LAWYERS HELPING LAWYERS

Every year, when it begins to look like spring will never come, the Uta*h St*ate B*ar Associ*ation engages in this huge campaign to assist the troubled lawyers of this state. It's my favorite Journal issue of the year, I keep it in the office bathroom until next year's issue comes out and I can replace it with a new, better edition. Last year it was all about our tragic, inappropriate and continual drug and alcohol abuse. The Journal cover this year, featured this fabulous photo and the articles include---

A Friend in Need

What to Expect when you call Lawyers Helping Lawyers

Why are so Many Lawyers Depressed

"Ain't Stress Grand?"

A Sober Look Back (that's sober as in kickin' the habit, not as in serious)

Stress in Practicing Laaw & How to Minimize it from the Perspective of a Family Law Practioner

Stress Management for New Lawyers

Reducing Stress

That's not all, just the articles that I liked best.

So anyway, it's an issue that is just filled with uplifting facts, like

"Researchers at Johns Hopkins University have determined that Lawyers ranked number 1 on the list of occupations that were most depressed."

"A survey of 801 lawyers in the State of Washington found that 19% of the respondents suffered from clinical depression and 18% were problem drinkers."

I'm not even going to get into the suicide stuff.

Now that you are worried about me and feeling really sorry for me, I thought I would get to the point of this post. While I was in the bathroom crying and reading my magazine, I came across a solution -- it was right there in the Journal. A book review of "The 4 Hour Workweek: Escape the 9-5, Live Anywhere and Join the New Rich" The book is by Timothy Fe*rris if you want to pick it up at your local independent bookstore. I'm immediately drawn in by anything with a colon---so I jumped right on that article.

This guy decided to simplify his role and make himself "expendable" by reducing his work hours to 4 per week. With the extra time that he created he was able to "accomplish an amazing array of tasks, which include:

1. world record holder in tango

2. Princeton University guest lecturer

3. championship cage fighter

4. fluent speaker in Chinese, Japanese, Spanish and German

6. researcher regarding the Glycemic Index

7. break dancer in Taiwan

8. actor on a successful TV series in Hong Kong and China

9. TV host in China and Thailand

10. participant in motorcycle races

11. shark diving enthusiast

12. bestselling author

13. ultra-successful blogger!!!!!!

That's right, that's the bottom line, the final advice in this long diatribe about stress. And I think it's right on the mark. It's the life that would make me really, really happy. Especially the cage fighting. Other than the Princeton gig, it's everything I've always wanted. So, as soon as I clear all this work off my desk, I'm out of here. Call my cell if you need anything.

WHEN I GO, I LEAVE NO TRACE

Onward from vast uncharted spaces,
Forward through timeless voids,
Into all of us surges and races
The measureless might of the wind....

In the steep silence of thin blue air
High on a lonely cliff-ledge,
Where the air has a clear, clean rarity,
I give to the wind.... my pledge:

"By the strength of my arm, by the sight of my eyes,
By the skill of my fingers, I swear
As long as life dwells in me, never will I
Follow any way but the sweeping way of the wind."

From On Desert Trails with Eve*rett Rues*s

And last night we saw a fabulous about Eve*rett Ru*ess. It was written by our friend Debra Three*dy and she also had the starring role. He disappeared into the canyons near Escalan*te, Utah in 1934, leaving behind his family, his mother, to grieve and wonder for her boy.

It made me spend all last night thinking about Joan Didi*on and her "Year of Magical Thinking" following the sudden death of her husband and the tragic illness of her daughter, Quint*anna Roo (which really is a great name). D*idion won a National Book award (small consolation) and much has been written about the book--about it's heartbreaking rendering of her grief. It's the most poignant reading experience I have ever had, but not because of the eloquent way it describes the grief she felt at the loss of her husband, but because of the tragic, hopeless hope she had for her daughter's recovery. Her desperate, lonely attempts to hold onto her daughter through what turned out to be an extended and fatal illness. What made it so sad, and what made the rendering of Everett R*uess' mother's grief so sad, was watching them hope and hope for their children, knowing all the while that the outcome is tragic.

THE LOVE AFFAIR IS OVER-- IT DROWNED IN A PILE OF VOMIT

This is a fabulous story about my fabulous life, and I just want to share it with the world.

Last night the nanny picks up the kids and also picks up some Gi*rlS*cout cookies that the oldest child needs to deliver. She hangs out at the house for awhile and then she leaves to drive a kid to a dance class and while she is gone, the horrid beast pictured above climbs upon the counter and eats an entire box of Sa*mo*as. When I'm presented with this information upon my return home, I comment that the dog shares my taste in cookies. I then shrug the bad act off as typical (which it is) and go about my evening.

The Girlfriend has to leave early in the morning to fly to another city for work, and I am left to prepare the children and deliver them to their schools. As the morning progresses, I'm really happy that, despite the time change and my resulting fatigue, I'm actually ahead of schedule and I'm going to get the carpool to school on time for a change. As I am giving the kids breakfast, I look over and see a giant pool of dog vomit on the counter. Not only has the dog gotten onto the counter to purge, but she then walked through her own vomit and proceeded to leave vomit paw prints all over the counter, down onto the floor and in a leisurely stroll across the kitchen floor. It's nasty, but I've seen worse, so I just clean it up, shrug it off as typical and go about getting ready to go. As I am walking to the other end of the house, I see the dog sniffing at something or eating something under the coffee table in the living room. I go over to investigate and there are piles and piles of regurgitated cookies mixed with slightly but not adequately chewed up carrots and other unidentifiable substances. When I say piles and piles of vomit, I really mean it. The volume was easily 2 1/2 times the dogs body weight. Needless to say, nobody got anywhere on time today.


Also needless to say, I AM OFFICIALLY OUT OF LOVE WITH THE DOG!

Vile, vile, vile, and when I tell the nanny the horrid story, she says "Oh, yah, I forgot to tell you she ate some carrots too."

THE PATRON SAINT OF CASSEROLES

This is Saint Krista, my beloved paralegal. I took her out and bestowed sainthood because of the many food miracles that I have witnessed her perform. These miracles have consisted of tiny bites of things that she will sometimes give me from her tupperware. Tater Tot casserole made with Cream of Mushroom soup, Chicken Enchiladas made with Cream of Mushroom soup and oh those potatoes. I really love those potatoes. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think that the potatoes that were provided after the birth of my first child made me more willing to endure the pain of childbirth a second time. My nickname for my youngest daughter is actually "Tater." It's because her birth actually did result in a potato delivery and also because only she can bring me the same joy that those M*ormo*n Funeral Potatoes bring. I'm thinking of trying to break into the M*orm*on Cinema phenomenon by doing a flick called "The Funeral Crashers." It will be a weak knock off of "The W*eddin*g Cra*shers," and "Ree*f*er Ma*dnes*s" featuring a band of famished les*bian*s who dress up in pumps and those patterned sweaters from N*or*dstro*m and crash funeral after parties because they are addicted to the potatoes. I'm not sure it will ever be as big as "The S*in*gles W*ard" but I'm sure there must be some niche audience out there.