Sideways

The only way I know how to sum up my feelings lately is from a song:

You know it ain't easy

For these thoughts to leave me

There's not words to describe it

In French or in English

Well, diamonds they fade

Flowers they bloom

And I'm telling you

These feelings won't go away

They've been knocking me sideways

They've been knocking me out lately

Whenever you come around me

These feelings won't go away

I keep thinking in a moment that

Time will take them away

But these feelings won't go away. 

Sideways, Citzen Cope

What's in a Thing?

Lately, "things" have taken on a whole new meaning.  

Once you lose someone you love, things become very important.  A grocery list isn't just a layout of items, it's a way to remember that person's handwriting.  A ring isn't just a ring, it's a symbol of that person you can carry with you every day.  A snapshot becomes a precious commodity.  Even little things like spoons (my grandmother had very particular attitudes toward regular spoons and soup spoons) and fuzzy socks (we shared a mutual love of fuzzy house socks) and games (Scrabble) become a source of memories and rumination. 

For my family in particular, certain foods are now sacred.  My grandmother's love of jelly became a joke in our family:  If you came to visit grandma, you were probably going home with a jar of jelly.  I always had one jar in my refrigerator and another ready and waiting in the freezer.  In the recent power outage (which still hasn't been restored....), I lost the entire contents of my fridge, including my last jar of jelly made by my grandmother.  This was enough to send me into a fit of racking sobs for 15 minutes.  

Other things will cause me to stop in my tracks and reflect upon her:  red roses (while she loved all flowers, these were her favorite), hummingbirds (she could watch them for hours), boxes of chocolates (a necessary luxury...she could savor a box for a month), making and eating pie (a shared hobby...we loved fruit pies and hated pumpkin), going to the beauty parlor, vegetable soup...and on and on and on....

I have been staying at my grandmother's house, spending time with my grandpa and pretending to do schoolwork.  And something about being surrounded by her things is so incredibly comforting to me.  Sleeping in her bed, wearing her pajamas, seeing her pictures and handwritten address book, the knick-knacks she loved....all of those things make me feel like she's still here, at least a little bit.  I constantly remember her because her memory is literally everywhere.  Maybe that's morbid, but it comforts me.

But I know tomorrow I will have to go back to my big, empty, powerless apartment in Louisville.   Normally, I love returning to my apartment because it truly has become my home.  But this time, I don't want to leave.  I want to be here, with her things.  It sounds ridiculous, but I feel close to her if I'm surrounded by everything she loved.  Going back to Louisville will be a reality check--she's not here anymore.  I can't just pick up the phone and call her, I can't just hop in the car and drive to her house.  And as I sit in that big and empty apartment, there won't be as many reminders of her.  

My mom and I had planned to make jelly tomorrow at my grandma's house...until we learned that she had made jelly this past summer while we were on vacation.  She was going to give it to us at Christmas.  

So maybe it's just a few jars of jelly.  But you had better bet that I will cherish every last bite, just as she would have. 

The Best Teacher I Ever Had

It's taken me several days to figure out what to say here.  On Monday, I lost my true role model, my grandma.   

Suffice to say, I have nothing witty or cute to say right now.  I just want to share the lessons I learned from her that I will always carry with me.

1. Be confident, but humble.  My grandmother was not one to take praise, and she would shrug off most compliments she received.  And yet, she had a quite confidence and anyone who met her knew that she was comfortable in her skin and knew her capabilities.  I hope to find this balance.

2. Be selfless.  If I had to choose one word to describe my grandmother, this would be it.  After she turned 90, she finally started to let me people help her, even if it was more out of necessity than willingness.  She would do anything to help another person.  Anything.  Even in her last days, when she was in the hospital and struggling, she was concerned about my Mom getting enough sleep, my schoolwork, and my sister's comfort.  Down to the last moment she was worried about others. 

3. Be strong.  No one can ever compare to the amount of strength my grandma had.  She raised her brothers and sisters, worked during WWII, raised a family, worked, raised her grandchildren, and never once complained.  She showed her strength the most during times of grief.  When her youngest brother (who was almost like a child to her) passed away, she held her family together.  We often called her "command central" because she was the glue in the family.  She kept us going.  She was stronger than all of us put together and then some. 

