Justice Prevails

My client from Tibet was granted asylum!! I am so happy and so relieved. What an end to this intense month. My client is finally out of limbo and can start putting the pain of all that she endured at the hands of the Chinese behind her. Now we can start working on getting her work papers, and eventually, on assisting her with getting her children here. She is the mother of three and has not seen her children since she sent them out of Tibet for their own safety. Can you imagine?

Thank God, Tara, Allah, Yaweh, Ganesh, and Buddha. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

In addition to feeling so happy for my client, I was psyched because the Judge gave me and my partner props, saying that we had done a great job and so thoroughly documented the case that she was able to go through the hearing quickly and spare my client the emotional trauma of having to recount all of the details of the abuse she had suffered. Not too shabby for my first time in Immigration Court.

I am so ready for a vacation now, I can’t even tell you. Raj and I leave on a plane tonight and head down to Houston. The first order of business is to sleep and sleep and sleep. Then, I’m going to go running, read, relax with my parents, brothers and friends, and try to recoup after this insane month. I am so exhausted, and I still have to pack!

Picture courtesy of the Rigdzin Foundation.

Destressification

As some of you may know, I have a rather unfortunate job situation where for the last few months I’ve been forced to do nearly daily battle, again and again, with the Anti-Christ, otherwise known as Dragon Lady, Evil Incarnate, or FBH (“Fucking Bitch From Hell”). This week, the war raged on, but I added something new to my rejuvenation arsenal.

On Tuesday, I had to sit in expert meetings for nine continuous excrutiatingly agonizing hours with Dragon Lady and a male partner. As I mentioned, I was incredibly grateful that the meetings were going to be chaperoned by the male partner, because I knew that Dragon Lady would at least try to play nice in front of him. I’ve seen her in action; she tries to soften her voice and forces her lips to curve up into a twisted mockery of a smile. Sometimes she even tries to force a laugh. The awkwardness is painfull to watch and makes me uncomfortable whenever it happens, but it’s preferable to verbal abuse.

The Dragon Lady was in rare form; not even the presence of the other partner kept her in check entirely. Throughout the meetings, she kept breathing heavily, muttering “fuck” and “shit” in angry bursts, twitching her body, and bulging her eyes out at whoever she was interrogating, whether it was me or the expert. I’m sure the expert thought she had Tourettes.

At one point she started flaring up about documents that had not yet been sent to our expert as I was handing him the documents not 4 feet away from where Dragon Lady was sitting. I was standing at the end of the conference room table bent over a bunch of legal boxes, had just given the expert two of the documents Dragon Lady had wanted him to have, and was in the process of handing him the third when she started raising her voice, saying angrily, “Well, what about all the documents I told you to give to him? He needs to have them NOW. Fuck.” I turned to her and said in an icy tone, “Dragon Lady, I’ve just given him two of the documents, and am about to give him the third one.” The other partner did not say anything critical of Dragon Lady, not even when she was swearing in front of our expert. Unprofessional, anyone?

The meeting was not as awful as it could have been. But even so, by the time I got back down to my office, I felt like crying because I was so stressed out by all the tension and negativity. The woman is flat out toxic, and not the pre-Kfed, Britney kind of toxic, but rather the slimy, fluorescent, disturbingly radioactive, found in the sewers underneath chemical treatment plants kind of toxic.

I also wanted to cry because the meeting had run late and, in addition to being forcibly subjected to the Dragon Lady’s presence, I had also been forced to miss acupuncture just at a time when I knew I desperately needed some serious stress relief. As I was feeling sorry for myself and filled with passionate hate for Dragon Lady, Raj called and asked me to grab a cup of coffee with him. He had been working like crazy too, and we happened to catch each other at a break. I agreed to meet him and set out for the Starbuck’s located midway between our offices.

When I got there, I still felt stressed, and even though I still had a ton of work to do later that night, I felt in the mood for something stronger than coffee, so I asked Raj if I could talk him into a glass of wine. I can be very persuasive, and Raj really is not that hard to persuade into doing something he wants to do, so it was no surprise that ten minutes later we found ourselves sitting at the bar in a little French restaurant sipping glasses of wine.

