Coming Up: A, B, C, D, E, F, or G, insanity proves quite concertedly relative in the not-so-normal days of return. Will Focus-Faced mom-boss melt the quivery walls of Englettlaw with dammed productivity? Mediation madness minces no trail mix, and unions rend assunder with gentle amiability. But can the serenity last when new beginnings set to reset in new and unanticipated shake-ups? And evil cable companies threaten the Prince of Florimund and Karl, bastard earl of Englett. Will a return to Fairhaven rouse the battle lines for the campaign to come?
Take a morning stretch, breathe a deep belly breath, and delve into the non-normal new-normal where answers lie...
W(heeeeeeeee)ednesday Wild Women Hustle-oooo to Buffalo
I grew up with the supreme misconception that I am a laid back, type-B kinda gal. Some of my previous habits support this delusion: I did drop out of a fine well-bricked institution to travel aimlessly before roosting in a salsa factory for my early twenties The corners on my folds are never crisp. I think it's perfectly rational to store clothing I may use again on top of the dryer instead of refolding or prematurely washing it. I plead my "sensitive skin" as an excuse for foregoing the quotidian shower routine. And I successfully resisted the Law School shill game of attempting to outstudy my classmates with pointless extra credit and bonus weekend hours of grueling and grinding. (Admittedly this had some components of my economically honed sense of efficiency, and the school-life balance thing did actually end me up generally out-scoring them in the end much of the time, but the point is that I was anal overly calculated... about relaxing).
So I benightedly think I'm laid back. Then I run into just about anyone else in the Pacific Northwest or West Coast and realize "wow, I'm kind of a control freak who obsesses over specific details nobody wants to think about and is chronically predisposed to go the extra mile." Unless of course that "anyone else" is a member of my family. To wit:
My day yesterday was pretty productive by my standards. I came into the office. Caught up on my personal internetting. Gave a thorough update to the case status sheet (work, schedules, payment status, billing errors - you name it, it's been processed and noted), insisted on conducting our case status meeting in Leslicita's absence, poached a bit of a work for myself, did that work, added a new file organizer to my office, got the messages, did emails, and billed. I also started a file for a new client, which ended - literally in the non-figurative connotation of "literally" - in bloodshed. Yes, now the file and several items in that file and an adjoining file are inundated in my vital essence. I think it's an appropriate metaphor.
Around 2:00 p.m., I left work to do my volunteer shift at the WDRC. I had an Adellafied-organizational orgy of a wet dream of an intern experience: we learned how to close-out cases. This requires updating four to five spread-sheets, annotating a paper log calendar, checking off forms in at least three different locations, and filing various parts of the packet (annotated appropriately) in three different locations. Heaven, I'm in heaven... and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. I won't even go into our final project of putting together mediation packets.
At 4:00 p.m., I went home, took a shower, and threw an adaptation of a pilaf recipe (customized to suit "what grain I haven't made recently, which spices haven't been totally overutilized yet, and what things in the fridge won't stay fresh much longer") into the rice cooker. I then proceeded to finish up a crossword puzzle. Andrew and I had dinner, canoodled a bit in the torpid afternoon heat. And eventually, we watched an episode of Futurama and went to bed.
Crazy day, I know... except....
My mom came into work pretty tired from having been out late in Mt. Vernon for that family reunion dinner thing. She was also in full focus face. Focus face is like "game face" on a footballer but ten times more ferocious. You don't want to mess with focus-faced Pam. Vicious litigators still blanch upon finding themselves stuck in an elevator with focus-faced Pam. I, being the sassy daughter, apparently don't mind looking petulantly at said face, saying "you look focused" in recrimination, and then refusing to interact until she's spewed all that productivity and is no longer ripe to bursting with stymied work-energy.
