Here's a quick update on my summer plans. Friends, less than a week ago I was in despair about what to do this summer. Everyday a few more classmates would come in with their "big news" about an internship or other excellent offer that they'd received, and there I sat with "no comment" when asked about my summer plans. It's April, we're six weeks away from summer internship time, and I had nothing! Well, not absolutely nothing, I still had several options that would have made for a good summer experience, but I had no nibbles on the internship applications that I had submitted.
I had responded to about 20 different offers for summer interns. Some of these were at prestigious law firms, and others were at small local firms. I applied for summer internships at various non-profits, at the White House, at the U.S. Department of Justice (in D.C., Reno, and Dallas), and at various state attorney's offices in Virginia and North Carolina. I had received a few responses; but, no offers. So, my summer plans were completely up in the air and out of my control. Now, for those of you who know me well (or even "at all"), you know that the fact that I didn't know where I would be in six short weeks was enough to drive me insane! I thought about it while studying, while sitting in class, while careening through traffic, while brushing my teeth, etc. But, rather than jump off Candler's Mountain, I surveyed my options and came up with three options that would work even if nothing else panned out.
1. I could stay in Lynchburg and volunteer at the public defender's office. This would be a new experience for me and would expose me to a lot of the local bar, the courtroom, etc.; unfortunately, it would not help pay any bills because it would truly be "volunteer."
2. I could go to NC and volunteer at my old firm. That is always an option that I enjoy because I get to work with people I know and love. I am very comfortable with the firm and the area of insurance defense. However, I just don't know if my boss would have let me "volunteer." He has always been so generous with me, I think he would have felt compelled to pay me, and I did not want to put him in that uncomfortable position. Also, I felt it was important to "build" my resume with other experiences and that it may look like I'm not willing to grow if I keep returning to my old employer at every break from school.
3. The final--and most expensive--option was to study abroad. I truly do want to study abroad, and I believe that this is the best summer to do it. I had already talked with the dean and had the paperwork ready to submit to him for approval so that I could participate in the University of Miami law school's study abroad program in the Mediterranean. Over the course of 59 days we would tour and study in three countries--Greece, Italy, and Spain. But for the cost, this was the most exciting offer. Included in the cost of $140 per day was tuition, accommodations, meals, and all travel except airfare.
The deadline for guaranteeing a seat in the Miami program was March 31, so I knew that I had to get busy on that option if it was going to happen. I came to school on April 2 with all of the paperwork necessary for the dean's approval of this study abroad program (which I would have to submit with my application). I had decided that it would be the Mediterranean for the summer, and I would just have to forget about the cost. On a whim, though, on that very morning I e-mailed a professor about whether he'd be needing a summer research assistant. For some odd reason, I hadn't even thought about this option. I knew it was a long shot (because many professors had already secured their summer help), but I didn't want to leave any stone unturned before committing to the study abroad program. Within less than a hour, he responded and said "yes," he needed a research assistant, and he wanted to talk to me. After class I met with him and he hired me on the spot! I was so thrilled, I could have hugged or kissed him! (Instead, though, we shook hands.)
This professor really likes to write law review articles and other scholarly stuff, so I will be helping him with researching and drafting those materials. I will be working 20-40 hours per week. I can work from home most of the time. I do envision myself with the laptop beside the pool, but that's probably more fantasy than reality. His only requirement for hiring me is that I commit to working for him during my 2L and 3L years so that he does not have to retrain someone every summer. Obviously, I agreed to do so. I think that this will be a great learning experience for me because this professor is a research guru, and I can learn so much from his expertise. He graduated at the top of his class from law school. He worked for an outrageous salary at a DC firm for five years doing nothing but research; then he moved to the U.S. Department of Justice where he worked for an additional 15 years. He has an impressive background, and I am looking forward to working with him and facing this new challenge.
So, my summer plans are now complete. I will not make a fortune, but I will not be strictly a volunteer; neither will I be spending a fortune on travel. I will be able to take trips home for extended weekends, and I will have an impressive 1L summer experience.
That's all the news for now...until I find something new to "obsess" over. I'm sure something will come up; I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
The house is sold
The house is sold. After one year on the market, two offers, and numerous showings, it is sold. And, with those words, it is hard to describe how it makes me feel. The automatic reaction is “Hooray! Fabulous! Great!” But, this house was more than a place to live. It was the place I called home for most of my life. And, as relieved as I am to be released from its obligations, I am also sad that it had to be sold.
My parents purchased this house in 1974 right before my dad retired from the Air Force. This was the first house that we owned that did not have wheels! (Seriously!) Until then, my family would move from place to place across America, and we would take our house along with us. We lived in North Carolina (obviously), South Carolina, Michigan, and Arizona—all before I was 10 years old—and that house went with us on every leg of the journey.
A few years after returning from Arizona, dad decided that it was time to retire, and we moved from the mobile home to the brick home on Norwood Avenue. I was almost 12 years old at the time. The street was sprinkled with a few houses; ours was the newest addition to the neighborhood. We were the first family to live in this house; and, until now, we were the only family to live in it.
In 1974 the road in front of our house was dirt. I loved to ride my bike up and down the road and kick up the dust. Eventually I obtained my driver’s license and learned to kick up a lot more dust with my first car.
Through the years, my dad and mom divorced. Dad moved to Tennessee. Mom stayed in the house. By the time I turned 18 the dirt road was paved. I moved in with a few friends (into another house with wheels); but, when my dad died of cancer in 1982, he left his portion of the house to me. When I was engaged in 1984, I moved back into the house to save money for the wedding. Ironically, my mom remarried about six months after my wedding in 1985. She moved in with her new husband, and my husband and I made Norwood Avenue our home.
Children were born a few years later. Melissa arrived on Valentine’s Day, 1987; and Wesley followed shortly thereafter in September 1988. My kids grew up in this house. They crawled, walked, and ran through its halls. They slammed doors and blasted music through the windows. They graduated from bassinet to crib to bed within the same four walls. They played in the same backyard for 18 years and shared the same neighborhood with their friends and foes during that time. We filled the back yard with a swimming pool, a fire pit, a slip and slide, a basketball goal, a toss back, a barn, and various pets, including Precious, Snickers, Sam, Abby, Boots, Patches, and Chester. We rescued birds. We watched bunnies play in the yard at night. We played h-o-r-s-e a million or more times when the weather would permit, and chess when the weather would not. We had dozens of birthday parties and slumber parties and movie nights.
The kids learned the freedom of riding their bikes around the neighborhood (just as I had) and the ultimate freedom of driving their own cars. By the time Wes got his driver’s license, our front yard was looking like a used car lot. We just kept growing and changing, and the house kept accommodating us. My husband and I divorced in 2003, and Melissa left for college in August 2005. Wes and I spent a final year in the neighborhood while we made plans to leave as well. Wes would be heading to college in August 2006, and I made plans to attend law school then as well.
I remember the day that I knew I had to tell my neighbor of 33 years (Carol) that we were moving and selling the house. It was easier to tell folks of the divorce than to break this news. We stood in her backyard and cried crocodile tears. She and I had come into possession of our homes in much the same way. Her parents had owned her home and she grew up there, just as my parents had owned my home when I was younger. We had watched each other marry, divorce, and raise children. We had mowed each other’s lawns. We could call each other in the dead of night when we were scared of a storm or we heard something that just was not right. She had a key to my house and was welcome to enter it at anytime. We could spend endless hours at the fence just catching up; and if I ever needed an egg, flour, sugar, or milk, I knew I could get it from Carol much quicker than I could from the store.
August 2006 we rolled out of the neighborhood. Wes headed to Wilmington, and I headed to Virginia. I have been to the house on each of my visits to North Carolina and I have visited Carol on many of those trips to Norwood Avenue. As elated as I am that I do not have a mortgage payment anymore, it does seem unusual to know that I am no longer a part of that neighborhood. But, what wonderful pages we wrote while living there. My kids and I can testify that it was a wonderful place to grow up, and it will always hold a special place in my heart, even though it is now sold.
My parents purchased this house in 1974 right before my dad retired from the Air Force. This was the first house that we owned that did not have wheels! (Seriously!) Until then, my family would move from place to place across America, and we would take our house along with us. We lived in North Carolina (obviously), South Carolina, Michigan, and Arizona—all before I was 10 years old—and that house went with us on every leg of the journey.
A few years after returning from Arizona, dad decided that it was time to retire, and we moved from the mobile home to the brick home on Norwood Avenue. I was almost 12 years old at the time. The street was sprinkled with a few houses; ours was the newest addition to the neighborhood. We were the first family to live in this house; and, until now, we were the only family to live in it.
In 1974 the road in front of our house was dirt. I loved to ride my bike up and down the road and kick up the dust. Eventually I obtained my driver’s license and learned to kick up a lot more dust with my first car.
Through the years, my dad and mom divorced. Dad moved to Tennessee. Mom stayed in the house. By the time I turned 18 the dirt road was paved. I moved in with a few friends (into another house with wheels); but, when my dad died of cancer in 1982, he left his portion of the house to me. When I was engaged in 1984, I moved back into the house to save money for the wedding. Ironically, my mom remarried about six months after my wedding in 1985. She moved in with her new husband, and my husband and I made Norwood Avenue our home.
Children were born a few years later. Melissa arrived on Valentine’s Day, 1987; and Wesley followed shortly thereafter in September 1988. My kids grew up in this house. They crawled, walked, and ran through its halls. They slammed doors and blasted music through the windows. They graduated from bassinet to crib to bed within the same four walls. They played in the same backyard for 18 years and shared the same neighborhood with their friends and foes during that time. We filled the back yard with a swimming pool, a fire pit, a slip and slide, a basketball goal, a toss back, a barn, and various pets, including Precious, Snickers, Sam, Abby, Boots, Patches, and Chester. We rescued birds. We watched bunnies play in the yard at night. We played h-o-r-s-e a million or more times when the weather would permit, and chess when the weather would not. We had dozens of birthday parties and slumber parties and movie nights.
The kids learned the freedom of riding their bikes around the neighborhood (just as I had) and the ultimate freedom of driving their own cars. By the time Wes got his driver’s license, our front yard was looking like a used car lot. We just kept growing and changing, and the house kept accommodating us. My husband and I divorced in 2003, and Melissa left for college in August 2005. Wes and I spent a final year in the neighborhood while we made plans to leave as well. Wes would be heading to college in August 2006, and I made plans to attend law school then as well.
I remember the day that I knew I had to tell my neighbor of 33 years (Carol) that we were moving and selling the house. It was easier to tell folks of the divorce than to break this news. We stood in her backyard and cried crocodile tears. She and I had come into possession of our homes in much the same way. Her parents had owned her home and she grew up there, just as my parents had owned my home when I was younger. We had watched each other marry, divorce, and raise children. We had mowed each other’s lawns. We could call each other in the dead of night when we were scared of a storm or we heard something that just was not right. She had a key to my house and was welcome to enter it at anytime. We could spend endless hours at the fence just catching up; and if I ever needed an egg, flour, sugar, or milk, I knew I could get it from Carol much quicker than I could from the store.
August 2006 we rolled out of the neighborhood. Wes headed to Wilmington, and I headed to Virginia. I have been to the house on each of my visits to North Carolina and I have visited Carol on many of those trips to Norwood Avenue. As elated as I am that I do not have a mortgage payment anymore, it does seem unusual to know that I am no longer a part of that neighborhood. But, what wonderful pages we wrote while living there. My kids and I can testify that it was a wonderful place to grow up, and it will always hold a special place in my heart, even though it is now sold.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Spring Break
Pardon the interruption, but I took a few weeks off for spring break. Classes officially resumed today, and spring break is just a fond memory. Before I tell you about my favorite things from spring break, let me tell you what I did not do:
1. I did not study. I did not crack a book.
2. I did not update my outlines. I did not look at my outlines. I did not say the word "outline."
3. I did not work on any projects. Yes, there are projects due (and soon), but I did not burden myself with these matters.