A few sips through my first glass, sitting next to Raj as he rubbed my shoulder, I was feeling immeasurably better. Memories of the evil witch were being washed away. In their absence, I felt something else. Shall we call it a flutter of desire? In truth, I had thought about sex a few times during the afternoon meeting, and at one point had blackberried Raj saying, “we need to have sex,” and received quite a reaction from him. Something along the lines of “Now? When I have all this work to do and have to be here ’til late? Woman, you’re killing me.” Sitting at the bar, I mentioned it again, only this time I told him that he should take me home. Twenty minutes later, we were in a taxi on our way home. As I said, I can be very persuasive.

Here’s the amazing thing I learned from that experience: Wine, great sex, and a really nice orgasm work just as well as acupuncture or yoga at relieving stress! It’s amazing. Granted, the wine took a little time to shake off which impinged on my productivity a bit later in the evening, and yoga and acupuncture are obviously more healthy. However, the wine did destress me enough to allow me to contemplate sex, and thus was essential to my stress relief efforts, so it was unquestionably worth it. I’m pretty sure Raj agrees.

I’ve decided to try to have more sex during the week, even when I’m tired and stressed out (which is Monday through Friday), because wonders of wonders, it actually helps.

Dragon Lady can kiss my eff-ing ass. She can also kiss my ass because I have TWO, count ‘em, just TWO more days left until Raj and I are off for Houston! I can’t wait. We leave tomorrow at 8:30 pm, right after my hearing at Immigration Court for my Tibetan client. Wish me luck.

Gamla Mormor

On June 27, 2006, if my great grandmother had lived, she would have turned 100 years old. We called her “Mormor,” which in Swedish means “mother’s mother,” because that was what my father called her, as she was his mother’s mother. Technically, we should have called her “Gamla Mormor,” which means “old mother’s mother.”

Her given name was Elvstrom. I thought sometimes about giving up my last name, my father’s last name and his father’s before him, and replacing it with “Elvstrom” as a way of symbolically connecting with my maternal roots. Ultimately, I decided against it. My last name now is my father’s last name, a name shared by my mother, as well as everyone in my immediate family, and I like being identified as one of them. It would have been hard to reject that part of my father, even if he had not seen it has a rejection, and it would have been equally hard to choose one maternal root over another. How could I choose my great grandmother’s name on my father’s side instead of my grandmother’s name on my father’s side? Or, why not my mom’s given last name, or my mom’s mom last name, or my grandmother’s mom’s last name? You see the complications, but I digress.

I’m lucky enough to have many memories of my great grandma. Growing up in Sweden, and visiting during the summers, I remember picking wild mushrooms and blueberries with Mormor and Farmor in the same forests that they had picked mushrooms and berries in during World War I to support themselves. Before she moved into her apartment, she lived in the home that she had lived in for most of her life. It had a huge yard with a big tree and garden out back. I remember flowers and playing hide and seek with my brothers while my parents sat down for coffee and cakes. Everyone drinks coffee in Sweden 24-7, and guests are always greated with coffee and cakes. I like that custom.

When I studied in Lund, Sweden, I spent my weekends in Malmo with my grandparents and mormor. Mormor’s eyesight was bad, so she had to squint at the crossword puzzles that she did in the morning papers. We would sit around the kitchen table drinking coffee, her with her crosswords, Farmor with a magazine or a cigarette (eventhough she was on O2 and not supposed to smoke) and me with a book or my journal, chatting in Swedish and me trying to soak in their collective wisdom. In the evenings, while we played cards, sometimes we had a glass of Madeira port.

