stood as this woman whispered sweet nothings about being in a safe place and letting go of my thoughts accompanied by very loud chimes.  Ding! Ding! Ding!  My eyes remained closed, but I was smiling from ear to ear.  I definitely lost track of all that negativity as I just  laughed to myself imagining how I ended up in this situation.  I'm sure Yogi Bear thought I was relaxed for different reasons and not because of the sheer hilarity of it all, but, whatever the intended effect, it did make me feel better.

So, if you've ever had a really bad day, just drop by your local yoga center and see if someone can dance around you with chimes to take your mind off of it.  You might be amazed by the results.

Put Your Hands in the Air!

From the time I was admitted to the bar (State Bar of Texas and not the one down the street) seven years ago, I thought it was important to use my legal background to give back to the community. One way I do that is by serving as a volunteer attorney at a monthly legal aid clinic.  My responsibility at the clinic is to meet with applicants and discuss their legal issues so I can pass that information back to the good folks at Legal Aid to determine whether they can help them.  In the course of my participation in the clinics, I've heard many stories of sadness and even tragedy, however the story that sticks out first and foremost in my mind comes from the night I first volunteered.

As I wrapped up my volunteer work for the evening, I bid everyone farewell and started walking to my car.  Along the way I passed a man smoking a cigarette and lurking around in the parking lot.  As I walked by, he asked whether I was an attorney.  While a mature, seasoned attorney would have said no and continued on their merry way or maybe not even answered him at all, I was a baby attorney and proud to announce that, yes, I was in fact an attorney.  (cue the Superman theme music)  From the moment I responded affirmatively, I regretted it.  Here's how the conversation went:

Man: "Well, you see I have this felony child abuse charge pending against me..."
Me: "Whoa, whoa, whoa, I don't practice criminal law." (Attempt to exit stage right)
Man: "Anyway, I need an attorney.  It's all a bogus charge.  The only reason I dropped the baby is because the police drew their guns and told me to put my hands in the air."
Me: "I have to go NOW." (Exit stage right at brisk pace)

Even years later when I think about that brief conversation, I wonder how a man could say such words and not express some concern about what his life had become or regret for his actions.  He wasn't denying he dropped the baby.  He wasn't denying the police found reason to pull their guns on him.  His only complaint was that it was essentially the fault of the police for his misfortune.  I mean there are so many things wrong with his story that I don't even know where to begin.  I've often reflected on this moment and hoped that the baby was not seriously injured and that he/she is now a happy, healthy 7-year-old in a safe and stable home without this man in his/her life.

Before this encounter ever took place, I had already notified the courts that I was willing to be appointed to represent children in Child Protective Services cases.  These are children who need legal representation because they have been removed from their homes due to abuse and/or neglect.  While it can be difficult and emotionally draining work, it is also some of the most rewarding work I do.  In the end when the case is completed, unfortunately, you are often left wondering what happens to these children when they are no longer in the legal system.

What I don't wonder is how thankful I am for my life and the people in it.  Encounters like the one with this person at the legal clinic and my work with abused and neglected children make me appreciate everything that I have and my wonderful friends and family who fill my life with joy.  I endeavor to share my joy with others by volunteering as often as I can.  While I cannot end someone's sorrow or erase the wrongs that have been committed against a child, I hope I can help in some small way that leaves the person with a sense of hope for a better future.

The Flying Turquoise Twins

Several years ago my friend Amy and I decided that we needed to stop just meeting for drinks and dinner and to start seeking out adventure.  That's not to say we've stopped eating and enjoying the occasional cocktail, but we've tried to liven it up with some unusual undertakings.  After making this resolution of sorts, Amy conceived of our first adventure (just the beginning of many)...a morning of trapeze school at a place in Austin.  Little did I know that a few hours flying through the air would reignite my carnie spirit!

So the morning began with a good laugh when I picked up Amy and we were dressed in identical turquoise shirts and black pants, thus becoming known as the Flying Turquoise Twins.  We swear we didn't plan it.  Seriously, we didn't.