She begrudgingly sat through the case status meeting, an affair that largely consisted of me insisting that we back up several times to ask about longer standing issues, reminding her to bill for something she'd missed, and/or to remind her which case this really was. Our cases come in strange batches. A few months ago, we had about five cases with a similarly abnormal pattern of service issues. A few months before that, we had a string of ex parte emergency cases. Last year, we had the flood of trials. It's mediation season apparently. We have about five that have been in scheduling for the same leg-dragging month or five, which are almost all emerging from the logistical mire in the same late-July to August period that heralds my birthday and the full Falconer deluge. Should be interesting. Needless to say, it's hard not to get these all confused. Only by obsessing over the case status sheet and reviewing every email in the office to do so, do I even make pretense at distinguishing cases.
Anyways, the other theme was "more work for mom-boss!" with a light helping of Adella snatching tasks despite focus-faced Pam's skeptical wild-eyed leer, steely-snatching snappers, and the "do you have time??" warning voice. Once I'd withdrawn with what files I could cozen from her, she wrote roughly fifty emails in twenty minutes, drafted two settlement counter-offers, spoke with and scheduled another meeting with an last-minute client, called about ten people, did some complicated administrative financial stuff, talked another client of the metaphorical (so far) ledge, attended a reconsideration hearing which we quite soundly won, and then met up with the last-minute client before speaking to an accountant about another client's financial... ok, I actually got too tired to read the short novel waiting in my google hangouts after my two hour WDRC shift.
She's coming in early this morning so that she can prepare for the new hearing today and do payroll, with another client meeting peppered in there.
My sister, on her first day home from the wild weekend of funerals and family weddings, "slept in" until 7:00 a.m., carted one boy to Lacrosse camp, escorted a second less-enthusiastic kiddo to another camp, got in some bonding time with the remaining boy before retrieving the camping kiddos, dropping by Wendy's for lunch, got them all haircuts before jaunting off to the sports store for a baseball bat and water squirters (for the children, or so she claims... I'm not entirely certain of this). She then drove the eldest a few towns over for baseball, which prompted the inevitable tantrum from the middle-kiddo, put the youngest to bed after a minor crying spell, was interrupted in her bonding time with the middle kiddo by the neighbor girls who wanted her to push them on their epic new swing set, watched part of a baseball game with the husband, and then retreated to the kitchen (roughly 11:00 p.m.) to bake banana bread and put together party favors for the triad of birthday parties looming over the upcoming weekend. Two for nephews and punctuated with another kid's party requiring a rescheduling of the youngest kiddo's birthday party to a slightly later date. All of which was interrupted when, at about 11:30 p.m. toddler Sam started screaming.
I have no idea what my dad did, but I can only assume that he cured cancer, immediately realized this would probably put him out of a job (radiation oncologist), and spent the rest of the day analyzing his retirement portfolio.
Anyways, tired yet? Happy Wednesday. It's warm out and particularly in the upper bedroom, so I've slept pretty poorly. Today will be a concertedly slow day for me. Not just on relative terms, either!
Dial M for Mediation Which has nothing to do with the man-legs and socks that go with it
A Foretaste of Weekend to Come: The ol' bike-and-chain's succulently sodden gams! And bike socks, of course... We're gradually approaching a weekend ride of roughly 3-4 hours' length, pursued by a run + bike day that adds up to some other amount of hours and dirt.
I plan to indulge in the run and the "not hurtling down the side of a mountain in the mire" type schedule this weekend. If we ever get there. It's a lulu of a Thursday. This morning I am officially doing a family law mediation with the couple I met last week. I don't entirely know what to expect yet (probably bears), because I don't have a lot of background information from them. They seem pretty together, so it's a good way to wade back into the serene seas of third-party neutrality.
Serene or stressed out, it's going to be an involved three hours. Even in the most amicable of circumstances, figuring how to dismantle a longterm marriage and all the calcification built up around major life matters can be... complex and focused. After a brief respite, I'll then be off to the DRC for more training and volunteering. This will also be fun, but given the half-charge on my introvert battery, I have already warned my mud-stained boyfrianceband that I fully expect to introvert out at some point in the evening, so he's not to expect much interaction when he returns: "I'm not 'mad' I'm just 'physically incapable of processing any additional words or facial expressions and will scream if you continue to make them in my presence!' Love you! Now LEAVE, your breathing is too loud!!"