4. I did not read ahead. I prepared for Monday's class, and that was it.
5. I did not spend an inordinate amount of time in the library. I tried, but I just couldn't. I had the best of intentions, but absolutely no motivation. So, my library visit consisted of one afternoon where I opened the books and computer and then proceeded to waste away four hours of my life looking busy in the library. I decided that I could look just as busy at home in my pajamas and forego the trip to the library.
Whether I'll regret all of the things that I didn't do on spring break is yet to be seen. I can testify, however, that (so far) I do not regret the things that I did do on spring break. Let me tell you about my favorites:
5. Cooking.
I was able to get in the kitchen and whip up some country fried dinners that would make any southern woman proud. There were mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, and cubed steak with gravy; there was fried chicken; chicken pastry; and veggie soup with grilled cheese sandwiches. The cooking was better than any therapy session. I haven’t cooked in a while, and it was good to put something together that didn’t include curbside service, delivery, or a microwave.
4 Surprises!
I love surprising folks with a visit. Not many folks knew that I was coming home to NC for a brief visit, so I was able to surprise quite a few friends. My first surprise was when I popped in on my friend Phyllis. She had no idea that I was coming into town and it was a lot of fun driving up in her front yard and watching her run out of the house! The next surprise was Friday morning as I was leaving town. I stopped by Don Clark’s office and spent a few minutes exchanging law school stories with him. Then I stopped by the firm and got a few hugs from Bob, Shannon, Kathy, Jeff, and Karen. Bob always chokes me up because he starts every conversation with “You know we’re proud of you.” Just getting a few hugs from these folks was enough to choke me up. I had to make that visit a quick one or else I would have been an emotional wreck!
3. Going home.
I always enjoy a quick visit to North Carolina. I like to make the trips quick and pack as much as possible into them. This trip home was less than 24 hours, but I managed to get my money’s worth out of every minute. I visited my hairdresser, dentist, mechanic, and favorite bakery. I then took my mom to dinner and visited with Wes. I also squeezed in breakfast and lunch with friends. Twenty-four hours wasn't enough time to visit everyone--and I regret that--but I did squeeze as much as possible into the quickest of trips.
2. Exercise.
I really do enjoy exercise when I have the time to do it right. But, when my schedule is packed to the max, exercise is the first casualty. The weather during spring break was fabulous! And, once I recuperated a few days, I was ready to go walking and biking and hiking. It was a lot of fun to spend the afternoon in the park or just walking through the neighborhood with Melissa and Abby (the pooch).
1. Sweet Sleep.
I went to bed early and slept late. I took a nap most days; and, some days, I took two. It took at least three days for the throbbing to subside and for me to feel human again. The first three days of spring break had to be the equivalent of law school detox. But, afterward, the sleep was the most luxurious and decedent part of spring break. I’m gonna miss it.
1. I did not study. I did not crack a book.
2. I did not update my outlines. I did not look at my outlines. I did not say the word "outline."
3. I did not work on any projects. Yes, there are projects due (and soon), but I did not burden myself with these matters.
4. I did not read ahead. I prepared for Monday's class, and that was it.
5. I did not spend an inordinate amount of time in the library. I tried, but I just couldn't. I had the best of intentions, but absolutely no motivation. So, my library visit consisted of one afternoon where I opened the books and computer and then proceeded to waste away four hours of my life looking busy in the library. I decided that I could look just as busy at home in my pajamas and forego the trip to the library.
Whether I'll regret all of the things that I didn't do on spring break is yet to be seen. I can testify, however, that (so far) I do not regret the things that I did do on spring break. Let me tell you about my favorites:
5. Cooking.
I was able to get in the kitchen and whip up some country fried dinners that would make any southern woman proud. There were mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, and cubed steak with gravy; there was fried chicken; chicken pastry; and veggie soup with grilled cheese sandwiches. The cooking was better than any therapy session. I haven’t cooked in a while, and it was good to put something together that didn’t include curbside service, delivery, or a microwave.
4 Surprises!
I love surprising folks with a visit. Not many folks knew that I was coming home to NC for a brief visit, so I was able to surprise quite a few friends. My first surprise was when I popped in on my friend Phyllis. She had no idea that I was coming into town and it was a lot of fun driving up in her front yard and watching her run out of the house! The next surprise was Friday morning as I was leaving town. I stopped by Don Clark’s office and spent a few minutes exchanging law school stories with him. Then I stopped by the firm and got a few hugs from Bob, Shannon, Kathy, Jeff, and Karen. Bob always chokes me up because he starts every conversation with “You know we’re proud of you.” Just getting a few hugs from these folks was enough to choke me up. I had to make that visit a quick one or else I would have been an emotional wreck!
3. Going home.
I always enjoy a quick visit to North Carolina. I like to make the trips quick and pack as much as possible into them. This trip home was less than 24 hours, but I managed to get my money’s worth out of every minute. I visited my hairdresser, dentist, mechanic, and favorite bakery. I then took my mom to dinner and visited with Wes. I also squeezed in breakfast and lunch with friends. Twenty-four hours wasn't enough time to visit everyone--and I regret that--but I did squeeze as much as possible into the quickest of trips.
2. Exercise.
I really do enjoy exercise when I have the time to do it right. But, when my schedule is packed to the max, exercise is the first casualty. The weather during spring break was fabulous! And, once I recuperated a few days, I was ready to go walking and biking and hiking. It was a lot of fun to spend the afternoon in the park or just walking through the neighborhood with Melissa and Abby (the pooch).
1. Sweet Sleep.
I went to bed early and slept late. I took a nap most days; and, some days, I took two. It took at least three days for the throbbing to subside and for me to feel human again. The first three days of spring break had to be the equivalent of law school detox. But, afterward, the sleep was the most luxurious and decedent part of spring break. I’m gonna miss it.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
A day in the life
Spring break officially arrived Friday at 2:00 p.m. By 6:00 p.m. I was home and in my pajamas. Some part of me certainly wanted to go out and celebrate, but the remainder of my body, mind, and spirit overruled that request, and the celebration was confined to the couch.
I did have big plans for Saturday, which included exploring some local walking trails and updating the contracts outline. The trails were never explored; instead, I walked a few miles around the track, and that took all of the energy that I could muster. The contracts outline stayed in my briefcase (the thought of studying made me nauseous). Most of the day I stayed in my pajamas. I moved from couch to bed watching basketball and movies. I was so tired. It was the kind of “tired” that you feel when you have the flu; you know, every cell of your body and brain is spent.
I can imagine that people tire of hearing me say “I’m tired,” especially those who aren’t present in the day-to-day of this law school boot camp lifestyle. “I’m tired” is usually just a blanket statement to cover all of the finite details of the days preceding. But, to be more specific, let me infuse a few details into this statement so that—possibly—it can be appreciated. During the course of a week, I attend 15 hours of class in the following subjects: Property, Law Skills, Contracts, Torts, Foundations of Law, and Civil Procedure. Except for Foundations and Law Skills, the remaining four topics will be part of the bar exam that I will ultimately take (and hopefully pass), so a firm grasp of each of these topics as they are addressed day-to-day on an incremental basis is essential.
Every night in each of these classes there are reading assignments. We must read, outline, note, comprehend, compare, analyze, and synthesize the material. On a good night, the gods may smile upon us, and we can be prepared in an hour for the next day’s reading. If that is true, be prepared because that means we are going to spend a lot of time in class comparing and analyzing this reading with prior materials. On a bad night, we may spend three or four hours reading for one subject, which is what I had to do Monday night in preparation for Tuesday’s Torts class. It literally took me almost four hours to complete the reading. Earlier in the day I could hear grumblings in the library from fellow classmates about the enormous reading assignment for the Torts class. It was a tremendous amount of reading, especially in light of the fact that we were also trying to prepare for a mid-term exam in Foundations class (where I had a 75-page outline to review).
So, you might say, why don’t you just skim? That would be about as effective as skimming the instructions on how to build a nuclear reactor.
Or, just pick out what you think is important? I’ve been more successful at picking lottery numbers.
Or, surely the professor can’t cover all of that material the next day? Yes, he can; and, history verifies, he will. Either be prepared, be absent, or be humiliated.
So, four hours to prepare for Torts.
Then we had to read about 40 pages in Law Skills and prepare a burnt offering (a/k/a assignment). Every assignment is graded. If there are typographical or grammatical errors, the grade drops 10%; if it is late, the grade drops 10%; if it is not a “good faith effort,” the grade drops 10%. Monday night, Law Skills was relatively straightforward; it took me about two hours to complete the reading, then complete the assignment, then print, proof, correct, edit, and reprint the assignment.
Then I had to prepare for Contracts. Contracts is typically the class that requires the most preparation. There is reading in the casebook, which often refers to the UCC and Restatements of Contracts. In addition, our professor posts 15-30 questions every night that he will address the next day in class. So, you outline the casebook, brief the cases, insert the UCC and Restatement language into your notes, including the relevant notes and comments at the end of each one, and then attack his questions. If I must skip anything, it is the questions because they, alone, will take hours to complete. Usually I will peruse his questions just to ensure that I have an idea of what he’s looking for, but Contracts could be a full-time job but for the fact I have five other subjects to study. So, Monday night, I spent about three hours preparing for class.
On Mondays we are out of class by 2:00 p.m. Usually I grab a quick lunch at the cafeteria and then head over to the library to prepare for the next day. By the time that I had prepped for Tuesday's classes, it was almost 10:00 p.m. That’s when I pulled out my Foundations outline and began studying for the mid-term that was a mere three days away. This took me until midnight, when the library closed. I headed home and had to wash a load of clothes before going to bed.
I was in bed before 1:00 a.m. and up at 5:30 a.m. on Tuesday to go to the gym for a quick “wake me up” workout. This gave me enough time to get to school about 20 minutes before class so that I could review my Torts notes before class started at 8:00 a.m. And this was the schedule that I had for the entire week. Get up at 5:30; leave home around 7:30; get home around midnight. Five days of that can wear a body out! And, I know from personal experience, of course; but I also see my younger classmates dragging their tail feathers too.
Even still, so much was NOT accomplished last week. I did not update my outlines in any class. I spent all of my time just preparing for the next day and preparing for the mid-term. I did not have time to use any of the commercial materials to reiterate class discussions or case briefs. I did not have time to meet with a professor to answer questions about confusing areas. Consequently, I did not have time to look for a summer job or a summer study abroad program. Basically, the day-to-day routine was just to keep my head above water and forget how tired I was from treading water.
Today is Sunday, and I am still tired; that amazes me. For the past two days I have avoided the alarm clock and just let my body sleep until it was ready to wake up, hoping that would help. I’m sure it has, but I still don’t feel like I’m at 100%. Nevertheless, there is much to do during spring break. This break is like a gift (of “time,” which ranks right up there with “air”), so I’ve got to appreciate its worth and let my body catch up when it can. If I’m lucky, I will only work about 12 hours a day; as you can see, that would be a luxury.
I did have big plans for Saturday, which included exploring some local walking trails and updating the contracts outline. The trails were never explored; instead, I walked a few miles around the track, and that took all of the energy that I could muster. The contracts outline stayed in my briefcase (the thought of studying made me nauseous). Most of the day I stayed in my pajamas. I moved from couch to bed watching basketball and movies. I was so tired. It was the kind of “tired” that you feel when you have the flu; you know, every cell of your body and brain is spent.
I can imagine that people tire of hearing me say “I’m tired,” especially those who aren’t present in the day-to-day of this law school boot camp lifestyle. “I’m tired” is usually just a blanket statement to cover all of the finite details of the days preceding. But, to be more specific, let me infuse a few details into this statement so that—possibly—it can be appreciated. During the course of a week, I attend 15 hours of class in the following subjects: Property, Law Skills, Contracts, Torts, Foundations of Law, and Civil Procedure. Except for Foundations and Law Skills, the remaining four topics will be part of the bar exam that I will ultimately take (and hopefully pass), so a firm grasp of each of these topics as they are addressed day-to-day on an incremental basis is essential.