I wish I had had more time to know her. Many of my memories are of her cooking with my grandma in the kitchen. I remember her peeling potatoes in my grandmother’s sink like she could do it in her sleep, the skins falling away effortlessly in long coils. Both she and my grandma cooked with big chunks of butter, and made the most delicious cinnamon buns (kanel bullar) and cakes. They also made Swedish meatballs, pancakes, dill potatoes, cabbage rolls (which were actually awesome, despite the cabbage), tons of fish, and whip cream cakes for special occasions. At my urging, they one time made lutfisk – a fish soaked in ammonia for several days – which is a traditional Swedish dish served at Christmas time, all because I wanted to learn more about my heritage. Luckily, we also had tons of shrimp, herring, and potatoes a that meal.

My great grandmother was a strong, amazing woman. Until she passed away, Mormor lived on her own in an apartment that was covered with all of the beautiful embroidery that she had created over the course of her life. She ate a hard boiled egg each morning for breakfast, grew potatoes on her balcony, and told me that you have to accept things in life and go on because there is nothing else to do.

One time, when I was asking her about when she decided to get married, she told me that she had one summer which was wonderful and it was filled with dancing and fun. After that, she got married. When I inquired why she got married and how she felt about getting married, she said, “There was only one summer, and then I was pregnant, and that was the end of that.” She was very matter of fact. That was just how things were, and there was nothing to be done about them.

Thinking about her today, I feel sad that she’s gone, but grateful for the times I spent with her. I like to think that she and my grandmother, along with Farfar, my Uncle Thomas, and my Uncle Leif, are somewhere together and happy, in a place where my great grandma can see clearly, my grandmother can breath easily, and where Farfar is strong like he was before he fell off of the roof and hit his head.

One of the saddest thing about people you love dying, apart from them no longer being here to share this life, is that I always wonder if they knew how much they were loved. It seems so sad to me that they might have left not knowing what they meant to someone, or how much they are missed.

I like to think that I inherited some of my great grandmother’s strength, and that maybe, just maybe, she looks down at me every now and then and approves of the woman I have become.

Some Kind Of Crisis

I saw a snippet of an interview on the “Crisis in Boys” on channel 2 on cable today, and I couldn’t believe that they were still whining about that. My god. If there is such a “crisis” in boys, then why is it that girls still get paid as a group less across almost all fields, are vastly outnumbered by men at the top echelons in virtually every profession except for modeling and porn, are not represented equally in any law-making, law-enforcing, or law-interpreting body, are the overwhelming targets of male violence in the form of rape, domestic violence, and murder each day, and are still forced to largely carry the primary – if not entire – burden of raising children, cooking and cleaning for no pay within the home?

For a crisis, boys sure are making out like bandits.

The fact that anyone can look at today’s political, legal, and social climate and determine that there is a crisis in boys, underscores, yet again, the massive institutionalized inequalities facing girls. If we are to believe the proponents of this so-called “Crisis in Boys” theory, and take as a given that boys do worse in school, have more emotional problems, suffer from more learning disabilities, and are basically getting their asses handed to them on a platter by good little girls who can sit quietly in their seats, listen to the teacher, and learn, the fact that men continue to dominate over women politically, economically, legally, and socially begins to look even more starkly as if it is based on clear-cut gender discrimination.

If meritocracy was alive and well, and if we again believe the proponents of this theory, our society should already be a female-dominated paradise. Yet, sadly, this is not the case.

Here’s what would put a stop to this so-called “crisis” in boys: Parents who discipline their boys, teach them equality instead of entitlement, restraint and communication instead of violence, and respect instead of arrogance.

Houston Countdown

I survived another Monday. Go me! Today was busy, but I was damn productive. Damn productive. I only looked at celebrity websites once. Impressive, I know. I did work for my Tibetan asylum case that I have a hearing on this Friday, sent out discovery in my contested divorce case, and did a ton of Case-From-Hell prep work for two expert meetings set to take place tomorrow. I have to attend with Dragon Lady and another partner. Kill me now. It could be worse, I could be bufferless. At least Dragon Lady tries to pretend that she’s human in front of other partners. I also applied for another job – this will be number 4 – at a non-profit doing human rights legal work. I still haven’t heard back from #3, but I think the chances are looking slim as days continue to go by. Ah, well.

