Live. Be. More.

I can't get to sleep
I think about the implications
Of diving in too deep
And possibly the complications

Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know I'll be alright
Perhaps it's just imagination

Day after day it reappears
Night after night my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away

Alone between the sheets
Only brings exasperation
It's time to walk the streets
Smell the desperation

At least there's pretty lights
And though there's little variation
It nullifies the night from overkill

Day after day it reappears
Night after night my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away
Come back another day

I can't get to sleep
I think about the implications
Of diving in too deep
And possibly the complications

Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know I'll be alright
It's just overkill
Day after day it reappears
Night after night my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away
Ghosts appear and fade away
Ghosts appear and fade away

--Colin Hay, Men at Work

The city is a nasty, dirty, disgusting, and unforgiving place. I love the city and I loathe city. In this city, D.C., I am growing. In this nasty, disgusting place I can find beauty and peace. In this city, I’m finding more than pretty lights and museums, I am finding myself. And I am finding myself in more ways than I thought. I am finding my legal self; refining my spiritual self; my compassion for life is growing; and my tolerance of ignorance and inhumanity is rapidly diminishing.

Add to the world: positive thoughts, good things, beautiful work, just add to the world, damnit. Don’t buy into intolerance. Don’t buy into racism. Don’t buy into social status. Don’t buy into structure. Live. Be. More.

Crash Site

We all lived through September 11. I was here at the Capitol that day. I saw the evil of our enemies written in the smoke rising above the Pentagon.

--A D.C. local

I thought having my own personal tour guide on Memorial Day was cool. How about your own personal tour guide any time you want? Now, that’s cool.

Stephen and I met up today at 10 am at the Jefferson Memorial. We had a list of places to head and all this had to occur before I had to work. He updated me on his dating life and how work was going as we pedaled on the Mt. Vernon Trail. We stopped on the north side of Reagan National Airport and watched the planes fly, literally, right over our heads.

We chatted and avoided the plethora of runners. I was overly concerned that I had a flat tire. Alas! I did not.
We pedaled through Crystal City and over to the Air Force Memorial. As a daughter and sister to men in the Airforce, it was necessary. This memorial is certainly visible from many places in D.C.; however it is cool up close.

The upward pattern is apparently how jets break away when flying in pattern and the layout of the memorial is a landing strip. The memorial didn’t strike somberness in me in me as much as it forced me to marvel at all the technology, all the power, the sheer fact that we can get in big metal objects and can be across the ocean in a few hours. The fact that jets take off of aircraft carriers is amazing.

From there we stopped at the Pentagon. Stephen has a friend whom lost a loved one at the Pentagon crash site. I can only imagine how much different the experience is for him to visit the site than it was for me.

My life in September 2001 came crashing into my surreal summer. I’m getting ahead of myself here. I’ll explain the Memorial first and then talk about the crash site. For the two are different.

The Memorial lies in the path the jet took as it crashed into the Pentagon. There are 184 benches. The benches facing the Pentagon signify those who died on the plane. The benches facing the plane’s trajectory were the lives that were inside the Pentagon. A memorial of the literal collision. Each name is etched on the front of the bench and there is water under each bench. The benches are aligned in decades, youngest life to oldest, 3-71. It is literally a timeline of 184 untimely and unjust deaths. If there are names etched in the stone under the water, those lives were lost as well and were related to the person named on the bench. I saw an entire family etched. The ending of a lineage, right in front of my face.



The water trickles. The officer cleans the pebbles from the small pools of water beneath the benches. It is eerily quiet. It is validly somber. Everyone at this Memorial, at this time, lived through September 11, 2001 (except for a few kids, details, schemeatails). Everyone here has a different story. Everyone here finds something different in this place.



As I look towards the Pentagon, I see the line of demarcation in the Pentagon wall where it has been rebuilt. All of the sudden the Washington Monument takes on new meaning. What do you think that meant to those who had to restart the Monument and see the line where construction ceased during the Civil War? Death? Freedom? A lost loved one? A useless, unjust, cruel war? A new America? A different America? A reminder of how cruel and heartless the world can seem?

What did I find in that line? I found a tear in my eye. I found a solace for the 184 lives that are signified behind me. I found that line in my life. I found my 9/11 crash site. I turned back around to the Memorial and wandered around some more.

I found it odd, at first, that the ground was covered in small gravel. I originally thought grass would be a better option; however, upon reflection, gravel fits the bill. There is a garden surrounding the memorial and the gravel is a contrast to that. It is raw and shows how raw the wound is. The gravel displays how recently this occurred. How fresh this event is in our history. How there is a Memorial not for people who chose a life of service to this country but for people who were literally in the wrong place at the wrong time, and, lost it all.