Every night in each of these classes there are reading assignments. We must read, outline, note, comprehend, compare, analyze, and synthesize the material. On a good night, the gods may smile upon us, and we can be prepared in an hour for the next day’s reading. If that is true, be prepared because that means we are going to spend a lot of time in class comparing and analyzing this reading with prior materials. On a bad night, we may spend three or four hours reading for one subject, which is what I had to do Monday night in preparation for Tuesday’s Torts class. It literally took me almost four hours to complete the reading. Earlier in the day I could hear grumblings in the library from fellow classmates about the enormous reading assignment for the Torts class. It was a tremendous amount of reading, especially in light of the fact that we were also trying to prepare for a mid-term exam in Foundations class (where I had a 75-page outline to review).
So, you might say, why don’t you just skim? That would be about as effective as skimming the instructions on how to build a nuclear reactor.
Or, just pick out what you think is important? I’ve been more successful at picking lottery numbers.
Or, surely the professor can’t cover all of that material the next day? Yes, he can; and, history verifies, he will. Either be prepared, be absent, or be humiliated.
So, four hours to prepare for Torts.
Then we had to read about 40 pages in Law Skills and prepare a burnt offering (a/k/a assignment). Every assignment is graded. If there are typographical or grammatical errors, the grade drops 10%; if it is late, the grade drops 10%; if it is not a “good faith effort,” the grade drops 10%. Monday night, Law Skills was relatively straightforward; it took me about two hours to complete the reading, then complete the assignment, then print, proof, correct, edit, and reprint the assignment.
Then I had to prepare for Contracts. Contracts is typically the class that requires the most preparation. There is reading in the casebook, which often refers to the UCC and Restatements of Contracts. In addition, our professor posts 15-30 questions every night that he will address the next day in class. So, you outline the casebook, brief the cases, insert the UCC and Restatement language into your notes, including the relevant notes and comments at the end of each one, and then attack his questions. If I must skip anything, it is the questions because they, alone, will take hours to complete. Usually I will peruse his questions just to ensure that I have an idea of what he’s looking for, but Contracts could be a full-time job but for the fact I have five other subjects to study. So, Monday night, I spent about three hours preparing for class.
On Mondays we are out of class by 2:00 p.m. Usually I grab a quick lunch at the cafeteria and then head over to the library to prepare for the next day. By the time that I had prepped for Tuesday's classes, it was almost 10:00 p.m. That’s when I pulled out my Foundations outline and began studying for the mid-term that was a mere three days away. This took me until midnight, when the library closed. I headed home and had to wash a load of clothes before going to bed.
I was in bed before 1:00 a.m. and up at 5:30 a.m. on Tuesday to go to the gym for a quick “wake me up” workout. This gave me enough time to get to school about 20 minutes before class so that I could review my Torts notes before class started at 8:00 a.m. And this was the schedule that I had for the entire week. Get up at 5:30; leave home around 7:30; get home around midnight. Five days of that can wear a body out! And, I know from personal experience, of course; but I also see my younger classmates dragging their tail feathers too.
Even still, so much was NOT accomplished last week. I did not update my outlines in any class. I spent all of my time just preparing for the next day and preparing for the mid-term. I did not have time to use any of the commercial materials to reiterate class discussions or case briefs. I did not have time to meet with a professor to answer questions about confusing areas. Consequently, I did not have time to look for a summer job or a summer study abroad program. Basically, the day-to-day routine was just to keep my head above water and forget how tired I was from treading water.
Today is Sunday, and I am still tired; that amazes me. For the past two days I have avoided the alarm clock and just let my body sleep until it was ready to wake up, hoping that would help. I’m sure it has, but I still don’t feel like I’m at 100%. Nevertheless, there is much to do during spring break. This break is like a gift (of “time,” which ranks right up there with “air”), so I’ve got to appreciate its worth and let my body catch up when it can. If I’m lucky, I will only work about 12 hours a day; as you can see, that would be a luxury.
Friday, March 02, 2007
This ain't pretty...
Today is one of those days when I just want to quit. Yesterday I wanted to quit too. Actually, this entire week has just snowballed, careening out of control, and crashed into a Friday night when I am thinking about doing anything else on earth except law school.
Here's a thought: Bartending school only takes three weeks, instead of three years; you only work nights; and everybody loves you!
The other option is to spend the rest of the student loan on the Harley Davidson of my dreams, gas it up, point it west, and drive.
Quitting is a real possibility. The best thing about quitting is that it takes so little effort. There are no sleepless nights, no research, no drafting, editing or proofreading involved. Quitting is so sweet because all it requires is nothing. And, while you’re doing nothing, you can also do other things, like watch a ballgame, take a walk, talk on the phone, or sleep. Quitting means you get to be normal again; and normal sounds like a great place to be.
Sleep would be nice. Casual reading would be a luxury. Tonight I temporarily quit being a law student and just vegetated on the couch for a few hours watching mindless tv sitcoms. Now, I feel guilty because I really haven’t quit, and all I did was waste valuable time that cannot be redeemed. Hmmm...guilt may be a side effect of quitting that will need an anecdote.
I find myself envying my classmates who quit. They come by to give us a hug and say, "This is my last day." On the inside I am screaming, "Take me with you!" How brave of them to know that it’s time to quit, and do so. The body, mind, and spirit can only take so much; we all have our limits. I just feel like I have reached mine. The optimist will say, "oh, next week will be better." But, the truth is, all of the optimists looked at the unbelievably demanding syllabi for this semester's classes, and they quit. Now, the pessimists remain to see who can survive ten more weeks of the 1L year briefing dozens of cases per week, preparing motions and briefs, and outlining for class. The sky is not falling, but in the ten weeks that remain, the cold truth is there is no respite. So, do we wait for the official crash and burn (news at 11)? Or do we just quit and cut our losses? Either way, it ain’t pretty.
Here's a thought: Bartending school only takes three weeks, instead of three years; you only work nights; and everybody loves you!
The other option is to spend the rest of the student loan on the Harley Davidson of my dreams, gas it up, point it west, and drive.
Quitting is a real possibility. The best thing about quitting is that it takes so little effort. There are no sleepless nights, no research, no drafting, editing or proofreading involved. Quitting is so sweet because all it requires is nothing. And, while you’re doing nothing, you can also do other things, like watch a ballgame, take a walk, talk on the phone, or sleep. Quitting means you get to be normal again; and normal sounds like a great place to be.
Sleep would be nice. Casual reading would be a luxury. Tonight I temporarily quit being a law student and just vegetated on the couch for a few hours watching mindless tv sitcoms. Now, I feel guilty because I really haven’t quit, and all I did was waste valuable time that cannot be redeemed. Hmmm...guilt may be a side effect of quitting that will need an anecdote.
I find myself envying my classmates who quit. They come by to give us a hug and say, "This is my last day." On the inside I am screaming, "Take me with you!" How brave of them to know that it’s time to quit, and do so. The body, mind, and spirit can only take so much; we all have our limits. I just feel like I have reached mine. The optimist will say, "oh, next week will be better." But, the truth is, all of the optimists looked at the unbelievably demanding syllabi for this semester's classes, and they quit. Now, the pessimists remain to see who can survive ten more weeks of the 1L year briefing dozens of cases per week, preparing motions and briefs, and outlining for class. The sky is not falling, but in the ten weeks that remain, the cold truth is there is no respite. So, do we wait for the official crash and burn (news at 11)? Or do we just quit and cut our losses? Either way, it ain’t pretty.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Quotes
Here's some quotes that I've been saving for a while. Some will make you laugh; some will make you gasp. Just another day in the life of a law student:
Civil Procedure professor’s comment when distributing mid-term grades…."I didn't give anyone a C- because I didn't want to encourage anyone."
Real property professor’s humble opinion about his real property knowledge, “I know quite a bit, in fact, I know everything."
Contracts professor brought a picture of a child he is sponsoring to class and told us “we have a visitor today.” Then, midway through class, he realized that he had forgotten his UCC book and snapped at the picture, “Abby! Why didn’t you remind me to bring my book!”
Professor: Mr. Smith, why don’t you tell us how you calculated those damages?
Mr. Smith: Do you want me to write it on the board?
Professor: I’ll write it; I don’t think your arms will reach.
Professor: What was the flaw in the appellant’s argument?
Student: Well, clearly, the ….
Professor: Clearly? CLEARLY! Praise be to God in the high heavens! You’re the one we’ve been waiting for! After volumes of cases and centuries of appeals, YOU are the one who can CLEARLY unclog our court system. Someone alert Justice Roberts!
Student: I don't think so.
Class: (silent gasp)
Professor: Don't EVER tell me "I don't think so." You either KNOW SO or you will research and get back to me.
Professor: Mrs. Brown, you’re lead counsel today in Bob’s Ready to Wear v. Weaver.
Mrs. Brown: Sir, I accidentally read tomorrow’s assignment instead of today’s.
Professor: So, you’re not prepared for today’s discussion?
Mrs. Brown: No, sir.
Professor: Well, then, we look forward to seeing you tomorrow. (Translation: you may now leave the classroom.)
Professor (frustrated that vocal minority in class will not agree with his legal philosophy): Well, we’re going to move on to another subject…reasonable minds may follow; unreasonable minds may continue in their ignorance.
Student to Professor: Would you repeat the question?
Professor: No.
Random professor ramblings: I hope you all practice and you all enjoy it. But, if you don't, don't lay carpet for a living. You can make better use of your law degree. (Well, let's hope so.)
Professor: What is the requirement for summary judgment under Rule 54?
Student #1: (no answer)
Professor: You MUST KNOW these rules COLD!
Student #2: Are you referring to Rule 56?
Professor: Oh.
Civil Procedure professor’s comment when distributing mid-term grades…."I didn't give anyone a C- because I didn't want to encourage anyone."
Real property professor’s humble opinion about his real property knowledge, “I know quite a bit, in fact, I know everything."
Contracts professor brought a picture of a child he is sponsoring to class and told us “we have a visitor today.” Then, midway through class, he realized that he had forgotten his UCC book and snapped at the picture, “Abby! Why didn’t you remind me to bring my book!”
Professor: Mr. Smith, why don’t you tell us how you calculated those damages?
Mr. Smith: Do you want me to write it on the board?
Professor: I’ll write it; I don’t think your arms will reach.
Professor: What was the flaw in the appellant’s argument?
Student: Well, clearly, the ….
Professor: Clearly? CLEARLY! Praise be to God in the high heavens! You’re the one we’ve been waiting for! After volumes of cases and centuries of appeals, YOU are the one who can CLEARLY unclog our court system. Someone alert Justice Roberts!
Student: I don't think so.
Class: (silent gasp)
Professor: Don't EVER tell me "I don't think so." You either KNOW SO or you will research and get back to me.
Professor: Mrs. Brown, you’re lead counsel today in Bob’s Ready to Wear v. Weaver.
Mrs. Brown: Sir, I accidentally read tomorrow’s assignment instead of today’s.
Professor: So, you’re not prepared for today’s discussion?
Mrs. Brown: No, sir.
Professor: Well, then, we look forward to seeing you tomorrow. (Translation: you may now leave the classroom.)
Professor (frustrated that vocal minority in class will not agree with his legal philosophy): Well, we’re going to move on to another subject…reasonable minds may follow; unreasonable minds may continue in their ignorance.
Student to Professor: Would you repeat the question?
Professor: No.
Random professor ramblings: I hope you all practice and you all enjoy it. But, if you don't, don't lay carpet for a living. You can make better use of your law degree. (Well, let's hope so.)
Professor: What is the requirement for summary judgment under Rule 54?
Student #1: (no answer)
Professor: You MUST KNOW these rules COLD!
Student #2: Are you referring to Rule 56?