4. You are better than no one else, and no one is better than you.  She truly lived as her brother's keeper...and yet she had the quiet confidence.  She constantly told my sister and I how we could do anything we wanted to, as long as we didn't step on toes along the way.  She wanted us to believe that we could be successful, but she also wanted us to reach that success with integrity. 

5. Family first.  A job is just a job, money doesn't make you happy.  He who has the most stuff...just has a lot of stuff.  Rich people aren't any happier than we are.  Family and friends are the things that really bring happiness and support.  Whenever I needed to be brought back down to earth (especially during my Vandy days), she could do it.  From her, I have learned to live more simply. 

6. Don't cuss, and don't talk badly about others.  I can truly say that I never heard her say a curse word...or a bad word about someone else.  To her, there was no reason for either.  The worst thing I ever heard her say was about Giada de Laurenis:  "I don't think think that smile is genuine."  

7. If all else fails, eat some dessert.  Until her very last day, she was cheered by the prospect of dessert.  Even if it is the worst day, a sweet will make it better.  She really didn't care if she was a 10 instead of an 8, she was going to eat her pie and ice cream (as long as it wasn't pumpkin).  Life really was sweet for her. 

She was truly the best teacher I've ever had.  I miss her already.  

Time for some dessert...

Bad Attitude...

...and I don't freaking care.  

Short version:  I've spent the weekend watching my dear, sweet, strong-as-hell grandmother become helpless and miserable.  Meanwhile, I'm watching those who love her fall apart.  I don't even have anything astute or poetic to say about it other that it's awful.  

There is no point to this post other that to warn my friends to steer far, far away from me.  I wouldn't touch me with a 39 1/2 ft. pole.  I oscillate between crying, grouchy, fine, hungry, not hungry, flat-out bitchy, needy, stand-offish, and more crying.  As Xtopher would say, I'm a hot mess.

So....Don't try to talk to me.  It's a mixed bag:  I may burst into tears at a word...or I may bite your head off and tell you to f*&^ off.   I'm worried that I will be kicked out of my tax class for throwing my textbook at my tough-as-nails prof...or I might just cry...in class...in front of my peers.  Fabulous.

If you see me, RUN.  Save yourself.  You know, like Jenny told Forrest.  

Inspiration-less

I have tried to write this blog post about 20 times, and each time I delete and start over.  So I'm just going to say it plain and simple:

I'm stressed.

The weekend began with 2 voicemails from my mother informing me that my 93-year old grandmother, and hero, was admitted to hospital and in the intensive care unit.  Needless to say, I ran out of work, went home to get my dog, some clean underwear, and a toothbrush, and drove home as fast as I dared.  The rest of the weekend was filled with heart monitors, oxygen levels, ordering food with no salt, and occasionally playing supervisor for my 91 year-old grandfather with dementia.  In total,  missed 3 classes and got very little school work done.  In short, I'm sleep deprived and screwed for my classes, and yet I still feel guilty that I left home to come back to school. 

As if school wasn't bad enough, I HATE my income tax class.  The professor has an attitude that I despise and I flat-out don't understand it.  So it takes me hours each week to do the reading and homework problems (I know...homework + law school = illegal)...and then I still have my other classes to worry about.  As of today, I still have not read one word for my international law class, and I think we're on page 300.  Oops.  That pretty much sums it up about school.

To add to school stress, I am supposed to spend every waking second looking for a job.  Considering that I sometimes do not have time to eat (but still am 10 lbs. overweight), I'm not sure how that's going to happen.  But each time I get my student loan statement, I am again reminded that I NEED A JOB.

I do have an internship that I love, and I really have no complaints other that it's been a big learning experience as I figure out how to balance school and work.  The only downside is that I'm the only law student enough to voluntarily work for free.  This does not help my other major stress-out factor...

MONEY.  Fixed income + mounting debt = Nuff said.

I have no clothes that fit because I apparently cannot stop putting carbs in my mouth.   Which makes my self esteem oh-so high!