What did I learn in school you ask?  Flying through the air was incredibly freeing.  Trust me, I was not automatically a Flying Karamazov Brother.  After I got the courage to climb the ladder the first time, it took some serious convincing for me to jump off the platform.  The instructor kept saying, "On the count of three, jump!"  I heard him count to three, but my feet simply would not budge.  Finally, on the third round of counting to three, I took a deep breath and stepped off the platform.  The rest is history.  I'm proud to say I even accomplished the "catch" on my first try!

As it turns out, we enjoyed trapeze school so much that we have been 3 times.  I'm hoping my arm will be strong enough later this year for a 4th round.  I've even roped my husband and niece into trying it.  And the good news is that, if this lawyering thing doesn't work out, I might just have a career in the circus after all.  While I would certainly avoid the clown department at all costs, I think I would be just fine flying through the air for the matinee performance.  Plus, I love a good sequin and trapeze costumes are covered in them!

So you may be wondering what a 6-year-old was doing in a clown car...

When I was growing up, all of the men on my dad's side of the family were Shriners.  During first grade, my dad had the important task of overseeing the planning for the Shrine Circus.  Since he was the grand poobah of carnies that year, I naturally used my VIP role (Very Important Princess in my dad's world) to secure a spot as a clown in the circus.  Isn't that every 6-year-old's dream?!

In my job as the youngest performer that year, I got to do, among other things, ride a baby elephant, pet a baby tiger, and witness the laborers clean out the stalls where the animals were kept (thus encouraging me to pursue my education).  But my most important role was to navigate the clown car to its final destination in the center ring of the circus arena.  Yes, that's right, a 6-year-old was navigating a car full of clowns because the driver could not see where he was going.  We were piled into a hatchback car of some kind (probably a Datsun) and the windows were painted white with the exception of a pinhole-sized clear spot so we could see where to drive.

You may be asking yourself how the 6-year-old got the navigator's job and not someone more well-seasoned in the circus industry.  I would love to say it was because I abused my position as the VIP or the other clowns voted and deemed me most responsible, but it was actually pure happenstance.  When the Datsun was fully-loaded (with clowns not amenities), I was the only one small enough to fit in the front of the gear shift.  The pinhole just happened to be right there, so I got the job by being small man on the totem pole and not for any other reason.

In hindsight, I look back and wonder what the heck I was thinking when I wanted to hang out with a bunch of clowns.  As I have gotten older, quite frankly, clowns freak me out.  Maybe it was just an age of innocence when I wasn't scared of carnie folk...

Despite my maturity tainting my view of clowns, my age and wisdom haven't completely quieted my carnie spirit.  And that's a story for another day.

And so it begins

For quite some time, I have been contemplating starting a blog.  My ideas for it have varied from my struggles with weird health issues to just the everyday craziness of life.  Then it suddenly occurred to me that my blog could run the gamut and cover all of those things and more! 

Wonderful friends in my life, including my dear, sweet husband, have encouraged me to write about my thoughts, crazy things that happen at work, and all of the silly, exciting, transcendental, quirky, fun trouble I find outside of work.  And said wonderful friends have been integral parts of all this trouble - whether they are willing or reluctant participants or the actual ones who spearheaded the adventure itself. 

I will keep this first post brief by giving you some insight into my mind that will help you better understand why this blog will be a scattered mishmash of whatever strikes me as "important" for the day.  Recently, someone at work sent me an email with a video entitled "The Nothing Box."  It was a highly entertaining comedy routine about the differences between men and women.  Frankly, it could not have hit any closer to home if it tried.  The comedian describes women's brains as being completely interconnected where every thought is somehow related to another thought and so on.  Men, on the other hand, have this keen ability to disconnect themselves from their thoughts and go to their "nothing box."  The "nothing box" is what I am in search of for myself, but, in the meantime, as I seek out this ability to quiet my mind, I hope you enjoy what I have to share.

At the risk of sounding like I'm copying "Seinfeld," this blog will be about lots of everything while in search of nothing.