On the bright side, yesterday evening I decided that the odds of sleeping well amid the heat and the anticipation (logistical dreams about what happens if_____commencing within seconds of sighting a pillow) were low enough that half a dose of ibuprofen PM would at least ameliorate the 2 a.m. restless rousing without leaving me groggy. I was blessedly correct, at least in combination with having slept poorly the night before.
Oh, and my Friday looks pretty clear. Two afternoons ago, my mom decided she didn't have enough crap going on and took on a client with a hearing yesterday afternoon (and one next week as well, of course!). As such, she was a little bit preoccupied during our usual lunch and errands time. Since I'm obsessing over which beverages to put out (if any) and whether trail mix sends the "right message" ("hit the mix before hitting the road, Jacko"), I was happy to defer until Friday anyways. So, Friday should be pleasant if I'm at all sociable by then.
When we get there... before the mudslide... after the avalanche of papers and unresolved questions!
Ok, I'm ready to get ready to get ready! Really!!
The Twinkle-toed Tides of Change Neap Out Again And/or ebb... I'm not super nautical
As we wind up week two of our irregular regular week o'June (so basically June just wasn't normal - but what is normal anyways, right?), some things went as planned and others have gotten... interesting. Really. I swear. This will be interesting. My life = totally riveting and fascinating. From the top of my trail-mix strewn mediation desk to the soles of those silver sneakers that flocked my Friday "Morning Stretch" encore session.
Mmmmmm-mmmmmm-good-old-mediation day went well. My clients are likable people and they get along surprisingly well. My conflict resolution skills were left mostly in the old kumbaya briefcase. I think my facilitative "let's break things into steps, and figure out how to make a start through the morass of five-million things to do all at once" skills were deeply appreciated.
There's actually something comforting about Washington's "90 day waiting period" (the soonest you can get a dissolution finalized after it has officially begun). Perhaps it was initially intended as a means of stalling imprudently hasty divorces. In which case maybe have been better policy to affix that waiting period to the time spanning a wedding license and wedding ceremony. BUT nowadays, it serves more as the "you're stressed out and not thinking straight... you seriously want to enter a Parenting Plan bequeathing your children to the Church of the Almight Zuul in exchange for a marshmallow fluff swimming pool? Maybe you should sleep on that" waiting period.
And after that first burst of "EVERYTHING HAS TO CHANGE AT ONCE" I find it's actually kind of a relief for people to figure out that they can get small steps started and then buckle in for a more graduated plan of semi-conscious-uncoupling.
It's interesting to watch the idea of divorce evolve over time. In my little bubble, there's not much stigma around it. I'm glad my parents unhitched early on. And, perhaps it's a glib personal analogy, but I tend to have warm feelings and amicable interactions with most of my exes. I can appreciate the ways that we complemented each other without breezing over the ways that we didn't, and I love the space to be able to appreciate and feel gratitude. And, viewing marriage as a partnership above all else, I see partnerships form and dissolve all over the spectrum of human alliances. It just doesn't seem that strange to me for a divorcing couple to care about or support each other.
But that idea (outside the bubble) still has a lot of pushback, which I see when I peep outside of my bubble, from friends and family who want to either flee from the "divorce plague" like it must be catching, or to coerce each other into righteous indignation and perhaps a TP-ing party at the pending-ex's new condo.
My sense: Marriage is a lot of work. I think it's beautiful to commit to that early on, and it's why Andrew and I put each other through such a vetting process. Because if it's a lot of work, shouldn't it be work well spent?
But back to ME (MIMIMIMI), I felt good about my ability to verbally parse a big explosion of "EVERYTHING'S CHANGING AAAH" into smaller landmines of change with the reassurance that we could figure out something for the time being, get the waiting period started, and then let things play out for a little bit before figuring out the longterm (i.e. should the child be bequeathed to Zuul or cloned so each parent can have one unsullied by the nurture effects of the other, and the original destroyed for optimal fairness?). And, not wanting to waste their time or money, I got things wrapped up with two hours to spare. I was feeling pretty awesome.