I wandered around and thought about September 11, 2001. The fight I had with my then boyfriend. The fact that on that day our relationship was over; I knew it but in my youthfulness I hung on for another couple of months or so (I’m not really sure how long actually at this point). The reality of what a different person I am today than I was in 2001. The crash of 9/11/2001 Michelle and 9/11/2011 Michelle and how drastically different the two are. Or should I say, will be.

The fact that this Memorial signifies so much to me is incredible. In a hundred years, it will be just like Pearl Harbor. Somewhat of a tourist trap, clothed in honoring the fallen; however, Pearl Harbor was different to those that lived through it. The Pentagon is much different for me than it will be for those that follow in future generations. It will be another D.C. must see. But the gravity of the Memorial will be lost on the tours and trying to cram in all there is to see in the area. The weight of how this country changed because of that crash site will be lost as the stone fades on the Pentagon wall and meshes into a less contrasting color. The significance of this place will not be what it was to me, to our generation. For future generations, it will not be a gush of emotion, a flow of everything I experienced that day and in the following weeks. Only the lives that experienced that Day can have the replay of those hours recalled at a moment’s notice.

The Pentagon Memorial therefore is, to me, a crash site. A crash site of a plane, a loss of life, a loss of innocence, a new way of seeing the world, a new way of seeing the United States. A new way of seeing myself. I rose from the ashes of my September 11, 2001 crash site today, June 26, 2011 at the Pentagon Memorial.

 

The Pentagon Memorial therefore is, to me, a memorial. A memorial to Lives that did not choose to serve to this country, a memorial to people whom did not seek out a name etched in permanence in our Nation’s Capitol. A Memorial.

From there we pedaled to the Iwo Jima Memorial. And then had lunch at Deli Dhaba. I pedaled to work.

Worked.



Came home to this.

Hmmm, bad dogs.  Now, you have no breakfast. 


Make me a witness
take me out
out of darkness
out of doubt
I won't weigh you down
with good intention
won't make fire out of clay
or other inventions
will we burn in heaven
like we do down here
will the change come
while we're waiting
everyone is waiting
and when we're done
soul searching
as we carried the weight
and died for the cause
is misery
made beautiful
right before our eyes
will mercy be revealed
or blind us where we stand
will we burn in heaven
like we do down here
will the change come while we're waiting
everyone is waiting 


--Sarah McLachlan

Outside the frame

My ex-professor (in the kindest way possible JAM) posted this on facebook yesterday:

Is humbled by the kindness of others.

I, too, share in this humbleness. Thanks to my friend, Laura, the boys and I received this package of goodies on Friday. On a Friday that was the longest day for me and a Kate Middleton overdose was exactly what the doctor ordered.

I’m not sure what I did in this life, or a past one, to have such wonderful people in my life. Kind, generous, uplifting, encouraging people; most of whom I met while in wretched law school. Laura did not have to send me a care package, nor did Nikki have to listen to me bitch and moan about my petty problems with my internship, while I am having an epic summer, and she has much more on her plate that I. Nor did Holly have to listen to my winoisms about the Feld v. HSUS (Humane Society of the United States) oral argument that I attended at the D.C. District Court last week when I know she had a million other things to do. (By the way, you can check out a brief summary of what this case is about here. Thus far, and in MY (emphasis added) humble opinion, this line of cases is not going well on the animal welfare front.)

Appellate Advocacy. I saw an amazing oral argument. It truly was a conversation between the judge and the lawyer about the law. It was quite exciting. I saw some great lawyering. However, the whole slew of litigation seems to be wrought with bad lawerying. Issues raised at oral argument that were not raised in the 248 page, amended 4 times, brief. A REALLY, REALLY bad witness. The Honorable Judge Emmet Sullivan, who has been dealing with this string of litigation since 2000, being less than enthused with the animal advocacy corner. (Yes, you read that correctly. 2000. 11 years.) Litigation that appears as if it was just designed to drag the Circus through the Elephant poo. (After thought: this is not my opinion, only how it it seems.)

Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not crazy about circuses, or zoos for that matter, however, it does not help the Cause if we have a District Court Judge who seems to side with Feld Entertainment (AKA Ringling Brothers) and think the animal advocacy groups have an ongoing conspiracy. It does not help the cause to have allegations of fraud and embezzlement.

Again, in MY (emphasis added) humble opinion, Feld Entertainment has a case. I do not think Judge Sullivan will dismiss the case. However, I doubt that the Judge will rule on this until the decision he handed down in 2009 comes back from its appeal. So, we shall see.