Professor: Oh.
Monday, February 12, 2007
I decided to stay
Whew! I have finally unpacked!
From a weekend getaway?
In your dreams!
From Christmas break?
No; that was weeks ago.
From a recent move?
Not yet!
So, what other reason could have me unpacking? If only I could afford a psychiatric visit, I’m sure this story would reveal volumes about me. Lacking the funds to do so, I’ll just the pass the story on to you.
When I moved to Lynchburg in July 2006 I packed up the entire house (or what was left of it after the yard sale), and moved into an apartment. After my family helped me unload furniture, they left for North Carolina, and I faced the task of unpacking about 500 boxes of stuff (or so it seemed). I unpacked for days–in between emotional outbursts of "what am I doing?"–tackling a room at a time; and, after almost a week, I was settled.....except
There were four boxes that I just couldn’t find the time or energy to unpack. They were important, but they were not priorities. At first I avoided them because I was just so sick of the chore of unpacking. They were moved to my bedroom and stacked away in a corner. Then classes started and–as all 1Ls will testify–there is no time for such trivial tasks as "unpacking" during the fall semester. So, the boxes continued to sit there. Occasionally I would need something from one of the boxes. Their contents were varied....one had framed photos from my home and office, one had a lot of important paperwork--like tax returns and financial documents--another had some memorabilia from my office, and the final one just was a collection of anything that could fit in the box.
I vowed that I’d empty those boxes during fall break, but that didn’t happen. I also managed to avoid the boxes during Christmas break. Much of the time I could just ignore the boxes. But, since returning to school for the spring semester, it has been my mission to unpack those four boxes. And, finally, this weekend, I completed the task. They were just cardboard boxes, but they had so much of my life in them. Digging into the boxes I found movie ticket stubs, playbills, check registers, journals, diplomas and certificates.
I made a deal with myself (and the boxes) that I only had time this weekend to unpack one; and the deal was that I’d unpack a box every weekend until the task was done. But, once I unpacked the first, I couldn’t help but turn to the second, and so on. By midnight, all of the boxes were unpacked and their contents had found their new home.
If you ever visit me in Lynchburg you will notice that there are no wall hangings in my home. Some pictures are set around the wall, but I’ve never hung them. I think that the fact I can’t bring myself to hang a picture is the same reason why I couldn’t unpack the boxes. My unofficial non-psychiatric evaluation of my own motives is that I didn’t know if I’d be staying, and I wanted to keep a part of me in "moving mode" for a while. Unpacking those boxes this weekend–and unpacking "all" of them–made me finally feel like this is home (absolutely and unequivocally). If you’re not transient and you’re not moving, why do you need your stuff boxed up, right? The boxes have been placed in the recycle bin; and the revelation of the empty boxes is that I am officially unpacked, and I’ve decided to stay for a while. I s'pose I should hang those pictures next weekend...
From a weekend getaway?
In your dreams!
From Christmas break?
No; that was weeks ago.
From a recent move?
Not yet!
So, what other reason could have me unpacking? If only I could afford a psychiatric visit, I’m sure this story would reveal volumes about me. Lacking the funds to do so, I’ll just the pass the story on to you.
When I moved to Lynchburg in July 2006 I packed up the entire house (or what was left of it after the yard sale), and moved into an apartment. After my family helped me unload furniture, they left for North Carolina, and I faced the task of unpacking about 500 boxes of stuff (or so it seemed). I unpacked for days–in between emotional outbursts of "what am I doing?"–tackling a room at a time; and, after almost a week, I was settled.....except
There were four boxes that I just couldn’t find the time or energy to unpack. They were important, but they were not priorities. At first I avoided them because I was just so sick of the chore of unpacking. They were moved to my bedroom and stacked away in a corner. Then classes started and–as all 1Ls will testify–there is no time for such trivial tasks as "unpacking" during the fall semester. So, the boxes continued to sit there. Occasionally I would need something from one of the boxes. Their contents were varied....one had framed photos from my home and office, one had a lot of important paperwork--like tax returns and financial documents--another had some memorabilia from my office, and the final one just was a collection of anything that could fit in the box.
I vowed that I’d empty those boxes during fall break, but that didn’t happen. I also managed to avoid the boxes during Christmas break. Much of the time I could just ignore the boxes. But, since returning to school for the spring semester, it has been my mission to unpack those four boxes. And, finally, this weekend, I completed the task. They were just cardboard boxes, but they had so much of my life in them. Digging into the boxes I found movie ticket stubs, playbills, check registers, journals, diplomas and certificates.
I made a deal with myself (and the boxes) that I only had time this weekend to unpack one; and the deal was that I’d unpack a box every weekend until the task was done. But, once I unpacked the first, I couldn’t help but turn to the second, and so on. By midnight, all of the boxes were unpacked and their contents had found their new home.
If you ever visit me in Lynchburg you will notice that there are no wall hangings in my home. Some pictures are set around the wall, but I’ve never hung them. I think that the fact I can’t bring myself to hang a picture is the same reason why I couldn’t unpack the boxes. My unofficial non-psychiatric evaluation of my own motives is that I didn’t know if I’d be staying, and I wanted to keep a part of me in "moving mode" for a while. Unpacking those boxes this weekend–and unpacking "all" of them–made me finally feel like this is home (absolutely and unequivocally). If you’re not transient and you’re not moving, why do you need your stuff boxed up, right? The boxes have been placed in the recycle bin; and the revelation of the empty boxes is that I am officially unpacked, and I’ve decided to stay for a while. I s'pose I should hang those pictures next weekend...
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
My how things have changed!
We’re two weeks into the new semester, which is synonymous with being half way through Space Mountain–lights out, hands in the air, being propelled up, down and around, all while screaming at the top of your lungs. But for the screaming, that’s a pretty good comparison. And, while there’s no screaming in law school (especially in or near the law library), I promise there is plenty of screaming at the appropriate time and places!
I do not feel like the same person who survived the fall semester. So much seems to have changed. The most striking change is the number of classmates who did not return for spring semester. Our class lost five. Some quit. Some moved on to other programs. And some could not return because of poor grades. Whatever their stories or reasons for not returning, we spent a semester together in some of the harshest educational conditions imaginable. I wish them well.
Another change this semester has been my "plan of action." This was my solemn promise to the good Lord that IF He would grant me the honor of returning, I would have a different (and better) game plan–and I do. For one thing, I now know how to attack the homework assignments. I also know how important it is to redeem those 15 and 20 minute breaks that you have during the day. (Tremendous feats can be accomplished in 15 minutes!) What can’t be accomplished during breaks is attacked immediately after class, and I am usually done with homework by 7:00 p.m. (if I don’t stop for dinner). Afterward, I hit the track or treadmill (for a two-mile walk) and then crash for the evening. (On average, I'm sleeping about six hours per night, which is wonderful!) That’s the typical schedule during the week. I have dedicated every Friday night to preparing for Monday’s classes (rather than waiting until Sunday night). I also have dedicated all of my Saturdays to "review time." I will spend at least twelve hours on Saturdays updating my notes and outlines, reviewing the past week’s materials, perhaps taking a few practice questions from Gilbert’s (a study aid), or flipping through some flash cards. Saturday night and Sunday are mostly for pleasure and relaxation, except I do spend an hour listening to some instructional podcasts on Sunday night (just to get me prepped for the new week).
My "plan of action" has also included a tremendous change in my daily schedule, e.g., no nap--unless absolutely necessary (like last week when I had a cold); in addition, very few phone calls! And ohmygoodness! has that been difficult! But, I have found that it really works best for me to reserve phone calls for the weekend. Otherwise, I start making calls and I can’t stop! And you know that those calls can go on for hours! Meanwhile, no one else is doing my homework! So, I’ve been very disciplined and discreet in calling (and even e-mailing), and I can tell such a big difference. It seems that I have so many more hours in the day–I guess because literally I do! Certainly this does not mean that I do not want to receive calls or e-mails. (Believe me, if I can’t talk, you’ll get voice mail.) The phone calls and e-mails were not the problem; I was the problem. I finally realized that it did no good to get on the phone and whine for an hour about how much homework I had to do. Sure, my friends were sympathetic, but when we ended our conversation, I still had just as much homework staring me in the face. The new plan is "do your homework and quit whining about it."
I think my level of confidence has changed as well. I feel better about the answers I provide in class. I feel better about my comprehension of the material. And, even if I don’t understand (which happens at least daily), I know that at least 75% of the class is right there with me. Exam grades were quite the confidence booster, and I am trying to ride that wave as long as possible.
Finally, my status has changed; I now have "rank." I know that I have to protect my rank in class. I also know that I can improve my rank. With this change in status I have realized that all of these other changes are absolutely necessary if I intend to improve. So, things have definitely changed. Or, perhaps, "things" are the same, but I have definitely changed, and change is good.
I do not feel like the same person who survived the fall semester. So much seems to have changed. The most striking change is the number of classmates who did not return for spring semester. Our class lost five. Some quit. Some moved on to other programs. And some could not return because of poor grades. Whatever their stories or reasons for not returning, we spent a semester together in some of the harshest educational conditions imaginable. I wish them well.
Another change this semester has been my "plan of action." This was my solemn promise to the good Lord that IF He would grant me the honor of returning, I would have a different (and better) game plan–and I do. For one thing, I now know how to attack the homework assignments. I also know how important it is to redeem those 15 and 20 minute breaks that you have during the day. (Tremendous feats can be accomplished in 15 minutes!) What can’t be accomplished during breaks is attacked immediately after class, and I am usually done with homework by 7:00 p.m. (if I don’t stop for dinner). Afterward, I hit the track or treadmill (for a two-mile walk) and then crash for the evening. (On average, I'm sleeping about six hours per night, which is wonderful!) That’s the typical schedule during the week. I have dedicated every Friday night to preparing for Monday’s classes (rather than waiting until Sunday night). I also have dedicated all of my Saturdays to "review time." I will spend at least twelve hours on Saturdays updating my notes and outlines, reviewing the past week’s materials, perhaps taking a few practice questions from Gilbert’s (a study aid), or flipping through some flash cards. Saturday night and Sunday are mostly for pleasure and relaxation, except I do spend an hour listening to some instructional podcasts on Sunday night (just to get me prepped for the new week).
My "plan of action" has also included a tremendous change in my daily schedule, e.g., no nap--unless absolutely necessary (like last week when I had a cold); in addition, very few phone calls! And ohmygoodness! has that been difficult! But, I have found that it really works best for me to reserve phone calls for the weekend. Otherwise, I start making calls and I can’t stop! And you know that those calls can go on for hours! Meanwhile, no one else is doing my homework! So, I’ve been very disciplined and discreet in calling (and even e-mailing), and I can tell such a big difference. It seems that I have so many more hours in the day–I guess because literally I do! Certainly this does not mean that I do not want to receive calls or e-mails. (Believe me, if I can’t talk, you’ll get voice mail.) The phone calls and e-mails were not the problem; I was the problem. I finally realized that it did no good to get on the phone and whine for an hour about how much homework I had to do. Sure, my friends were sympathetic, but when we ended our conversation, I still had just as much homework staring me in the face. The new plan is "do your homework and quit whining about it."
I think my level of confidence has changed as well. I feel better about the answers I provide in class. I feel better about my comprehension of the material. And, even if I don’t understand (which happens at least daily), I know that at least 75% of the class is right there with me. Exam grades were quite the confidence booster, and I am trying to ride that wave as long as possible.
Finally, my status has changed; I now have "rank." I know that I have to protect my rank in class. I also know that I can improve my rank. With this change in status I have realized that all of these other changes are absolutely necessary if I intend to improve. So, things have definitely changed. Or, perhaps, "things" are the same, but I have definitely changed, and change is good.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Back to school
For those of you who continue to follow my plight, I am happy to report that I returned to law school on the eve of spring semester to complete this year as a 1L. If there was never any doubt in your mind, so be it. I can attest that there was plenty of doubt in my mind about what I would be doing in the spring (and for the rest of my life). The thirty days that I waited for grades to be posted were filled with dread and fear. I clearly remember the verse from Sunday School that says, "He has not given us a spirit of fear" so I guess I just gave it to myself. In the end, my grades were much better than I expected, which only now requires that I maintain these high standards, which takes me back to "dread and fear."
