Blanketing Life

What in your home is a snapshot of your life? Is it photo albums and scrapbooks? Pictures on the wall? Pieces of furniture? I recently had the revelation that much of the story of my life - at least the last twenty years of it - can be told by the blankets in our house.



I was washing a few loads of blankets today. A sleepover with ten fourteen year olds - who travel lightly with no change of clothes or sleeping bags - caused me to pull out a few stacks of blankets. They were sleeping in the basement, which is quite chilly at night. They may be too cool for sleeping bags, but I was not about to be responsible for them freezing for hours on end.



So as I washed all of these blankets, post-sleepover (after all, it was a group of fourteen year olds, almost all of whom had come to our house following two hours of basketball practice), I realized the story they tell.



There are the TCU blankets - some well-worn from my years in college, some acquired during trips as an alum. All purple and sporting a Horned Frog. A reminder of the great times I had and that the person I am today is in large part because of my years in college.



And the Lowes Island blankets. Navy blue and forest green. Relatively simple in appearance and size. Except for the Lowes Island club logo in the corner. A reminder not only of our time in Virginia, but also a measure of how far we had come. My husband was an Evans Scholar, the scholarship for golf caddies, memorialized in comedy in the movie "Caddy Shack." The scholarship that provided the financial means for Terry to go to college and set a path for his future. Most Evans Scholars caddy at private clubs; it is a source of pride for a former Scholar to one day join a golf club and support another generation of caddies. Lowes Island was the first club we joined and where we spent much time playing golf, swimming with the kids and meeting new friends. We're still non-resident members and I'm not sure we will ever give it up. Terry was very proud the day we joined.

Then there is the Great Falls blanket; a picture blanket of sorts. It has scenes of the Colvin Run Mill just a few blocks from our house in Great Falls, and Thelma's - the wonderful ice cream store that also sold a little bit of everything (including the Great Falls blanket). That blanket brings tears to my eyes. It reminds me of our wonderful years in Virginia, and will forever make me wonder why we ever left. It was a few years before I let anyone use the blanket; I wanted it to stay pristine forever. But then I realized that we needed to make it part of the fabric of our life, to snuggle up with the memories.

And some of the most recent additions to our collection - the blankets, much like the Great Falls blanket, from the 50th Anniversary of Infant Jesus of Prague church, our newest faith home in Chicago. Those blankets have joined us at football games filled with spirit (and perhaps The Spirit) and nights at home watching television together. They represent who we are now, where we have made our home.

Blankets have wrapped themselves around me in times of joy and sorrow, comfort and pain. They have warmed me, surrounded me with memories of the past, and are present as we create the stories we will tell tomorrow. The stories of our life.

Commuting Solitude

There is something to be said for the solitude that comes with driving to work. It's a solitude that I find myself craving from time to time. Or every day.

My commutes have always been at least thirty minutes, and often closer to an hour. Most people hate that kind of commute. I suppose I did not know any different for quite a while.

I never envied those who had a quick walk or bus ride to work. In fact, I always felt bad for them for living so close to the office. There was never any excuse to not make it to work! And never any reason to not stay late, since you could be home in just a matter of minutes.

Oh, mind you, I never drove to work in silence. I had my morning show I faithfully listened to, and my afternoon show I listened to. Sometimes I cranked the radio. Sometimes I played cds. But more often than not, I listened to my radio "friends." By myself.

I could laugh or cry or groan after hearing a bad joke. I never had to break up a fight or worry that what I was listening to was inappropriate for my other passengers. I did not have to speak to anyone. I rarely was on my cell phone, save for a call home to say I was indeed on my way home. I could have a snack or a beverage without sharing. It was me time.

I have not yet found a way to replicate that me time since I have stopped working. Car time was
just that, car time. I could not really do anything else other than drive and listen. Now, even when the kids are all at school, and I have the house to myself, I still do not have that complete me time. For when I am at home, alone, laundry beckons, dirty dishes stare me in the face, clutter eyeballs me. There is always something to do.

I don't miss the stress, the frustrated clients, the never really being able to leave work at the office. But I miss my car time.

When a stranger calls . . .

It happened again. The random phone call out of the blue that sends my head spinning and my heart wrenching. I know I should expect the calls since my contact information is listed, as I am required to do. What pray tell does this to me every few months? A simple phone call from someone looking for a patent, copyright and trademark lawyer; looking for someone to help them with an invention, a story, a logo for their company. As a registered patent lawyer, my registration and contact information is listed on the United States Patent and Trademark website. Not surprisingly, people call.



I generally speak with them for a few minutes. Explain that I am, for the most part, retired. I give them the name of an attorney friend at a big firm downtown who can either help them or direct them to another lawyer. I usually answer a few questions about patents or copyrights, but cannot give them advice without them formally retaining me as their attorney.



So why emotional roller coaster? Because every time I take one of these calls, I second guess my choice to be mostly retired. I enjoy the projects that arise every now and then from past clients and my former firm, but I've made the decision to no longer practice full time. It would be quite a commute into the city, my better half travels most of the time and the boys were developing an aversion to nannies, so it was my time to put my career on the back burner while Terry's takes off.



But the rush that I get when I talk to an inventor about their project - the adult conversation, the confidence I feel at discussing something that dominated my life for over fifteen years. In my selfish mind, I am sure I am a much better patent attorney than I am stay-at-home mom. Weren't my boys better off when I was working? Wasn't I a better person when I worked full time?



Maybe I should touch up my resume. Maybe I need to look into getting another au pair. Maybe I should hang my own shingle in my neighborhood. Maybe I should brush up on the most recent changes in the laws and regulations. Wouldn't that paycheck be so wonderful so we could again have new cars, and more vacations? And oh how I would love to go shopping for all of those darling work clothes and snazzy shoes.



But, alas, I take a deep breath, count to ten and give myself a reality check. Not right now. It really is okay to stay home with the boys. They love having mom around. They love not having a nanny. They love that I cook them dinner and take them to practices and help them with their homework. They love that if they need to talk to me, I'm in the next room - not a phone call away. I love not having work issues hover over my head all day and all night. Legal issues never take a break, nor do the lawyers who deal with them. I love not having to clear my calendar to attend a school function.



I was a great person and a great mom when I worked full time. And I was a darn good lawyer . . . still am. But I am also a great person and a great mom staying home with the boys for now. Both paths were and are right. And it is okay when that phone rings to want to put my lawyer hat back on and remember when . . . and okay that when I hang up from that call, I can set lawyering aside and be just as proud to be mom.