I have only four more days and then I’m off to Houston to visit my Dad, Stepmom, Mom, and brothers for 4th of July weekend. My mom just moved from Savannah, GA to Houston so this will be my first opportunity to see her new house. She painted the living room “Martha Stewart Purple” (deep eggplant) and another room “Martha Stewart Terracotta.” I’m sure it looks amazing, especially the purple (my favorite). I once had a gorgeous dark purple room in Washington, D.C. I covered the windows with wine colored sheets so that hazy pinkish light filtered through and bounced off the purple walls in the day time. It was awesome. Yes, I had just graduated from college and was bartending ’til 4 am and sleeping ’til 1 pm in the afternoon.

I haven’t seen my Dad since Christmas and am so excited to see him again. It will also be great to see my brothers. The trip will be significant for another reason as well, it will be the first time that Raj is meeting my Dad. It’s about time, I started dating the boy – originally – 2.5 years ago. I’m of course curious to see how they’ll get along, although I’m sure everything will go well. I always find that you see people in different lights when they’re around they’re families. Usually, I feel like I have greater insight into and compassion for who they are and why. I’m sure it will be good for both Raj and I to spend the time with my family.

He, of course, has one major request for the weekend. He wants to see a game. As I may have mentioned, he loves sports and he has a not-so-secret aspiration to visit a stadium in every city that he goes to. Like a good girlfriend, I’ve put in a call to my brothers, and will see what they come up with.

My major aspiration for the weekend, along with enjoying some QT with the fam, is to Chill Out. My dad has a pool and I plan to plant myself out on the patio for at least three days with a good book and a great big bottle of water. I’m reading “Snow” by Orhan Pamuk, a Turkish author. I can’t wait. I’m also looking forward to seeing Prue again! I may not have mentioned this but Prue is pregnant, so I’m going to get to see Prue’s expanding belly. It’s very exciting. I’m sure she is absolutely radiant.

I wish I could take my girls (two of my asylum clients) with me to Houston. How fun that would be to experience it through their eyes. They have so many questions and they are so warm and sweet. They’re also very honest about what they are thinking. For example, on Saturday while I was hanging out with them waiting for the movie “Cars” to start, the topic of divorce came up in a way that made it clear that the girls had never met anyone who had ever been, or much less thought of being, divorced before. I mentioned that my parents were divorced and the older of the two sisters looked at me with a start and said, “But, you don’t look like that, you look so happy all the time.” So cute.

Mission Accomplished, For The Moment

The last 72 hours were intense, and looking back on them now, it seems impossible that everything that happened within them happened only in 3 days. It seems like Tuesday was weeks ago, not days. My partner and I worked like mad finalizing the expert reports and my clients’ affidavits, writing the brief, and getting exhibits together, while trying to get the girls into a safe location, prepped, and ready for their interviews. In between I had to fend off a few other demands for my time at the firm, but effectively and firmly put the kabosh on them.

On Tuesday, there was a time when we did not know what had happened to my clients, and if the interviews were going to happen. They were not at the meeting place we had arranged when they were supposed to be, and for 5 nerve-wracking hours, my partner and I sat in the back of our car waiting for the girls to call my cell phone and tell us where they were and if they were ok. We feared that had been unable to leave their home and were scared that they might be hurt or afraid. I felt like throwing up, and by the end of it had ripped my nails down almost to the quick.

Then, miraculously, they called and told us they were on their way to meet us. They had waited until they felt like it was safe, and during that time they had not had any access to phones. I cannot express the feeling of relief when I finally saw them and ushered them into the car.

My partner and I then got the girls settled, read through their affidavits with them, and then prepped them by asking them the hard questions that they were going to face the next day. After hours of that, we left the girls in their hotel room and told them to try to get some sleep. Of course, they did not. They were nervous, sad, and also excited to watch TV, which they had not seen in six months, and to be in a hotel, which they had never done. I would have felt the same way if I was them.