Really, I could go on and on and on.  Admittedly, I am somewhat whining.  I do realize that everyone has similar problems.  I do.   And I realize that there are much larger issues in the world which are much more important than my measly existence.   But I just needed to put it out there that this is not one of my better weeks....

Here's looking forward to a bottle of wine and a better week next week!

Back in the Swim

For anyone who knows me, you've probably hear my horror stories/glory days about my former life as a swimmer.  However, 10 years of chlorination was enough, and I abruptly stopped swimming (at all) when I went to college.  I think I could count the number of times I've been in a pool (for fitness only purposes) since I was 19 on one hand.

Until today!  Thanks to my wonderful friend Becca, I hopped back in the swim of things this morning.  As I write this, my hair is wet, my skin is itchy-dry, and my entire apartment smells like chlorine, my left ear is full of water, and my shoulders hurt.  Good Lord I have MISSED THIS FEELING!

Considering that I'm still carrying around those extra 10 lbs. from my Chile excursion (damn bread and potatoes!) I plan on making it a regular event at least a few times a week.  

Let's just hope my hair doesn't turn green.  And I really don't want back those giant shoulders either.....

Milk vs. Organic Milk

A while back, my amazing friend Heather was stuck in a dead-end job with a psychotic boss (to say the least).  When she finally took her self-respect and left, she had the best leaving line I've ever heard...when the boss begged her not to leave, she retorted, "Honey, this job is the difference between me putting milk and organic milk on the table."  

Amazing, right?  Right!

Lately I've been thinking about those little quality of life differences:  Whole Goods vs. Kroger, Macy's clearance rack v. Ann Taylor, Z-Spa manicure vs. painting my nails at home.  More importantly, I've been asking myself how much they really matter.

This year, I have a major decision to make:  Firm or Non-Profit/Public Advocacy group?  And does choosing one mean the end of any type of career in the other?  To hear the law school gods speak is to think the answer is yes.  Whether that's true or not isn't really even relevant to my decision...I'm more concerned with the salary choice.  Choosing what makes me happy--working for a group dedicated to bettering the lives of others--means choosing milk over organic milk.  Actually, when my student loans are factored in, it might mean choosing milk every-other week instead of every week.  And no more half-and-half either. 

Two things are pointing me toward a definitive decision:

1. When I read job descriptions for firms, I am overwhelmingly bored and have to tell myself, "You could do it for a few years.  Really, you can handle 3 or 4 painful, boring, miserable, self-defeating years."  But when I read job descriptions at places such as the Southern Poverty Law Center, or at my internship at Legal Aid, I get really excited.  I am motivated to work.  When I think about the long hours I will inevitably be working, they seem less painful when I have a cause to fight for.  Those job descriptions make my eyes light up.  Firm descriptions make me look at my bank account and say, "Well, I should...."

2. In Chile, I really learned that living with less is better all around--less complicated, less stressful, less guilt.  Do I really need 5 variations of what is essentially the same black pencil skirt?  And moreover, does it make me any less of who I am if I have less material things?  I think the answer is absolutely not.  It's so easy for we women to be swept up in fashion and makeup and good haircuts and having the best party dress.  Or at least for me it is.  Maybe that's a character flaw of mine.  But I'm learning that those things really don't reflect who I am.  In Chile, I often went around sans-makeup (ok, ok, I can't give up my mascara) and wearing the same sweater all week.  I brought 2 pairs of pants and 6 dress shirts for 5 weeks of work, and  the thought, "oh my god!  I wore this last week!" never really crossed my mind.   In short, my appearance became much less important than the experience I was having.  (I could write an entire separate post on this...and just might!)

Those two things should speak volumes to me.  Sometimes you just have to take the road that works best for you, even if that road is filled with bumps and devoid of organic milk.  

Like all recent law school graduates, I'm positive my first few working years will be full of stress, long hours, and nights spent crying into my wine glass (note:  two things are certain in law school--you will drink, and you will cry).  But at least I will (hopefully) be able to wake up each morning and be proud of the work I'm doing....Even if I have to wear the same skirt and drink black coffee.