The Red Velvet Lawyer

          My Sister from Another Mother I've been in Doha for a little over two weeks.  I had planned a few more posts in my "Letting Go" series, but simply ran out of time in the run up to my departure date. But, I'm pausing before the semester starts to complete the series.  Today, I want to talk about my support system in Grundy.  This morning on Bloomberg International TV, I watched an interview of photographer, Sally Mann .  She talked about aching for her home state of Virginia and the deep kindness of its people.  I understood exactly what she was talking about. Over in the central Appalachian Mountains, Virginians give that kindness an extra bump up, something I always called mountain hospitality. In my thirteen years living in Grundy, everyone was extremely warm, kind, helpful, and loving.  They generously folded me into the community.  So, here is my tribute to the folks who provided the ...

Praise from my  Risk-Taking  Role-Model I shared Dottie's farewell email  earlier.  Dad's farewell email follows.  Some of the references require some explanation. Many relate to his pioneering work in dentistry.  As background, I am the eldest child and only daughter in a family of four kids. My Dad and Mom married when my Mom was 18 years old and my Dad was 20 years old.   As newlyweds, they moved from a small farming town in central Illinois to St. Louis while my dad completed dental school at Washington University.  They lived in a new public housing project, Pruitt-Igo , that gained the reputation as a failure in urban planning. In 1972, the Department of Housing demolished it in a fabulous implosion . When we lived there, in the late-1950s, we were one of three or four white families.  During the 1960s, St. Louis experienced a period of "white flight" from the ring of suburbs,  including University City, located...

I've talked about letting go of family in an earlier post.  After the visit in July from my Dad, Jerry, and my Stepmom, Dottie, I got a couple of emails that I'd like to share.  If you want to know how I have the "courage" to make this move as a 61-year old woman, these emails provide some insight.  I am reproducing them with permission.   My Dad married Dottie several years after my Mom, Jo Ann, died of colon cancer at the age of 61.  Dottie, with a Ph.D. in education, brought along a large extended family that placed its large and loving reach securely around Dad.  She has been a generous, supportive, and loving spirit in my life.   Hi Paula, tutoring [for at-risk grade school readers] ended yesterday.  Just saw your posting of old cabinet and assume you sold it.  How is the rest of moving moving along?   So happy we had a chance to visit.  And love the posting you made on/lauding your friendship with Kenn An...

Pitching Part  of my  Professional Identity I don't know what it says about me, but I am a very organized pack rat.  My ADR books are alphabetized by author.  They are now neatly packed in boxes with labels showing the alphabetical run included in each box.  For years, I have created elaborate filing systems for research materials.  At two former law firms, I created "Brief Banks" that allowed our lawyers, especially newer ones, to easily access different forms, sample pleadings, and research. After joining ASL, I created a filing system for the expanding materials I was collecting on negotiation, mediation, arbitration, group facilitation, client counseling, collaborative law, restorative justice, conflict theory, ADR system design, communication skills, teaching tools, student well-being, and leadership, just to name a few of the included topics.  The collection filled 12 file drawers and about five boxes.  My re...

Saying "See You Later" to Kenn Ann I am actually very good at maintaining links to old friends.  Facebook has certainly made that easier.  I always seem to have one good friend during each stage of my life or for each locale.  One of my oldest friends, Kenn Ann, visited this past week-end.  She was my best friend during my years in high school and college.  We've been friends ever since.  We spent several hours talking about that period of our lives, as we have in the past, and still discovered new things about our relationship. I have always said, and she agrees, that I made her be my friend.  In high school, as an immigrant from Indiana, she was not a part of the cliques with whom I moved comfortably -- whether smart kids, female jocks, or artists.   (I'd been in the school system since second grade.  I'm on the first row, far left, sitting cross-legged in the light colored top.   My best friend, Gwe...

Going Further from Home and Family This holiday week-end, my Dad, Jerry, my step-mom, Dottie, and my grand-niece, Paige, drove the long trip from Illinois to see me before I depart in another five weeks.  We spent a rainy Friday at The Breaks Interstate Park so Paige could see the dramatic landscape so very different from the flat lands of her home state. This morning, I sent them home with a smile on my face, but I teared up on the way back into the house.  One more act of letting go. In fact, after I move, I will probably see them as much, perhaps even more, than I do now.  But there is something about putting an 8-10 hour plane ride (rather than an 8-10 hour car ride) between us that suggests a deeper, more lasting separation. My new employer, the Qatar University College of Law , will pay for an annual trip home.  It will also give me $5,000/year to spend on conference attendance -- some of which I will spend in the U.S.  But...

My Farewell  to a Staple Food I recently described myself as a bacon-eating Buddhist.  I know.  The contradiction is not lost on me. I grew up in the Midwest, the granddaughter of Illinois farmers on both sides of the family.  As kids, we would often visit the Drinkwater family farm located outside Virginia, Illinois.  The pig sty was not too far from Grandma Drinkwater's back stoop. Perhaps that made it easier to "slop" the pigs. Their sharp hooves dug up the mud, creating a squishy mud wallow .  (You would like the definition of wallow.) They would  . . . well, wallow in it, much to our delight. Sometimes, the pigs would lie up next to the wire fence.  We could reach our little fingers through the wire to rub their mud-caked hide that was covered in bristles. We watched their snouts probe the air and then the mud. We laughed at their squeals and snuffles.  Pigs! Later, out under the huge trees over in the side yard, sit...