After leaving the girls at around 10:00 pm, my partner and I went back to the the office and started working on getting all of their papers together and finalized. We finished at around 6:00 am, which gave me just enough time to run back to my house, brush my teeth, throw on a suit, and kiss Raj hi and goodbye, before I jumped in a car to pick up the girls and take them to their interviews. The interviews went well, and we will hear the results in a few weeks.

After the interviews, there were details to take care of in terms of getting my girls to a safe location. When that was done, I went back to the office briefly, and then before anyone could see me, ducked back out and stumbled back home on the subway. By 3:00 pm, I was in bed. By 3:05, I was out like a light, and didn’t get up until 7:30 pm when Raj came home.

Do you know what he did? He brought me flowers. Great big gorgeous red flowers. And he told me he was so proud of me. It wasn’t until then that I started to cry a little, overwhelmed by the last few days, and my feelings of stress, relief, nervousness, fear, anxiety, and hope for the girls, along with feeling love towards Raj for being such a great support these last few weeks. After waking up, I relaxed on the couch, channel surfed for a bit, suddenly remembered that we had HBO, and then started to watch “Antz.” I got up to make a berry smoothie, and to have some tomato-carrot soup. Other than that, I didn’t move, and was absolutely contented. I was in bed by midnight, and slept for a solid 8 hours for the first time in what feels like weeks. Before going to bed, I talked to the girls and they were doing ok.

I am so impressed and amazed by my clients. Despite dealing with tremendous stress and a host of difficult emotions, they held themselves together. They are truly incredible young women, with an unbelievable amount of inner strength. I think they’re going to make it, and I feel so lucky that I was given the chance to try to help them.

This is what life is about and how it should be.

Nasty-Grahams

72 hours. That’s how much time I have to complete everything I need to for my asylum case. I haven’t slept much because I am so scared and nervous about what is going to happen. I feel a bit sick to my stomach. In the midst of this, I ate a miniture box of Golden Grahams Cereal. Because my clients are young and don’t eat oatmeal, I had bought them some assortments of other cereals to eat for breakfast. Because they can not take everything at once, and because they reject some food, I’ve had a pile of sugary cereals, granola bars, and the like sitting in my office for the last few weeks.

Today, at 4:30pm, after missing lunch, I turned to the pile and opened the box of Golden Grahams. My god is that cereal disgusting. Don’t get me wrong – I was hungry so I ate it all. But good grief did it make me wonder about the state of our nation’s cereals for kids. No wonder kids have cavities. That stuff is nasty. Like little sweet flavored chips of dried cardboard.

Weekly Goddess: Ma’at

THE GODDESS MA’AT

Art Found Here

The Goddess Ma’at, is the Egyptian Goddess of Justice. She is the personification of “truth,” “balance,” and the “cosmic order.” She is represented as a woman with wings and a curved ostrich feather on her head. She holds a scepter in one hand and an ankh in the other. When the dead face judgment, their hearts are weighed against Ma’at’s feather.

Fighting Stance

Although I was highly resistant, and close to teetering over the edge into visible, open defiance, I attended the meeting, but I came on my guard and ready to fight. Prior to the start of the meeting, when it was just I and the senior associate (who I like, but who dangerously happens to be a master delegator), the senior associate asked me how I was doing. I said, “fine,” and bit the inside of my mouth to stop myself from ranting about FBH.

Then he asked me what else I was working on, and I frankly informed him about my asylum case crisis and the fact that FBH had been a nightmare, but that she had finally backed off a little bit over the course of the day. I told him straight out that I absolutely, under no circumstances, should be doing any work other than for my asylum case until Thursday, and that FBH was fully aware of the emergency situation. I was brittle, tense, short, and probably a little too expressive of my disdain for FBH. Oh, well.

The meeting started and I raced through disgorging all of the information I had in my head regarding preparations for tomorrow’s meeting with our Expert. Shockingly, I knew a lot. A hell of a lot more than I ever wanted to know about our Expert’s documents and the myriad of issues surrounding them. I managed to get everything pertinent out in under 45 minutes, eventhough a pesky new addition to the team – an associate who seems like a nice person, but who has only been on the Case-From-Hell for two days and thus has no eff-ing idea what she has gotten herself into – kept asking me substantive questions about the transactions at issue, questions that I had to wade through almost two years ago when I started on this monster of a case. She actually seemed genuinely interested in the issues. Poor thing. I give her three weeks before she starts cracking.