Perhaps this blog has a longer life span than first imagined; I plan to stay updated on this case.

Oh, wait, back to being humbled by the kindness of others. The point is this, my friends. I know some amazing people. I hope that, my modest in size but grand in knowledge, spirituality, and experience, circle of life continues to enrich my journey. I somehow got lucky enough to have a relationship with some remarkable people. Please know that I hope to enrich your life as much as you have enriched mine.

In all that surrounds him the egotist sees only the frame of his own portrait.

--J. Petit-Senn

Cheers to what happens outside the frame of this blog. You, my friends, give my existence true depth.
Cheers to you, JAM.  You are an amazing professor.  Thanks for your encouragement.  *clink*

When all your love is gone
Who will save me
From all I'm up against out in this world
Maybe, maybe, maybe
You'll find something
That's enough to keep you
But if the bright lights don't receive you
You should turn yourself around
And come on home

--Matchbox Twenty

Here is Laura's care package and the boys enjoying it.

A day at the office. . .

I have not snapped a picture of Collin but I have gotten one of Wolfie.

Thanks to my great coworkers I pulled myself out of a minor slump. Between feeling like I had ran down a rabbit trail for 3 days on a project concerning the International Whaling Commission, and having my class rank emailed to me, I was less than excited about my life today. But Elissa encouraged me and on my bike ride home Pandora treated me like I was riding on a magic carpet and someone had planned out the music far in advance.

In all reality, I had little reason to be upset. It’s my own standards and motivations which I hold myself too. Not some crazy boss, or overbearing father. I’m not being battered and abused for pursuing a lofty goal. I’m not being beat down, emotionally, mentally, or professionally. I am not expected to know it all, nor be an expert. I am appreciated for what little I can contribute.

What I do on a daily basis may seem little, however, I was reminded today that some of the stuff I compile will be used at the International Whaling Commission Convention in a few weeks, or will be presented to world leaders, albeit with some major tweaking. The gravity of what I’m researching came crashing into my lap. As excited as I am to be here, to be starting an amazing career, to be clear in my motivations and goals, I have also become very aware that research that I am a part of may just make a difference to issues that matter. Issues that make me shudder in my core. Issues that seem to be hopeless all of the sudden have a glimmer of hope.

Those that seek out movements and causes choose this because they need to get “something” from their work. That something cannot necessarily be defined. But that “something” can easily be extinguished by a hateful, or cruel person, or by a person who lacks the capacity to grow. I am so grateful that my boss appreciates my input. My hope for my future is that I am surrounded by a group of people whom are just as positive and encouraging as my current coworkers.

I will be attending Oral Argument tomorrow for the RICO Ringling Brother’s case. I have not had a chance to read the opinion (Trevor, a fellow intern sent me the citation; maybe I’ll read that for fun here in a few minutes). It is a bit convoluted and I imagine it will be quite awhile before a decision is made but it’s still exciting to attend.

Also I still continue to work on wild horse and burro case law research. I have become quite interested in the Whaling Commission and all the issues that surround it so I find myself gravitating back to projects that focus on either wild horses or whales. Not exactly what I expected to happen but I’ll take it. Every day is a new journey. Every day is a new lesson. Every day is a reaffirmation that I have learned something, that I am growing, that I am in the right place.

After work I met an exhausted Sheena and Ryne for a dinner on the Mall. I was stoked to see a familiar face and enjoy some easy company. We had planned to catch the Marine Band on the Capitol steps but they were exhausted from being tourist, so we parted ways. Stephen and I ran into each other and we listened to the Marine Band for 40 minutes or so. It was quite invigorating to be listening to a band on the steps of the Capitol as the sunset in front of us. It was such an enjoyable experience. I found myself imagining the Mall at the different dates that the songs were written. (And since I have been on a tour or two, I know that at one point parts of the Mall were underwater, or swamp, or pasture). I found that I somehow blocked out the Frisbee tossers, and the Kickball Militia. Instead I saw horses and fancy dresses (oh, how I feel for those men and women walking around in the dreadful D.C. heat in those layers of dresses, or suits). I imagined the President riding a horse instead of being in a car. I imagined the many changes the Mall has experienced. I imagined the ever changing landscape of our Capitol.

I know I’ve said it but again, this journey is amazing. I work with some amazing people. I have made some amazing friends. I have some amazing experiences.

If you don’t want my fire then don’t come around


Ben Harper

The kindness of strangers

If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world.


Francis Bacon

Change. Change is good. Challenge is good. I’m not the same person I was two days ago, nor will I be the same in two days. I strive to grow. I strive to be more.