These first few weeks of the semester members of the 1L class are in the process of applying and interviewing for summer internships. I have applied for several positions in the federal government and have a few interviews scheduled. Working with the federal government (like the Department of Justice, Attorney General Homeland Security, the White House, etc.) is my preference. But, should it not work out, I’d be happy staying in town during the summer and working as a research assistant for a professor or for a local attorney.
There is a different vibe amongst our class this semester. We have all formed friendships and alliances. We have studied together, laughed together, griped together, and--in the process--formed a freakishly large family. It is quite difficult coming off of a five-week break and diving in to the deep end of the ocean. The transition back to the law school life (a/k/a monastery) has been made easier with the help of these friends.
After spending five weeks at home during Christmas break I have come to the realization that North Carolina is not where I want to be. The only reason I return is because of the family and friends. On the return trip to Lynchburg, I spent a few hours reflecting on the visit. It is strange to go back. Even though it looks familiar, it is simultaneously so foreign to me. I am so hopeful that I will not have to return to North Carolina during the summer.
I don’t know that I’ll always live in Lynchburg. The good news is that I am free to travel and relocate to just about anywhere; and, even better, I am ready to do it. I suppose that’s why I find this summer internship process so exciting. It’s the equivalent of picking the best summer camp for law students.
I hope that my friends and family in North Carolina will understand. Some of them could never imagine leaving; and I just can’t imagine going back. Of course, a lot can happen on this three-year journey, and I have no idea what tomorrow holds...except more reading assignments. Good night.
These first few weeks of the semester members of the 1L class are in the process of applying and interviewing for summer internships. I have applied for several positions in the federal government and have a few interviews scheduled. Working with the federal government (like the Department of Justice, Attorney General Homeland Security, the White House, etc.) is my preference. But, should it not work out, I’d be happy staying in town during the summer and working as a research assistant for a professor or for a local attorney.
There is a different vibe amongst our class this semester. We have all formed friendships and alliances. We have studied together, laughed together, griped together, and--in the process--formed a freakishly large family. It is quite difficult coming off of a five-week break and diving in to the deep end of the ocean. The transition back to the law school life (a/k/a monastery) has been made easier with the help of these friends.
After spending five weeks at home during Christmas break I have come to the realization that North Carolina is not where I want to be. The only reason I return is because of the family and friends. On the return trip to Lynchburg, I spent a few hours reflecting on the visit. It is strange to go back. Even though it looks familiar, it is simultaneously so foreign to me. I am so hopeful that I will not have to return to North Carolina during the summer.
I don’t know that I’ll always live in Lynchburg. The good news is that I am free to travel and relocate to just about anywhere; and, even better, I am ready to do it. I suppose that’s why I find this summer internship process so exciting. It’s the equivalent of picking the best summer camp for law students.
I hope that my friends and family in North Carolina will understand. Some of them could never imagine leaving; and I just can’t imagine going back. Of course, a lot can happen on this three-year journey, and I have no idea what tomorrow holds...except more reading assignments. Good night.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Coming soon!
Grades!
Yes, grades are due from the professors on January 12. Hopefully, they will be published soon thereafter. Until then, I am a law student. Afterward, I may be a bartending student. More to come....
Yes, grades are due from the professors on January 12. Hopefully, they will be published soon thereafter. Until then, I am a law student. Afterward, I may be a bartending student. More to come....
Thursday, December 28, 2006
My 12 Favorite Things About Christmas
12. Driving home for the holidays
11. Shopping for unexpected gifts
10. The “present wrapping” party
09. Raiding mom’s homemade chocolate chip cookies
08. Visiting Mike’s Tree Farm
07. Hearing all that Santa has accomplished since sundown
06. Listening to Christmas music
05. Watching “the brothers” bond
04. Hearing Haley say “oh my goodness”
03. Christmas Day with the family
02. Visiting friends without being hurried
01. Waking up with my kids in the house Christmas morning
11. Shopping for unexpected gifts
10. The “present wrapping” party
09. Raiding mom’s homemade chocolate chip cookies
08. Visiting Mike’s Tree Farm
07. Hearing all that Santa has accomplished since sundown
06. Listening to Christmas music
05. Watching “the brothers” bond
04. Hearing Haley say “oh my goodness”
03. Christmas Day with the family
02. Visiting friends without being hurried
01. Waking up with my kids in the house Christmas morning
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Who says you can't go home?
For better or worse, the first semester is behind me. And (for all professors who may be perusing this blog), I do hope that I get a chance to return for the second semester. Overall, I believe I performed well on the exams, but there are one or two that are haunting me. We have been told (by the upperclassmen) not to expect grades to be posted until mid-January (classes begin on January 22); but, if you have no hopes of returning, you will receive a phone call long before then. So, my prayer is that my phone doesn’t ring.
Of course, as long as I am at my mom’s house (where I am staying during the break), there is no way that I’ll receive a phone call from the law school…or from anyone else. During the break I landed a sweet deal to return to the hometown and work for the former employer, i.e., at the law firm. I was very excited to have the opportunity and left Lynchburg within 24 hours of finishing exams. Who says you can't go home? (Other than Thomas Wolfe...and Bon Jovi.) My hometown is a quaint little place—a tiny dot on the map; but, I am staying at my mom’s, which is 25 miles away from town and an even smaller dot on the map. She lives in a place that we call “the country.” You can follow the map or GPS, but you’ll know you’ve arrived when your cell phone has lost its signal. At that point you can exclaim, “Welcome Home!” Ok, I'm over-exaggerating somewhat. You can get cell phone service, but only in the front yard. So, if you want to make a call, you must go outside and contend with the weather and all of the background noises, e.g., traffic, horns (rednecks love to blow their horns at folks on the phone in the front yard), dogs barking (there is a two dog minimum in the country), and various other farm animals, like roosters, goats, etc. Here, I wish I was exaggerating, but I am not.
I wouldn’t be so enamored with talking on the phone if I could get online and chat with some friends on AIM or Gmail. But, in the country (you guessed it) we do not have Internet. The only thing to do after dinner is to watch tv (whatever the rabbit ears can pick up) or watch each other's hair grow. I actually had a precious conversation with my mom and stepdad the first night I was home about my need for Internet service. My mom was kind enough to call several folks to see if they had Internet and if I could borrow their Internet; and, being country folk, they gladly agreed. I appreciated her effort, but I was certain that somewhere in this small metropolitan area there had to be wireless Internet that I could use without sitting in a stranger's living room. I left the house, with my laptop in tow, and headed for the local library, only to find that it closes at 5:30 (so much for our literacy campaign). I then headed to the local college (which is also my alma mater). The college’s library closes at 8:00 p.m. (which is late for this rural community), but it had no wireless service. I then passed a hotel on the highway, circled back, and pulled up to a room. Sure enough, I could get wireless, but I had to have a password. (So close, but so far away.)
I gave up on the search for wireless in "the country" and decided that I would just stay in town the next night after work and find some wireless in the area. After asking around, I was thrilled to find that my hometown now actually has two Starbucks (which always has wireless, don’t you know!). So, after work, I couldn’t get to Starbucks fast enough. I ordered a Venti Mocha Cappucino (because I planned on staying there a long time), and I popped open the laptop. As my blood pressure started to rise, the waiter explained to me that their Internet service was down. Ugh! So, I packed up and drove to the second Starbucks location in town, but their Internet was down as well. I called a third coffee shop in town—rather than burning another gallon of gas—and they didn’t have wireless, but they told me that Krispy Kreme Doughnuts did have wireless. I was in Krispy Kreme’s parking lot in mere minutes and finally had the wireless connection that I had been searching for for 48 hours. I will be spending a lot of time at Krispy Kreme during Christmas break, and hopefully I can avoid the temptation of the “Hot Doughnuts Now” sign.
Who says you can’t go home again? Of course you can… as long as you can live without your cell phone or Internet.
Of course, as long as I am at my mom’s house (where I am staying during the break), there is no way that I’ll receive a phone call from the law school…or from anyone else. During the break I landed a sweet deal to return to the hometown and work for the former employer, i.e., at the law firm. I was very excited to have the opportunity and left Lynchburg within 24 hours of finishing exams. Who says you can't go home? (Other than Thomas Wolfe...and Bon Jovi.) My hometown is a quaint little place—a tiny dot on the map; but, I am staying at my mom’s, which is 25 miles away from town and an even smaller dot on the map. She lives in a place that we call “the country.” You can follow the map or GPS, but you’ll know you’ve arrived when your cell phone has lost its signal. At that point you can exclaim, “Welcome Home!” Ok, I'm over-exaggerating somewhat. You can get cell phone service, but only in the front yard. So, if you want to make a call, you must go outside and contend with the weather and all of the background noises, e.g., traffic, horns (rednecks love to blow their horns at folks on the phone in the front yard), dogs barking (there is a two dog minimum in the country), and various other farm animals, like roosters, goats, etc. Here, I wish I was exaggerating, but I am not.
I wouldn’t be so enamored with talking on the phone if I could get online and chat with some friends on AIM or Gmail. But, in the country (you guessed it) we do not have Internet. The only thing to do after dinner is to watch tv (whatever the rabbit ears can pick up) or watch each other's hair grow. I actually had a precious conversation with my mom and stepdad the first night I was home about my need for Internet service. My mom was kind enough to call several folks to see if they had Internet and if I could borrow their Internet; and, being country folk, they gladly agreed. I appreciated her effort, but I was certain that somewhere in this small metropolitan area there had to be wireless Internet that I could use without sitting in a stranger's living room. I left the house, with my laptop in tow, and headed for the local library, only to find that it closes at 5:30 (so much for our literacy campaign). I then headed to the local college (which is also my alma mater). The college’s library closes at 8:00 p.m. (which is late for this rural community), but it had no wireless service. I then passed a hotel on the highway, circled back, and pulled up to a room. Sure enough, I could get wireless, but I had to have a password. (So close, but so far away.)
I gave up on the search for wireless in "the country" and decided that I would just stay in town the next night after work and find some wireless in the area. After asking around, I was thrilled to find that my hometown now actually has two Starbucks (which always has wireless, don’t you know!). So, after work, I couldn’t get to Starbucks fast enough. I ordered a Venti Mocha Cappucino (because I planned on staying there a long time), and I popped open the laptop. As my blood pressure started to rise, the waiter explained to me that their Internet service was down. Ugh! So, I packed up and drove to the second Starbucks location in town, but their Internet was down as well. I called a third coffee shop in town—rather than burning another gallon of gas—and they didn’t have wireless, but they told me that Krispy Kreme Doughnuts did have wireless. I was in Krispy Kreme’s parking lot in mere minutes and finally had the wireless connection that I had been searching for for 48 hours. I will be spending a lot of time at Krispy Kreme during Christmas break, and hopefully I can avoid the temptation of the “Hot Doughnuts Now” sign.
Who says you can’t go home again? Of course you can… as long as you can live without your cell phone or Internet.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Milestones and Exam
This has been a semester of milestones. First, I left my job to pursue the dream of becoming an attorney. This required that I convert from being a college instructor to a college student. Next, I moved from my home to an apartment and from one state to another. What a season of adjustment and milestones. The most recent milestone was December 1, when we (the Class of 2009) completed our first semester of regular classes and began the season of exams. Today, there has been another milestone–the first exam is history (only four more follow).
One thing that I seem to have in common with my classmates is that we did not find undergrad to be very challenging, so we are all amazed at how much we have had to study to simply prepare for daily class assignments. And, now that exam season is here, the studying and stress has intensified.