I’ll be nice to her, of course, and lead her to the path of awareness and rebellion. Have no fear. But I sure as hell do not have time engage in a legal debate about various accounting issues at the the moment. I left the meeting with no additional work (success!), and made it clear to all of them that from my perspective I was not supposed to work on this Expert again until next week. That should at least forestall some b.s.

After the meeting, I raced back to my desk, continued drafting documents for my asylum case, and then hopped on a subway uptown to go see CG. I knew I didn’t technically have time to go, but I thought it made sense to see my therapist after just having this massive breakthrough and professionally and strongly standing up to FBH. Sure enough, CG was delighted. She was especially delighted because of a specific shift in my thinking: Instead of internalizing FBH’s b.s. and making myself sick about her displeasure, I’m not letting her make me feel bad. I know that she is a nasty bi-atch, and I also know that I am doing the right thing and excellent work. I know that there is nothing wrong with me. This is what I told CG and she said, “Buttercup, this is so great, you’re going to make me cry.”

After my mental health break, I zipped back home, ordered and wolfed down some so-so Italian food, and then continued working on my asylum case documents. I went to bed after 2:00 am and snuggled against Raj’s warm body for a few minutes and tried to go to sleep.

Today’s Battle: Today, at 2pm, is the Expert Meeting and I anticipate that FBH is going to harass me with numerous questions throughout the day. At 2:30 pm my asylum clients are possibly supposed to arrive, depending upon whether or not it was safe of them to come. I have 5 hours to crank out more of their affidavit. During the next 5 hours, my goal is to avoid FBH at all costs. Wish me luck.

***

God Damn It!!! I was already sucked into an email exchanged with FBH. Jesus! She already sent out 10 emails this morning, and I made the fatal mistake of trying to be helpful on one of them. Then, in response to my email she sends and email to the whole group, essentially stating the main points of my earlier email, stating that she wants someone to follow-up and find “x” document and she doesn’t want to keep having to “map everything out.” Keep in mind, I was trying to help the eff-ing bi-atch.

Well, NO MORE. I am not lifting a finger to type another response to her for the next 4 hours.

My Brother Is Awesome

Last night I took a quick break to meet my brother, Ditter, at dinner at Bobbie Van’s in Midtown, close to where he works when he comes into town from Houston. I arrived before him and waited at the bar for a few minutes. While I was waiting, the bartender, and older gentleman, struck up a conversation with me. I told him that I hated my job, but that I loved some of my work, including my pro bono asylum work. Later, when my brother arrived, I asked to settle up the check. He said it was on him, and I protested, saying he didn’t have to do that. He said, “Hey, you do pro bono, I do pro bono too,” and smiled. Pretty cool.

Ditter and I talked mostly about work. He’s in banking and looking to get into investing. He’s so smart, handsome, and strong. He has achieved everything he has set out to do, and he will continue doing so. I am so proud of him. He told me some horror stories from his firm, and I told him about the latest skirmishes with FBH. His advice was to burn her on the way out. As in, writing a letter to the head of the firm explaining that I am leaving because I have found working with her intolerable, and that it was a great dissapointment to discover that my Firm tolerates such ill treatement of associates.

After two glasses of wine, I came home and briefly saw Raj. We have had extremely limited QT time over the last 5 days. He’s being remarkably supportive. Then I crashed and slept for 9 hours. Boy did I need it. This morning, I’ve been churning out work like nobody’s business. I’ve had to stave off additional FBH requests, but I’m holding my ground, although, at her express order, I’m supposed to attend a b.s. meeting at 2:30 with a senior associate about the very matter that I told her I could not work on b/c of my conflict with the pro bono case. We shall see what happens.

We’re making great progres on the asylum case, and that’s the important thing.