Listens, watches and perceives what is meant, as well as what is said.

Has an inquiring mind–i.e., is a natural born snoop and eavesdropper and can read upside down.

Gathers information and stores it away like a magpie because it’s likely to come in handy at some point in the future.

Develops an intuitive sense of the law and is prepared to accept its contradictions.

Can diagram a whole paragraph as if it were a single sentence (which it may be) and can demonstrate the relationship and effect of the various clauses on one another.

Can converse in speech and in writing with anybody about anything, and cultivates a wide variety of connections.

Knows that “verbal” means words and can apply to written or oral communication.

Appreciates the significance of “verbal” and “non-verbal” because non-verbal actions can be significant as well–such as a handshake indicating a meeting of the minds in the matter of an oral contract.

Accepts that it’s better to appear stupid than to risk giving unlicensed legal advice.

Also understands that accurately communicating information between an attorney and a client does not constitute giving legal advice.

Understands that the words organize, organized, and organizing have less to do with a tidy desk than they do with ways of thinking and is able to operate within a variety of organizational systems.

Knows that the most important part of getting an answer is the proper framing of the question and continuously works to develop that skill.

Operates within a personal frame of legal ethics, being prepared to be persuaded of the propriety of a course of dealing, and being equally prepared to act, or refuse to act, in the face of impropriety.

When using a paper reference book, always checks the supplement.

Knows that careful adherence to all rights, protections and procedures under the law is vital for the protection of the individual rights of all citizens.

Wendy Kimbel, ACP, NCCP
Paralegal Assistance, Inc.
Mebane NC 27302

One of the dogs who learned it from K.C. was Ranger. Ranger came to live with me, along with his sister, Misty. (Misty just pretended to bark at airplanes; she was quite near-sighted). But Ranger barked at airplanes.

Then we ended up with Pippin, somebody else’s puppy. Pippin didn’t see all that well either, but his hearing was phenomenal. He learned to bark at airplanes.

Then the hound showed up. Now she could see. Lacey isn’t very bright on her own, but she was quick enough to copy the others, so she barked at the airplanes.

Then we moved, and we moved to a place where airplanes don’t fly over all that often.

A helicopter just went over. Lacey just taught Laddie to bark at airplanes.

K.C. passed at the very end of 1991. But we’re still barking at airplanes.

There’s lots of information about the cumulative effects of sun exposure to our skin and to our eyes. In fact, there’s lots of information about the cumulative effects of just about everything.

What nobody talks about is fingerprints. They wear off! Really. Sure, they don’t go away completely, but have you noticed that the paper has gotten slipperier over the years? Does it seem as if tumblers need to be grasped more tightly? Do you catch yourself about to lick a finger to get traction?

I kept cleaning the trackball on my mouse because it didn’t seem to be rolling properly. The problem is not the trackball. It’s my thumb, which wants to slide over the surface instead of moving it. In fact, the prints are more worn on my right thumb than on my left.

Humph.

Some years ago, my feet got half a size longer and it got easier to find shoes that fit. That’s when it really took off. I never went for anything outlandish in shape or height, but conventional, pretty shoes? Oh yeah, I was all over that.

As I got older, I adapted my preferences, giving more of a care to comfort. Office fashion changed as well and suits with two and a half inch pumps were no longer the norm. I still remember, with more than a tinge of sadness, the day I finally admitted I was never going to wear those beautiful dark brown suede numbers again and let them go.

Life changed again and there were days when the only people who saw me in my office were my best friend and my husband. That’s when I cut loose. Instead of sneaking new fancy dress shoes into the house, it became the latest pair of Teva sandals. Then it became Teva flip flops.

I got spoiled and my feet got spoiled. As much as I love the several pair of dress boots that I rotated throughout this cold and snowy winter, my feet were ready to be free. Heck, I’d almost forgotten what my toes looked like.

Today was the day. The temperature was to be close to 70F. I went for a conservative pair of dress sandals to ease into it, but as the weather warms, “real” shoes will again be gathering dust as my feet and I get happy again.

I hope you weren’t ill and that waking up dead was as much a surprise to you as to anyone. If that’s the case, good on ya–it’s the way to go. And even if it wasn’t that way, I can’t grudge you for getting out. You’d done your time.

Doesn’t make it any happier for those of us who are left, though.

In the next few days, I’ll be pulling down and copying your recipes that I use frequently. Other than the One Hour Yeast Rolls (and I can’t figure out how to do a link right now), I never copied your recipes because it was more fun to read the archives that went with them.

So, that’s it. Godspeed. I’m going to miss you.

Fie on elegance. If you want Dee Churchill’s one hour yeast rolls, got to the URL below and scroll to the bottom:

http://cbg-dee.blogspot.com/2007/11/talking-turkey-and-teachers.html

On Saturday I got up about the usual time, came downstairs and started on the coffee and breakfast routine.  Because I am a slow starter I’d already been at it for awhile when my husband appeared.

As he headed for the coffee pot, I decided it was about time for my third cup.  Since I am a creature of habit, I knew where I was in the routine.  At least I thought I did.

I picked up my cup and, just for fun, decided to have a good stretch.

And dumped half a cup of lukewarm coffee on my own head.

We laughed even longer than it took to clean up the mess.

I had the good fortune to attend public schools where there was none of that nonsense about hiding under desks. We were taught what a first strike zone was, that we were in one, and what that meant. We were also taught to how to exercise a little dignity in preparation for the day when it would be needed.

What we weren’t taught was how to deal with a world in which the Cold War was over.

When it did end, I remember having a hard time visualizing a world in which I might live a full span of years. I also remember deciding that it was probably pointless to try to do so as something else was likely to come along which would foreshorten the time.

There were times when I would begin to wonder about that foreshortening, but then someone would come along and blow up part of New York and I’d slide back into my comfort zone.

Now, at 51, I’m no so sure.

I’ve reached an age I’m already not supposed to have lived to be, according to that early life script. I’m finding it quite uncomfortable.

As the story goes, once upon a time, a long time ago, a young woman in a white dress was killed at night on the bridge. There may or may not have been a mist rising from the creek at the time, depending on the teller. She was either riding in a carriage which tried to take the turn too quickly and flipped, crushing her between the carriage and the bridge, or she was waiting on the bridge for a rendezvous with her lover and was hit by a carriage which didn’t see her. After a couple of hundred years, the story has gotten a little blurry. In any event, on certain dark nights, it is said that she can be seen on the bridge and her appearance has been blamed for more than a few close encounters between sides of the bridge and vehicles, even during my early lifetime.

Personally, I always figured it was a matter of careless driving or speeding and didn’t give much credence to it. That was before the time I was up there visiting my parents and had occasion to travel by the church one dark night–and damned near hit the bridge when I saw her.