This past weekend, I did little else except prepare for today’s exam. Monday I attended a special review session offered by the contracts professor. After two hours of contracts review, the remainder of the day was spent in the library studying alone and then with others, quizzing each other, stressing out, sucking it up, and doing it all over again and again. We left the library at midnight, but agreed to meet for breakfast the next morning for some last minute review before the exam. After four hours of sleep, I was back at school. I wish I had time to take a nap (and probably would if I didn’t feel compelled to update the blog), but there is too much to be done. Another exam looms on the horizon, and it is important that every moment be spent in preparation. I also wish I had time to write more, but there is only time for praying, studying, and testing. In my spare time I eat and sleep. For those reading this, please think of me and whisper a pray for stamina, calm, resilience, and a thankful heart for all these many milestones.
One thing that I seem to have in common with my classmates is that we did not find undergrad to be very challenging, so we are all amazed at how much we have had to study to simply prepare for daily class assignments. And, now that exam season is here, the studying and stress has intensified.
This past weekend, I did little else except prepare for today’s exam. Monday I attended a special review session offered by the contracts professor. After two hours of contracts review, the remainder of the day was spent in the library studying alone and then with others, quizzing each other, stressing out, sucking it up, and doing it all over again and again. We left the library at midnight, but agreed to meet for breakfast the next morning for some last minute review before the exam. After four hours of sleep, I was back at school. I wish I had time to take a nap (and probably would if I didn’t feel compelled to update the blog), but there is too much to be done. Another exam looms on the horizon, and it is important that every moment be spent in preparation. I also wish I had time to write more, but there is only time for praying, studying, and testing. In my spare time I eat and sleep. For those reading this, please think of me and whisper a pray for stamina, calm, resilience, and a thankful heart for all these many milestones.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Thanksgiving
Just when I thought the schedule couldn’t get any busier, it did. We’ve only got one week of classes left before exams. Yes, panic has officially set in. However, it’s a "calm panic" and it’s just enough of a panic to keep me edgy until exams are over. If used properly, it can be a good thing–much like a hedge trimmer. Use it for hedges, great; use it for tree branches positioned over your head, not great.
This week we have had a break from classes, which has been great; I am definitely not complaining. I scheduled specific tasks to complete each day, and also scheduled a brief trip home to see family and friends for the Thanksgiving holiday. When presented the luxury of a break from classes, my gut reaction was that I couldn’t afford to spend two days traveling home when I needed to spend that valuable time preparing for final exams, which sounds so logical when you whip it around in your head; but it sounds so shallow when you try to explain it to your mom! And, now that the trip home is history, and I’m back in Lynchburg with only the company of books, flash cards, notes, and outlines, I realize how much I do miss the simple joy of family and friends.
Driving back up the mountain today I also realized that all of this must maintain its own perspective. Law school is important, but it still only controls a portion of my life. It is a priority; but, when compared to family, it doesn’t even register. It is a dream. It is important to me. But it has its place. How can I be certain? How do I know? Because of a phone call.
I was awakened by the phone at 11:30 p.m. Caller ID said it was my mom. Since my mother rarely stays up past 9:00 p.m., I intuitively knew the news was not good. "We are at the hospital," she said. My son had been in a wreck. He was conscious, but bleeding terribly from the head. He was also complaining of shoulder and leg pain; at the present, he was on his way to x-ray.
Before she even finished these sentences, my mind was racing. I was already calculating how long it would take me to get there. I was planning the ATM stop on the way and thinking about which suitcase to use. On the contrary, I did not think about exams. I did not think about the research paper due on Monday nor did I care about updating my property outline before leaving town.
The hardest thing I had to do for the next hour was wait. I had to wait in the dark while they waited for test results. Even while I was in labor giving birth to that child, time did not creep as slowly as it did that night–18 years later–when I waited to hear what might be broken, whether he would be admitted or released or transferred, and what to do next.
I walked with the phone in my hand--helpless and irritated. The news that finally came was good. I got to hear his voice (which was even better) and know that he was okay. He would be sore and require some follow up, but he would be whole again. All of these events transpired on the eve of Thanksgiving 2006. When I arrived at my mom’s house, I saw the remains of his truck. It was hard to believe that anyone could have survived in that vehicle, especially the driver. He did survive, though, and he was seated at the table next to me.
I was very quiet during dinner. Once again I had been reminded of the frailty of life. But, it wasn’t a lesson in someone else’s life that I had taken note of; no, it was a lesson in my own. I do not know how I will ever react should I have to bury a child. I am almost certain that I will not handle it well (which is a gross understatement). I do not even like to think about it; it is a dreadful thought that no parent wants to ever entertain.
As I looked around the dinner table, I thought about my mother-in-law, who died tragically and unexpectedly in 1994 in a car accident two weeks before Christmas. Across the table from me was my step-sister, who’s husband died only a year ago in a car accident. Seated near me was Aunt Sally, whose son (and my best friend), William, died in a car accident in 1982 at the age of 20 and was buried on my 20th birthday. As if that weren’t tragic enough, she lost her only grandchild/grandson in 2005 in a motorcycle accident, and is helping to raise the children he left behind.
I remembered speaking once at a small law firm event. I was making a presentation to the six or eight paralegals in the firm at a lunch CLE about professionalism. The day before the event, my contact from the office called to finalize the plans, and I vividly recall her telling me about one of the ladies who may be in attendance. The lady had lost her daughter in a car accident a few weeks earlier. The daughter was a senior in high school, driving to school like any other morning when the unthinkable happened, only weeks away from graduation. Now, instead of a diploma and graduation party, she had a funeral and tombstone. My contact said, "She may be here or she may not, but I wanted you to know because she is grieving and quite sullen, and I didn’t want you to take it personally." The lady did attend, and I just remember thinking, "How does she have the wherewithal to roll out of bed in the morning and put one foot in front of the other? Anything above and beyond that is absolutely heroic."
I am nothing short of amazed that these survivors can go through the routine of Thanksgiving (and other holidays). If yesterday’s accident had taken my son, I just do not know if I could go on with life as usual, ponging from one season, holiday, or birthday to the next. It must be possible, because so many people do it. Or, maybe it’s just because we don’t hear about those who give up, check out on life, or crawl under the proverbial rock.
What morbid thoughts to be having at Thanksgiving dinner, huh? Yes, I know. However, the irony of it all is that they made me even more thankful for this moment and this day that we all get to share together when we have the opportunity to reach out to each other, touch someone's hand or tap someone on the shoulder, and whisper "I love you." The stark reality–of which I have been reminded–is that there is no guarantee that we’ll have the same opportunity tomorrow.
This week we have had a break from classes, which has been great; I am definitely not complaining. I scheduled specific tasks to complete each day, and also scheduled a brief trip home to see family and friends for the Thanksgiving holiday. When presented the luxury of a break from classes, my gut reaction was that I couldn’t afford to spend two days traveling home when I needed to spend that valuable time preparing for final exams, which sounds so logical when you whip it around in your head; but it sounds so shallow when you try to explain it to your mom! And, now that the trip home is history, and I’m back in Lynchburg with only the company of books, flash cards, notes, and outlines, I realize how much I do miss the simple joy of family and friends.
Driving back up the mountain today I also realized that all of this must maintain its own perspective. Law school is important, but it still only controls a portion of my life. It is a priority; but, when compared to family, it doesn’t even register. It is a dream. It is important to me. But it has its place. How can I be certain? How do I know? Because of a phone call.
I was awakened by the phone at 11:30 p.m. Caller ID said it was my mom. Since my mother rarely stays up past 9:00 p.m., I intuitively knew the news was not good. "We are at the hospital," she said. My son had been in a wreck. He was conscious, but bleeding terribly from the head. He was also complaining of shoulder and leg pain; at the present, he was on his way to x-ray.
Before she even finished these sentences, my mind was racing. I was already calculating how long it would take me to get there. I was planning the ATM stop on the way and thinking about which suitcase to use. On the contrary, I did not think about exams. I did not think about the research paper due on Monday nor did I care about updating my property outline before leaving town.
The hardest thing I had to do for the next hour was wait. I had to wait in the dark while they waited for test results. Even while I was in labor giving birth to that child, time did not creep as slowly as it did that night–18 years later–when I waited to hear what might be broken, whether he would be admitted or released or transferred, and what to do next.
I walked with the phone in my hand--helpless and irritated. The news that finally came was good. I got to hear his voice (which was even better) and know that he was okay. He would be sore and require some follow up, but he would be whole again. All of these events transpired on the eve of Thanksgiving 2006. When I arrived at my mom’s house, I saw the remains of his truck. It was hard to believe that anyone could have survived in that vehicle, especially the driver. He did survive, though, and he was seated at the table next to me.
I was very quiet during dinner. Once again I had been reminded of the frailty of life. But, it wasn’t a lesson in someone else’s life that I had taken note of; no, it was a lesson in my own. I do not know how I will ever react should I have to bury a child. I am almost certain that I will not handle it well (which is a gross understatement). I do not even like to think about it; it is a dreadful thought that no parent wants to ever entertain.
As I looked around the dinner table, I thought about my mother-in-law, who died tragically and unexpectedly in 1994 in a car accident two weeks before Christmas. Across the table from me was my step-sister, who’s husband died only a year ago in a car accident. Seated near me was Aunt Sally, whose son (and my best friend), William, died in a car accident in 1982 at the age of 20 and was buried on my 20th birthday. As if that weren’t tragic enough, she lost her only grandchild/grandson in 2005 in a motorcycle accident, and is helping to raise the children he left behind.
I remembered speaking once at a small law firm event. I was making a presentation to the six or eight paralegals in the firm at a lunch CLE about professionalism. The day before the event, my contact from the office called to finalize the plans, and I vividly recall her telling me about one of the ladies who may be in attendance. The lady had lost her daughter in a car accident a few weeks earlier. The daughter was a senior in high school, driving to school like any other morning when the unthinkable happened, only weeks away from graduation. Now, instead of a diploma and graduation party, she had a funeral and tombstone. My contact said, "She may be here or she may not, but I wanted you to know because she is grieving and quite sullen, and I didn’t want you to take it personally." The lady did attend, and I just remember thinking, "How does she have the wherewithal to roll out of bed in the morning and put one foot in front of the other? Anything above and beyond that is absolutely heroic."
I am nothing short of amazed that these survivors can go through the routine of Thanksgiving (and other holidays). If yesterday’s accident had taken my son, I just do not know if I could go on with life as usual, ponging from one season, holiday, or birthday to the next. It must be possible, because so many people do it. Or, maybe it’s just because we don’t hear about those who give up, check out on life, or crawl under the proverbial rock.
What morbid thoughts to be having at Thanksgiving dinner, huh? Yes, I know. However, the irony of it all is that they made me even more thankful for this moment and this day that we all get to share together when we have the opportunity to reach out to each other, touch someone's hand or tap someone on the shoulder, and whisper "I love you." The stark reality–of which I have been reminded–is that there is no guarantee that we’ll have the same opportunity tomorrow.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
This one is for you
You know who you are. You listen to my rantings. You take my calls. You celebrate with me when I am triumphant. You laugh with me when I am absolutely foolish! You see me in all of my failures and faults...and still support me anyway.
I couldn’t do any of this without your support. I pretend to be independent and self-sufficient. I am none of those things. I am frightened and afraid. I am second-guessing myself, and I am even sabotaging my own success.
You do not “sugar coat” your observations. You ask hard questions. You will not accept generic, “softball” answers. You are not intimidated by my defensive tactics.
I am a mess. I am in way over my head. I handle stress poorly. I am fulfilling a dream and scared to death of it.
You point me to the positive rather than the negative. You talk me off of the ledge.
This is for you. You are my friend. I am indebted.
I couldn’t do any of this without your support. I pretend to be independent and self-sufficient. I am none of those things. I am frightened and afraid. I am second-guessing myself, and I am even sabotaging my own success.
