To the supervisors

To the supervisor who came into my office while I was on my lunch break, looking in a small compact to assess the situation of dry skin on my nose after a couple of days of extreme sneezing and running noseyness, I was not picking my nose. I'm afraid the way I jumped when I saw you see me may have indicated guilt and I did not address it at the time for fear it would be more incriminating to stammer an explanation about dry skin while you were asking me an important work-related question. I think it's clear you misunderstood the situation when you later apologized for interrupting me.

To the other supervisor who came into the the seemingly abandoned hallway, I was simply adjusting my undershirt. I'm afraid the frown on your face indicates you thought I may have been doing otherwise. I did not address it at the time for fear it would be more awkward to explain such down the length of the hallway. I will save such adjustments for the semi-privacy of my own office.

Lumberjack junction

The parents asked for our help with their property north of town. Our mission: clear the land of fallen trees. My personal goal: learn to use a chainsaw. As soon as I saw my dad going to it, I was overwhelmed with the desire to get behind the saw and feel the power. My first couple of trees were awkward, but I got the feel for it and have to say - good times. We spent last Sunday afternoon up there...and most of today. Exhausting work, but somehow good work. There is something about the kind of work you can see progress over the course of hours. I find it particularly fulfilling after a week appointments where one can only conclude, "you can't predict human behavior." That doesn't stack up to a pile of wood, a sawed dead tree, or a cleared forest floor. A little exercise and some fresh mountain air and well....some donuts.

Sunday, I ignorantly brought jeans to wear. My mom said, "are you sure that's what you want to wear up there? Are you sure you don't want some sweatpants?" She returned with a classic pair: teal in color, white drawstring and taper, elastic ankles. I completed the outfit with a flannel shirt with undertones of teal...and orange....and purple. At times, lost in my comfort (let's admit it folks, there was a reason why some of us wore sweatpants out and around...in public. They're comfortable) I would look down to see myself in these sweats and begin to feel slightly ill. Today, I updated my look with a pair of yoga pants. Wider legged, black. And I'm shocked to say it, but the sweatpants are by far the better lumberyard attire. With a tight elasticized ankle, there were no concerns of creepy crawling things making their way up my leg - not so with the yoga pant....it was like an invitation. Also, the sweatpant is made of a good sturdy material. They made it through some intense log dragging. I'm afraid my yoga pants tore after some rough branch encounters.

I'm sure we were quite a sight and can only hope the neighbors will give us the benefit of the doubt and assume we can clean up nicely. Dena - you were missed. We could've used your muscle.

So that's how it works

As I left the courtroom yesterday, the private defense attorney thanked me...not the response I normally get for my work, as it is typically in opposition of their argument. We rode the elevator down together. He gave a heavy sigh and I made some comment about imagining he's ready to be done with the case, as it has been in and out of court for over a year. "yes, it's the kind of case no attorney wants." "Why's that?" "No one wants to defend a case where you think the guy is innocent."
There was a duh moment for me, followed by, "You prefer to defend guys you know are guilty?!"
His non-chalant response? "Oh no! I'd rather not know either way."

Don'ts

If I were the photographer for "Glamour" and I toted my camera around, these are the scenes from my weekend travel time that would be printed with black bars over the faces of the offenders:

The woman in the seat next to me who berated her teenager on the phone about applications, previous jobs at Subway and letting Mrs. SoanSo know she was used as a reference, Telling her daughter she cannot hear her and will call back when she lands....only for her to call her daughter back immediately, continue with a new thought and then complain she can't hear her.

The older women in the same row who was clipping her fingernails....in public!....in a small and controlled environment!.....with no where for some of us to run to escape!...clip*clip*clip!

The man at Gate C26 who was playing with his naked toes while he waited to hear if flight 829 would leave on time.

The young woman who whipped out decadently delicious bridal shower treats like quiche, fresh veggies, a cupcake, and cocoa dusted truffles and ate while others watched. Okay....I'm guilty!