But then... as I escorted them happily and stuffed full of trail mix and water, EVERYTHING CHANGED!!! AAAAAH. Or, I got an email from a colleague who also volunteers at the WDRC asking me if I knew anyone who might want to apply for Vanessa's job. Vanessa. As in the Case Manager who has been supervising my volunteer work. As in the very pleasant person I had devious introverted plans of turning into a friend through repeated exposures and bonding over our deep love of spreadsheets and office supplies... As in... well, Vanessa! We barely knew ye. The job posting he forwarded mentioned that the position was available "immediately" with interviews to start next week. A bit taken back, I got on the ol' email and gently inquired of Vanessa if (1) this was good news of broader horizons or harbinger of WDRC anomie relating to her untimely death during a mediation between lion and lamb that went south, (2) whether I should still come in as scheduled that afternoon. Turns out, a job opportunity that she couldn't resist hit her out of the blue and she took it. And further, to my relief, turns out that she'll be around for the next month to train and transition to the new person.
Initial relief subsiding, I succumbed to the nagging ambivalence about my future decision not to apply for a job that would theoretically be rather perfect for me in about 1.5 to 2 years. See, the thing is, my job at Englettlaw is the best job in the world. Sure, mom-boss is crazy and the exasperating derangement of the clients is only outmatched by their ex's and most of the other attorneys' in town. But, I work with mommy. I get to pick and chose my kind of work. I can be picky about clients without going bankrupt (a huge leisure for a new attorney, and for any attorney in this field/town/environment). I get to do the fun part of lawyering (legal research, complicated analysis, and school paper type briefs arguing novel ideas!). And I don't have to do the stomach churning battles and runs to court and dealing with emotionally devastating cases where there are no right answers and the best-possible outcome is both unreachable and not that great to begin with. Plus, I have a treadmill desk, a pretty office, and I can set my hours to be as ridiculously early and variably as I want. Usually with the full aid and abettance of mom-boss herself. Oh and despite her claims that I'm worth far more, I get paid an overly generous hourly. Given the kind of peaceable work I prefer, I'm not likely to top that anytime soon.
BUT, mom-boss won't be here forever. And in the next incarnation, the jobs opportunities are uncertain and unlikely to be nearly as self-indulgently Adella. At least not without my initial go-to of working portably with an olio of hats (mediation/pro-se assistance/collaborative law/hopefully maybe Parenting Coordinator/barrista at Starbucks... etc.). Case management and archiving have been my default "if I could find a job that wouldn't require me to move... that would so be a great fit for me" theoretical future alternatives.
So, frenetic-future Adella thinks "what if this is the one opportunity to get plugged into a job like this?" while present Adella fans herself in her treadmill office and thinks "yeah, but free-time, money, hanging out with the moms, and inflicting the collaborative law minutes on several colleagues as part of her professional development..."
After 24 hours of roiling, I offered to increase my volunteer hours and mentioned I could fill in part time as an interim while they looked for a full time case-manager. Figure that way I leave it up to fate, and don't give up the sweet office set-up just yet. Ambivalence and anxiety about "shoulding to be be doing something" abated.
And having exorcised that lingering ambivalence, I've charged through to today. I enjoyed the aforementioned leisure of a flexible schedule by working on my flexibility with aforementioned mom-boss. That's right, we returned to Morning Stretch and that sea of silver. It was kind of awesome. Not just for the stretching, but for the overheard conversations. Apparently people there play Bridge, which reminds me of the little Bridge column that abuts my crossword puzzles. I like it because it starts off with a zingy quote and then delves into what appears to be some kind of Runic mystical language and/or korean. It makes me wonder though, is bridge hip again yet? Seems like the the same older age demographic gets into a lot of the same things and hipsters do, so... surely it's retro-chic by now. If I were at all the sort of person to not curdle at the thought of games, I'd have to investigate.
Chiree Chiruuu Chi-Rainy Morn of Dew I'm so poetic it hurts inside (the heads of others)
Made it!! Weekend has tumbled upon me like blankets unleashed from the third floor by a squealing nephew Sammy - a woosh and a high velocity crash of comfort.