I’m upset with myself that I wished I had been another person in the past. If I had not been me, I wouldn’t be living this. Had I not been me, then I would not know challenge, I would not know adventures.

Even people in D.C. think I’m neat. I’m not another face to them, or maybe I am and they are playing me for a fool; however, the people I have met here have been genuine, and honest, and so helpful. Most of all, the people I have met here have been encouraging. They have been inspiring. They see hope in the future, which forces me to see the same hope. The hope that things change, that the future is mine to do as I wish. And to do as I wish, requires some judging eyes along the way, but those judging eyes hold no candle to my desire, to my drive, to my motivations to stand witness to a complete upheaval.



I met a professor-esque gentleman at the wine bar I visited this evening. He finds law school necessary. He found my motivations and goals admirable. He found my dogs to be the same amazing creatures as I know they are. He took time out of his day to encourage me. To tell me to continue, even when it sucks, even when I think I have nothing to give. To continue because I’m needed, no, wanted. And I wouldn’t be here, right now, on this journey if I was not to be part of some movement.



Movement. It’s funny. I joined my “notchurch” in Knoxville right before I left for D.C. And as I think about it, I didn’t join a church, as much as I joined a movement. I joined a group of people who question the world as much as I do. I joined a group of people who question the status quo, who want to know where their food comes from, or why you believe what you do. People who don’t judge. A group of people that may practice Judaism, Islam, Christianity, Paganism, Taoism, you name it someone practices it. Yet I’ve never been judged. I’m welcomed. And when it’s all said and done, no one ever agrees on any one thing, however, we all desire change that for the most part is similar; therefore, we work towards a goal.



So I push forward. Although I may have been discouraged and hopeless a few days ago, I see hope today. Thank you, Greg, fellow wine enthusiast, doglover.

The unreal is more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on.


Chuck Palahniuk 

Defining my mission

My life has changed. It’s been morphing for a few years; however, today I understood the full capacity of that change. Today I embraced my atmosphere, my company and today, I realized my life was on a path. A path with many stop signs, and “do not enter”s and “wrong way”s. Thank you, Universe, that I took the wrong way.


I have left a lot of people in my past. People that held me back; people that lacked spiritual capacity; people that amassed things, rather than experiences and relationships. I hold no contempt; however, I am glad that those people are in my past, for I could not continue with my future had I continued to surround myself with these people.


Blessed are those who are flexible. For they bend. Had I not been flexible I may not have been here. I may not have started law school. I may not have experienced this. A life that I made. A life that has a mission.

A life, that hopefully, changes another life. And that life, in turn, changes another. My path has been quite pastoral and I would have it no other way.

I finished a memo today. And I began work on wild horse and burro case law research. This case law research concerns wild horse and burro population, usually in western states.  The Bureau of Land Management sets a quota and rounds up the designated number of horses and burros.  The equines are subsequently auctioned off to "good homes," where they will be cared for and humanely treated.  I'm sure that some end up in homes like this, however, I'm sure some are sent to slaughter, or abused, and neglected.  (Because, let's face it here, these horses and burros are auctioned at extremely low prices, usually $100-$400 each). 

My main issue lies in the fact that these round-ups are usually prompted because cattle farmers have permits from the government to graze their herds on this land and clearly a couple hundred horses and burros pose a threat to the amount of grassland and water sources.  Furthermore, these roundups would be similar to herding a bunch of wild dogs, or coyotes and then auctioning them off as household pets.  These animals are not household, domesticated pets.  They are wild animals, that lived and thrived in the wild.  You may be able to teach an old dog new tricks but it's pretty damn tough to "train" the wild out of the animal. 

The horses and burros that are old, sick, or are not sold are either euthanized, or sent to other herd management areas.  But, these other areas are usually already full, therefore, the inevitable happens.

After work, I walked home with my boys in tow and then headed to the cinema for a free documentary. A documentary that I lived, as I sat there. If you are a horse fan, or an animal lover in general, check “Buck” out. It’s a great story of one man’s passion and commitment to horses. It’s a story of how humans fail horses, sometimes, and in turn create monsters.

We as humans fail animals--constantly, consistently. You have a heart for the dog in the animal shelter? You have barely scratched the surface. Dominion over animals has turned into cruelty, advantage, and profits. You care about a kitten on the street corner, what about millions of of pigs, cows, sheep, goats, turkeys, and chickens that are tortured? 97% of the animals in the country are killed in order to feed us.  And yet, still, we have people starving. We torture animals in mass quantities and have not addressed the fact that the earth is not feeding the majority of its inhabitants. We, as Americans, throw out more beef, chicken, and turkey than some countries see in year. And all this meat is subsidized. Our taxes pay for part of the farmer’s profit. Meat should not be as cheap as it is. And yet, we continue the process. We allow the continued cruelty in order for us to buy a 99¢ Big Mac, or double cheeseburger, or big, beefy burrito crunch.