You do not “sugar coat” your observations. You ask hard questions. You will not accept generic, “softball” answers. You are not intimidated by my defensive tactics.
I am a mess. I am in way over my head. I handle stress poorly. I am fulfilling a dream and scared to death of it.
You point me to the positive rather than the negative. You talk me off of the ledge.
This is for you. You are my friend. I am indebted.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Now Showing: Autumn Mornings
Nature puts on quite a show in October. The mountainside becomes a palette and every leaf is a brush stroke. Pictures and videos pale in comparison to a first-hand experience of the mountains during peak season.
It's a glorious show in the late afternoon, while the sun is setting over the distant Blue Ridge Mountains. All of the remaining light is flooding onto the lower hills and valley; there is a colorful competition between sky and earth. Mid-day is beautiful as well. Every tree dances with color. To say that it's distracting is an understatement.
But, my favorite time of day is the morning. I usually get to watch it unfold from my bedroom window. There may be dew or a light frost. The air is crisp and the ground is scattered with leaves that have fulfilled their purpose. Typically, a pot of coffee is brewed by 5:30 a.m., and I sip the first cup while preparing for the day's classes--all while seated at the desk at my bedroom window.
I rarely listen to the radio or watch tv at this time of the morning. I suppose, instead, I am listening for the sunrise. From my window I first see a few of the rays as they illuminate behind the hills and then begin to peak over the trees. But, long before the sun makes its grand appearance, there is a light show reflected against clouds and trees. There are reds and yellows, purple and blue.
If I had no other evidence in the entire universe that there is a God, this alone would be enough. It seems to take much more faith to believe that these beautiful, natural masterpieces just occur by happenstance, than to acknowledge that there is a Supreme Being who orchestrates the entire show on a daily basis, complete with sunlight, clouds, mountains, shadows, and leaves of gold and red.
I realized recently that some of the first words that I speak every morning are a critique of the sunrise. Let's face it, I have very little to say in the morning; there's no one to listen except the dog and cat. But, as I am finishing that first cup of coffee and about to head for the shower, I feel compelled to take one more peek out the window and audibly say something like "Nice," or "Awesome!"
Like this morning; it was more than a sunrise--it was a show so beautiful that the window just couldn't contain it. I found myself outside soaking in every nuance of the canvas. It was above me, and around me, and before me. It was so truly breathtaking; and--with tears in my eyes and a smile on my face--all I could say was "Show off!"
Luke 12:27
It's a glorious show in the late afternoon, while the sun is setting over the distant Blue Ridge Mountains. All of the remaining light is flooding onto the lower hills and valley; there is a colorful competition between sky and earth. Mid-day is beautiful as well. Every tree dances with color. To say that it's distracting is an understatement.
But, my favorite time of day is the morning. I usually get to watch it unfold from my bedroom window. There may be dew or a light frost. The air is crisp and the ground is scattered with leaves that have fulfilled their purpose. Typically, a pot of coffee is brewed by 5:30 a.m., and I sip the first cup while preparing for the day's classes--all while seated at the desk at my bedroom window.
I rarely listen to the radio or watch tv at this time of the morning. I suppose, instead, I am listening for the sunrise. From my window I first see a few of the rays as they illuminate behind the hills and then begin to peak over the trees. But, long before the sun makes its grand appearance, there is a light show reflected against clouds and trees. There are reds and yellows, purple and blue.
If I had no other evidence in the entire universe that there is a God, this alone would be enough. It seems to take much more faith to believe that these beautiful, natural masterpieces just occur by happenstance, than to acknowledge that there is a Supreme Being who orchestrates the entire show on a daily basis, complete with sunlight, clouds, mountains, shadows, and leaves of gold and red.
I realized recently that some of the first words that I speak every morning are a critique of the sunrise. Let's face it, I have very little to say in the morning; there's no one to listen except the dog and cat. But, as I am finishing that first cup of coffee and about to head for the shower, I feel compelled to take one more peek out the window and audibly say something like "Nice," or "Awesome!"
Like this morning; it was more than a sunrise--it was a show so beautiful that the window just couldn't contain it. I found myself outside soaking in every nuance of the canvas. It was above me, and around me, and before me. It was so truly breathtaking; and--with tears in my eyes and a smile on my face--all I could say was "Show off!"
Luke 12:27
Sunday, October 15, 2006
The power of the word
I recently commented to a professor that it seems I have to “work twice as hard to learn half as much,” which is not a complaint but just a matter of fact. This is not true, and I wondered where the comment came from. I am not half as smart as my classmates, just twice as old. Frankly, I am amazed that these young people know, at the age of 22, what they want to do for the rest of their life. At 22, I did not.
I remember taking some standardized test in high school that could forecast whether you were college material. At the appointment to review my test results, the evaluator said that I would do well in blue collar work or possibly as a secretary. Basically, I was told that I didn’t need to waste time and money trying to go to college because it would be “too much” for me. Why amass all of that debt to simply fail?
So, what did I do? For many years I followed the course of action set out for me by this test and evaluator. (Surely they were smarter than I.) First, I worked in a fast food restaurant and worked my way into management (woo hoo!). Then I attended the local community college and earned a degree in secretarial science (graduating with honors, Mr. Test Evaluator). At 21 years of age I was perfectly happy to have achieved all that I was able to do (as per the test results). Fortunately, the evaluator didn't have the last word.
When I went to work as a legal secretary (in 1985), my boss was a young sole practitioner named Tom Barwick. At the time that Tom hired me I was working as a secretary at the local country club. It was a mindless job that basically entailed typing daily lunch menus and party contracts, totaling receipts, and making reservations. I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do (as per the test results) and was apprehensive about working for a lawyer. But, he was young and nice (and a friend of my husband’s), so the switch was made.
From the first day Tom didn’t just give me work to do, but he made me part of his team. We were a team of two, so I was expected to do more than mindless work. I was expected to think and do. He didn’t just want me to know about the files, but to know about the law. After less than a year of working with him, I vividly recall the conversation we had one day while traveling from an interview, when he mentioned to me the possibility of attending school to be a paralegal. Obviously he didn’t know my test results, and I didn't dare break the news to him. With his support, I completed the paralegal degree (graduating with the highest GPA in my class) and worked for many years alongside him. As a matter of fact, we joined a firm, developed a niche, and worked together for 15 years.
Shortly before he left the firm in 2000, we had another memorable conversation late one afternoon in his office where he encouraged me to go to law school. This wasn't a flippant remark made to boost my ego, but a serious conversation about changing the direction of my career and life. He knew that I could do it. He wanted me to try. I could say that he planted a seed, but the seed was already there. All he did was water it and give it some sunshine.
From that day on a plan was set in motion. There were things that I needed to do before I could ever complete law school, like finish my bachelor's degree (Summa Cum Laude). It was almost six years after this conversation that I stepped into Day One of law school orientation. But Tom Barwick brought me here figuratively just as assuredly as if he had driven the moving van. In spite of the evaluation of my test results, I graduated from college at the top of my class, and I am nine weeks into year one of law school.
For Christmas this year I’d like two gifts. One, I’d like to find and frame those standardized test results from high school. Two, I’d like to give Tom Barwick a hug. Both are testaments to the power of the word.
I remember taking some standardized test in high school that could forecast whether you were college material. At the appointment to review my test results, the evaluator said that I would do well in blue collar work or possibly as a secretary. Basically, I was told that I didn’t need to waste time and money trying to go to college because it would be “too much” for me. Why amass all of that debt to simply fail?
So, what did I do? For many years I followed the course of action set out for me by this test and evaluator. (Surely they were smarter than I.) First, I worked in a fast food restaurant and worked my way into management (woo hoo!). Then I attended the local community college and earned a degree in secretarial science (graduating with honors, Mr. Test Evaluator). At 21 years of age I was perfectly happy to have achieved all that I was able to do (as per the test results). Fortunately, the evaluator didn't have the last word.
When I went to work as a legal secretary (in 1985), my boss was a young sole practitioner named Tom Barwick. At the time that Tom hired me I was working as a secretary at the local country club. It was a mindless job that basically entailed typing daily lunch menus and party contracts, totaling receipts, and making reservations. I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do (as per the test results) and was apprehensive about working for a lawyer. But, he was young and nice (and a friend of my husband’s), so the switch was made.
From the first day Tom didn’t just give me work to do, but he made me part of his team. We were a team of two, so I was expected to do more than mindless work. I was expected to think and do. He didn’t just want me to know about the files, but to know about the law. After less than a year of working with him, I vividly recall the conversation we had one day while traveling from an interview, when he mentioned to me the possibility of attending school to be a paralegal. Obviously he didn’t know my test results, and I didn't dare break the news to him. With his support, I completed the paralegal degree (graduating with the highest GPA in my class) and worked for many years alongside him. As a matter of fact, we joined a firm, developed a niche, and worked together for 15 years.
Shortly before he left the firm in 2000, we had another memorable conversation late one afternoon in his office where he encouraged me to go to law school. This wasn't a flippant remark made to boost my ego, but a serious conversation about changing the direction of my career and life. He knew that I could do it. He wanted me to try. I could say that he planted a seed, but the seed was already there. All he did was water it and give it some sunshine.
From that day on a plan was set in motion. There were things that I needed to do before I could ever complete law school, like finish my bachelor's degree (Summa Cum Laude). It was almost six years after this conversation that I stepped into Day One of law school orientation. But Tom Barwick brought me here figuratively just as assuredly as if he had driven the moving van. In spite of the evaluation of my test results, I graduated from college at the top of my class, and I am nine weeks into year one of law school.
For Christmas this year I’d like two gifts. One, I’d like to find and frame those standardized test results from high school. Two, I’d like to give Tom Barwick a hug. Both are testaments to the power of the word.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Eight weeks later...
I am numb. My fingers are tingling. My head hurts--probably because my brain is throbbing, if that is possible. But, the good news is, mid-term exams are history. All that we must do now is wait for the grades.
It has been a very long week. Everyday we had to prepare for class while simultaneously trying to find a few hours to study for exams. For most of the week I spent 18-20 hours at school and only came home to sleep, shower, change clothes, and take care of the pets. But for the pets, I would have probably just lived in the library. There were study groups and private study sessions and roundtable discussions and tutorials and still not enough hours in the day to get it all done.
A good friend asked me if I'd given this 100%, and I had to admit that I had not. I suppose the evaluation is subjective, though; yet I do not think I have given it my all. Granted, I have given a lot, but not my all. For instance, I do not come home every night and review the day's notes and lectures. I do not prepare flash cards on a daily basis. I have made little use of the CALI exercises (which are awesome), and I have only listened to about one of the instructional CDs that I checked out of the library (I have downloaded 20+.) And I do not spend the weekend reviewing flash cards and outlines of the previous week's material for each class. If I had done all of this, I then could say that I had given 100%. But, I'm just not sure when I would have slept. Right now, I'm averaging about four hours per night. There just aren't enough hours in the day to do all that is required as well as all that is suggested.
We've now completed mid-term exams and eight weeks of our first semester of law school. One of the professors quipped "Congratulation on being 1/12 of the way through." There is something to be said about that, especially in light of the fact that at least three of my classmates have already said they will not be back in January--if they even stay through December.
But I am looking at mid-terms as a place to start rather than a place to stop. I believe that these exams were a gift. They showed me where my outlines have failed. They have shown me where I need to improve, and they have given me eight more weeks to get my notes and materials in order before the final exams are knocking at the door.
Frankly, I feel good about what I did today. I don't think I knocked any of them out of the park, but I was comfortable with most subjects so that I could provide a multi-layer answer. Now that the exams are over it's time to take a break, catch my breath, let the body have a few hours to recover, and then get busy.
I hope you'll continue to accompany me on this journey.
It has been a very long week. Everyday we had to prepare for class while simultaneously trying to find a few hours to study for exams. For most of the week I spent 18-20 hours at school and only came home to sleep, shower, change clothes, and take care of the pets. But for the pets, I would have probably just lived in the library. There were study groups and private study sessions and roundtable discussions and tutorials and still not enough hours in the day to get it all done.