Friday was a comfy cool down from the wild week that preceded it. We stretched with seniors, of course, then worked up a good froth of labor, before cleaning up and hitting the road to figure out that Comcast still sucks.
As a reminder: a few months back, our initial Comcast internet contract was up. Naturally the bill doubled.Naturally we commenced the annual reel of desperately attempting to find an alternate service, giving up, calling Comcast to complain, and being "upgraded" to another contract that offers "faster internet than we ever needed" (frankly, I can't actually tell the difference for my purposes, but whatever, it's fine) AND TELEVISION (WHOOOOOO). Of course, we didn't want the Television part of our cable services, but it was cheaper to get the faster internet plus tv than to keep our old theoretically slower internet.
Aaaand we had to receive the cable box into our house as if it were a welcomed guest. And leave it connected. Otherwise, I dunno: Comcast would come and beat up our poor imaginery Sphynx cat. Or maybe just track down my "poor" abandoned psycho-Karl, whose been removed to the custody of his grandparents for the safety of all involved (except, say, my mom or her boytoy, who remain on the front lines with shock pad perimeters). I dare Comcast to threaten Karl. In fact, I may have to send Karl after them next time I have a quibble worth calling over.
Anyways, I guess since we didn't really want the tv, we never clarified what kind of television we got. With the Tour de France coming up, I grew curious and attempted to find out. So, we get HBO. All the HBO we could possibly consume. And some channels in Russian, a few home shopping networks, some of the local channels. Some, like Encore and Cinemax, I know we don't get because the box informed me so. But, for most of the other "basic cable" type offerings, the channel just came up as "unauthorized" which I assumed meant that we didn't get it, but I couldn't tell. Also, the local channels were coming in and out.
Growing more inquisitive by the instant, I went onto my xfinity user site to try to figure out what channels/what package we got back when we "upgraded": Couldn't figure it out. Everything I clicked on tried to upsell me to other packages, and the sales page did list everything from a super basic to the most obscenely extensive tv menu on tap, but none of the packages matched what my sampling represents as "our slate of channels" or the name on our monthly bills.
In many ways, this has simplified life immensely. I was afraid we'd slide into cable-box dependency once the Tour hit full fever pitch. And that post-tour weaning would prove insurmountable, allowing Comcast to ensnare us yet further in their web of Comcrapy Customer Contempt.
At the same time I already feel completely overwhelmed at the things I want to watch on our, Netflix, Amazon Prime, and free internet tv. Having the option of all those other diversions and "things to watch" was giving me panic attacks. So, my sincere thanks to Comcast for continuing to make using their services unappealing. While there are no alternatives for internet in the area, there are plenty of different ways to watch tv. So, guess we'll keep the box because we have to, and gear up for the next battle after the inevitable upgrade campaign in about a year.
Anyways, tv thrills, aside, we had a pleasant Friday evening. Andrew decided that his upcoming 6ish hours of weekend cycling demanded a better bike than his back up at work. So he picked up the Hei Hei (HEY HEY, Girlfriieeeeen') in Fairhaven with the promise that he'd bring it back to the shop for them to work on it as originally requested. And we met at the Colophon, which has expanded to double its space, but retained the irrascibly happy quirky waitress who makes those qualities work. Unlike much of Fairhaven (locally sourced artesenal yuppie/So-Cal emigre chic), The Colophon still retains some vestiges of the days when the Fairhaven neighborhood reeked of pot and pachouli, and granola just crunched a bit crispier. With the new remodel, some of that is obscured, but their staff carry the laid-back collegiate vibe straight over the quinoa salad and bread boards.
And now for Saturday... the weekend before The Tour and with little more to do than to laugh at the triathletes padding around Padden today (and/or the husband off mucking in the mud up a mountain for 3.5 hours today... for fun), while chopping veggies and not thinking about (1) the future, (2) my career, (3) Comcast's next move.
I anticipate pleasure. And chocolate. With coffee.
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