I love animals, but I also love my fellow human. The human has failed the animals we were supposed to protect. The human has failed his fellow man. The human has failed, as far as I see it, the human is self-indulgent, self-absorbed, and unable to change.

**I did not address the exact means of torture and abuse in factory farming and what atrocities occur in CAFOs because I am aware that a few of my followers don't want to hear the gory details.  I do not want to polarize the issue, nor sound like a zealot.  I stive to be an advocate.  I strive to have a dialog about these issues.  If you care to know more, please email me, or phone me.  I will happily discuss the myriad issues that surround the continued government sanctioned torture of animals for food.**

By the way I'm headed to this today.

When the poo flies. . .

I woke up bitter this morning. I’m not really sure why. Maybe it was a mix of paying bills on a house I don’t live in, while I’m paying a pretty penny for modest accommodations in D.C. Maybe I have settled in and its just a case of the “Mondays.” Maybe it was that I miss my mountain bike terribly and have been resisting the urge to take the clown bike off road. Either way I was bland and just putting myself through the motions.


My mood was lifted a bit upon realizing that it was the most perfect D.C. morning. The sun was glistening perfectly from behind the clouds. The temperature was a perfect 70 degrees with a slight breeze. In an instant, my walk to work was starting to look up. However, upon Strauss taking his morning poo, my case of the “Mondays” came roaring back into my reality. As I obediently cleaned up his lovepile and tied the bag in a knot, my brute strength ripped the bag in half.

Poo went up, and subsequently came down. The shit did not hit the fan, instead it splattered across the sidewalk and my bare feet. My first thought was “well, golly, I hope I have another bag in my backpack because I would hate to leave poo on the sidewalk.” As I fished for another baggie, I looked down to find the bulk of Strauss’s poo all over the front of my dress. Yes, the front of my dress. Good thing I was not supposed to “dress smart” today, as I literally had shit on.

I looked down the road in the direction of my house and quickly decided it was not worth the time to walk back and change. Therefore, I marched on. I did a quick inventory of my life and plastered a smile on my face, as I was determined to focus on how gorgeous of a day it was. I marched through all the SuitsandTies, and business suits, and FancyHeels with my poo stained summer dress. Upon arrival at my office, I quickly washed my hands and tried to clean up the front of my dress as much as possible.

I did a quick mental inventory and thought, “of the all the places to have dog poo on your dress, the Animal Welfare Institute would be the ideal one.” My case of the “Mondays” seemed to be diminishing.

I began working on a Memoranda of Law for my boss. I had told him that I started on it Friday but it took me a weekend of thinking over the subject matter to really figure out how to approach the topic. It concerns an extremely complex area of law (for me anyway). The more I wrote the more I found myself asking another question; therefore, doing more legal research. What I expected to finish today by noon is still incomplete and with a few more questions to answer. However, I have enjoyed writing it and loved the fact that I was able to see the holes and try to find an answer.

I have researched committee and subcommittee reports. Read the Marine Mammal Protection Act of 1972, as well as all of its amendments. I have actually learned how to use Lexis, efficiently and effectively. (It only took me two years!) I can actually see why legislative intent matters. There is so much that is to be read in between the lines, so many unseen forces, motives, expectations, none of which can be adequately portrayed in the actual words of the statute.

None of my research thus far has produced the answer I was hoping for; however, I have learned so much in the process that I’ll put a tally mark in the win column for myself, and a tally mark in the loss column for the cause, at the moment anyway. But alas, there is tomorrow, mayhaps I will stumble across something that will illuminate some loophole that I have not thought of yet. With the law, the possibilities are endless.

My case of the “Mondays” did not last all day and although I was hoping to have the memo finished, my replay of the day seems mighty productive.

I even forgot that I had poo on the front of my dress until a gentleman at the dog park tonight at 8 pm pointed out the “stain” I had on the front of my dress. I thanked him for letting me know, stating that “I must have missed that when I walked out of the house this morning.” I laughed on the inside and went back to my modest row house and watched the sunset behind the other row houses with a glass of wine and two happy dogs. Outside of a Robin by my side, I could not have been more content.

“Health is the greatest possession. Contentment is the greatest treasure. Confidence is the greatest friend. Non-being is the greatest joy.” --Lao Tzu