A good friend asked me if I'd given this 100%, and I had to admit that I had not. I suppose the evaluation is subjective, though; yet I do not think I have given it my all. Granted, I have given a lot, but not my all. For instance, I do not come home every night and review the day's notes and lectures. I do not prepare flash cards on a daily basis. I have made little use of the CALI exercises (which are awesome), and I have only listened to about one of the instructional CDs that I checked out of the library (I have downloaded 20+.) And I do not spend the weekend reviewing flash cards and outlines of the previous week's material for each class. If I had done all of this, I then could say that I had given 100%. But, I'm just not sure when I would have slept. Right now, I'm averaging about four hours per night. There just aren't enough hours in the day to do all that is required as well as all that is suggested.
We've now completed mid-term exams and eight weeks of our first semester of law school. One of the professors quipped "Congratulation on being 1/12 of the way through." There is something to be said about that, especially in light of the fact that at least three of my classmates have already said they will not be back in January--if they even stay through December.
But I am looking at mid-terms as a place to start rather than a place to stop. I believe that these exams were a gift. They showed me where my outlines have failed. They have shown me where I need to improve, and they have given me eight more weeks to get my notes and materials in order before the final exams are knocking at the door.
Frankly, I feel good about what I did today. I don't think I knocked any of them out of the park, but I was comfortable with most subjects so that I could provide a multi-layer answer. Now that the exams are over it's time to take a break, catch my breath, let the body have a few hours to recover, and then get busy.
I hope you'll continue to accompany me on this journey.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Four-letter words
It has been a while since I have been able to update my blog, which is indicative of a few things. Certainly there has been a sharp increase in the workload, and I took a short trip home this past weekend to celebrate my son’s birthday. Both of these things have kept me away from other trivial pursuits, but let me tell you a little about the trip.
When I say "short," I am not exaggerating. The one-way trip is 200 miles or 3.5 hours. On Saturday morning I loaded up the dog, cat, and my daughter (who is a sophomore in college) and we headed home. The dog, cat, and college kid slept for most of the ride--at least until the sun came up–and I got to spend some time reflecting on the past five weeks, this new experience, and this new life that has taken me so far away from home.
Home is one of my favorite words. There are so many memories and ideals wrapped up in that one syllable, four-letter word. I can smell home. I know its temperature and dimensions. I know how tall the grass is at home. How horrible it must be to be homeless. One of the few perks of moving away is the joy in coming home, looking at the old neighborhood, being greeted in the driveway by the family who has waited for your arrival, and spending a few precious moments with those you left behind. There was plenty of that on Saturday. The day was filled with some of my favorite homes. Every home was different, but every homecoming was the same. There were front porch greetings, lots of hugs, some tears, and way too much food.
Certainly everyone needs a certain amount of food to survive, but I can’t imagine any culture getting more comfort from food than we do. Regardless of the event–birthday, wedding, ball game, surgery, or death–we surround it with food. The only way to explain it is “It’s a Southern thing.”
Just some of the food on my mom’s table Saturday night included ham, chicken pastry, squash fritters, fresh corn, fresh green beans, potato salad, deviled eggs, collards, biscuits and cornbread–not to mention dessert. Earlier in the day I had visited Phyllis and family; and, of course, we had to have a piece of apple cake before we left. Sunday morning I met my son for breakfast (more food), and then as we were about to leave town, Carol (my neighbor) brought some of her famous vegetable beef soup for me. All three are wrapped tight together: home, food, love.
More importantly, though, there were the hugs and love that we were able to share with our family, friends, and neighbors. It was so good to reach out and touch those people who know you as well as you know yourself. While I take full advantage of e-mail and cell phone service, there is nothing that can replace the power of a hug. So, our stomachs were filled with our favorite southern delicacies, but our hearts were filled with the love from those who are so precious to us. And, yet, we were home for less than twenty-four hours, so there were many people that we couldn’t see in that time frame. It was good to visit with so many and sad that we couldn’t stay longer.
The return trip–of 200 miles–began Sunday morning, less than 24 hours after we had arrived. We left before sunrise (again), and the scenario unfolded much the same in the return trip, i.e., the college kid, dog, and cat slept while I drove. I thought about those that I couldn’t see while making this quick trip and I wished I could have spent more time with those that I did see. I hope that there will be a time in the near future when we will get to visit until our hearts are full.
There’s nothing spectacular about this posting. It is filled with simple four-letter words. While I readily admit that law school is expanding my vocabulary, it is these one syllable, four-letter words that hold such significant meaning, like hope...wish...food...love...hugs...and home. These four-letter words should have a special place in your vocabulary and in your heart. I hope they do.
The final few four-letter words that I must address tonight are “read” and “work,” which are terrible utterances to use after discussing such happy subjects, but they bring me back to reality and the asset that I must manage wisely: time. Good night.
When I say "short," I am not exaggerating. The one-way trip is 200 miles or 3.5 hours. On Saturday morning I loaded up the dog, cat, and my daughter (who is a sophomore in college) and we headed home. The dog, cat, and college kid slept for most of the ride--at least until the sun came up–and I got to spend some time reflecting on the past five weeks, this new experience, and this new life that has taken me so far away from home.
Home is one of my favorite words. There are so many memories and ideals wrapped up in that one syllable, four-letter word. I can smell home. I know its temperature and dimensions. I know how tall the grass is at home. How horrible it must be to be homeless. One of the few perks of moving away is the joy in coming home, looking at the old neighborhood, being greeted in the driveway by the family who has waited for your arrival, and spending a few precious moments with those you left behind. There was plenty of that on Saturday. The day was filled with some of my favorite homes. Every home was different, but every homecoming was the same. There were front porch greetings, lots of hugs, some tears, and way too much food.
Certainly everyone needs a certain amount of food to survive, but I can’t imagine any culture getting more comfort from food than we do. Regardless of the event–birthday, wedding, ball game, surgery, or death–we surround it with food. The only way to explain it is “It’s a Southern thing.”
Just some of the food on my mom’s table Saturday night included ham, chicken pastry, squash fritters, fresh corn, fresh green beans, potato salad, deviled eggs, collards, biscuits and cornbread–not to mention dessert. Earlier in the day I had visited Phyllis and family; and, of course, we had to have a piece of apple cake before we left. Sunday morning I met my son for breakfast (more food), and then as we were about to leave town, Carol (my neighbor) brought some of her famous vegetable beef soup for me. All three are wrapped tight together: home, food, love.
More importantly, though, there were the hugs and love that we were able to share with our family, friends, and neighbors. It was so good to reach out and touch those people who know you as well as you know yourself. While I take full advantage of e-mail and cell phone service, there is nothing that can replace the power of a hug. So, our stomachs were filled with our favorite southern delicacies, but our hearts were filled with the love from those who are so precious to us. And, yet, we were home for less than twenty-four hours, so there were many people that we couldn’t see in that time frame. It was good to visit with so many and sad that we couldn’t stay longer.
The return trip–of 200 miles–began Sunday morning, less than 24 hours after we had arrived. We left before sunrise (again), and the scenario unfolded much the same in the return trip, i.e., the college kid, dog, and cat slept while I drove. I thought about those that I couldn’t see while making this quick trip and I wished I could have spent more time with those that I did see. I hope that there will be a time in the near future when we will get to visit until our hearts are full.
There’s nothing spectacular about this posting. It is filled with simple four-letter words. While I readily admit that law school is expanding my vocabulary, it is these one syllable, four-letter words that hold such significant meaning, like hope...wish...food...love...hugs...and home. These four-letter words should have a special place in your vocabulary and in your heart. I hope they do.
The final few four-letter words that I must address tonight are “read” and “work,” which are terrible utterances to use after discussing such happy subjects, but they bring me back to reality and the asset that I must manage wisely: time. Good night.
Monday, September 04, 2006
BLS: Before law school
Once upon a time I was an avid reader. That was BLS.
Avid [av-id] Adj. 1. Enthusiastic; ardent; dedicated; keen; 2. keenly desirous; eager; greedy.
Yes, that was me! I subscribed to three daily newspapers (News-Argus, N & O, and WSJ), at least six monthly magazines (Forbes, Oprah, Biography, Reader's Digest, CCM, Business 2.0, Newsweek,etc.), and received daily updates from Word-A-Day, Lawyers' Weekly, CourtTv. I subscribed to webzines, list serves, and blogs (of course). I took my kids to the library on a weekly basis so that they, too, would enjoy the world of words and appreciate where they could take you.
That was BLS. Now I am the inimical reader.
Inimical. [i-nim-i-kuhl] Adj. 1. Adverse, contrary, opposed to
I do not even want to read street signs. The scrolling news across the bottom of CNN...totally ignored. It's just mumbo jumbo to me.
The sheer amount of reading that has to be--as in MUST BE--completed each day is overwhelming. After a mere three weeks of reading assignments, if all of the pages were combined into one volume, I dare say it could rival War and Peace.
I realized the extent of this new aversion to words today. When I left campus after class...completely famished, of course. So, my first stop is an eatery. The only rule? I do not want to go some place new where I would be required to (1) read the menu; (2) compare choices; (3) analyze the cost versus content argument; and (4) make a decision. So, I stop at the same cafeteria and basically eat the same or similar lunch selection. No words or reading required; just point to the food picture and it appears on your plate.
This new status as the inimical reader has me annoyed with the former avid reader who did not take advantage of every (or most) opportunities to read for pleasure...the sheer joy of reading. The stacks of books on my shelves that will probably not be touched for years are just mere memorials of the once avid reader who lived here. But that was BLS. How sad a demise.
There's about a hundred pages of reading for tonight's assignments, and probably just as much for tomorrow night's. The inevitable cannot be delayed for more than a few moments. The clock is ticking and tomorrow is only hours away. Whether I sleep or eat is optional; but I must read. Time to turn the page...
Avid [av-id] Adj. 1. Enthusiastic; ardent; dedicated; keen; 2. keenly desirous; eager; greedy.
Yes, that was me! I subscribed to three daily newspapers (News-Argus, N & O, and WSJ), at least six monthly magazines (Forbes, Oprah, Biography, Reader's Digest, CCM, Business 2.0, Newsweek,etc.), and received daily updates from Word-A-Day, Lawyers' Weekly, CourtTv. I subscribed to webzines, list serves, and blogs (of course). I took my kids to the library on a weekly basis so that they, too, would enjoy the world of words and appreciate where they could take you.
That was BLS. Now I am the inimical reader.
Inimical. [i-nim-i-kuhl] Adj. 1. Adverse, contrary, opposed to
I do not even want to read street signs. The scrolling news across the bottom of CNN...totally ignored. It's just mumbo jumbo to me.
The sheer amount of reading that has to be--as in MUST BE--completed each day is overwhelming. After a mere three weeks of reading assignments, if all of the pages were combined into one volume, I dare say it could rival War and Peace.
I realized the extent of this new aversion to words today. When I left campus after class...completely famished, of course. So, my first stop is an eatery. The only rule? I do not want to go some place new where I would be required to (1) read the menu; (2) compare choices; (3) analyze the cost versus content argument; and (4) make a decision. So, I stop at the same cafeteria and basically eat the same or similar lunch selection. No words or reading required; just point to the food picture and it appears on your plate.
This new status as the inimical reader has me annoyed with the former avid reader who did not take advantage of every (or most) opportunities to read for pleasure...the sheer joy of reading. The stacks of books on my shelves that will probably not be touched for years are just mere memorials of the once avid reader who lived here. But that was BLS. How sad a demise.
There's about a hundred pages of reading for tonight's assignments, and probably just as much for tomorrow night's. The inevitable cannot be delayed for more than a few moments. The clock is ticking and tomorrow is only hours away. Whether I sleep or eat is optional; but I must read. Time to turn the page...
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