funny things.

Without fail, whenever I see something really funny I am without my camera.

There was a time when I carried around a big honking purse (which was actually a stylish and expensive laptop bag) for the sole purpose of carting around my old Nikon D50 as well as baby wipes, diapers, toys, and other mommie items, but mostly to have my camera close. Of course this is not the best solution for one with degenerative disc disease and chronic back pain. So about a year ago (after shooting RAW with a DSLR for 3 years, I thought it would be handy to have a nifty little point and shoot that would fit conveniently in my change purse... I returned it the same day after a dozen or so crappy shots. Oh well.

And sure, I have one of those so-called "smart" phones with a camera in it but those images suck too. --Besides, after my smart phone navigated itself to my ebay application and purchased for me a watched item while deep inside my pocket, I decided to password protect the damn thing... which kinda hinders the ability to access the camera function quickly.

So last week, I'm driving my son to preschool when I take note of the car in front of me, an older station wagon, being driven by an elderly man with two passengers - a white-haired older lady in the back passenger seat and a gray-haired lady in the front with one of those poufy-old-lady-helmet-hairdos. We're stopped at a stoplight and suddenly the helmet-head lady turns to the driver to reveal the elongated snout of a giant poodle smiling smugly. I immediately burst out laughing driving down the road fumbling to unlock my damn phone to snap a photo of the funniest thing I've seen in a while... The car turned off (I almost followed them!) and I missed the shot. But I'm willing to bet money that the woman in the back seat was the wife!

Fast forward through the hysteria and Easter maddness to this week...

Monday morning I arrive at Liam's preschool to find, not one, not two, but three vultures perched upon the swing set of the school's playground, presumably awaiting for a wounded toddler to hobble out and fall over for easy pickings. That's never a good sign. But oh what a picture!

And me without my camera, again.

"He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad. And that was all his patrimony."

...Rafael Sabatini

NoH8.

NoH8, a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

I met my girlfriend Felicia in kindergarten, lifetimes ago; she was one of my very first friends. And today, I'm happy to say, she's still one of my most favorite peeps.

Felicia is one of the most amazingly unique women I know... (and I am fortunate to know a lot of amazing women!) She has a heart of pure gold, an infectious laugh, loves Stephen King and the Beatles, is honest to a fault, a fiercely protective mother of three, a good wife, daughter, and sister, and is one of the most unconditionally loyal and selflessly generous friends I have ever been blessed to have in my life. --I have, on many occasions, felt less than worthy, but always thankful.

Of course, lots of people have good hearts, great laughs, and like the Beatles, but it takes a truly remarkable human being to give the gift of life as a human incubator... You see, Felicia is a gestational surrogate (pictured here in her third surrogacy).

Most of us hear talk of those freakish women who feel utterly divine during their pregnancy with the whole glowy thing and nesting instincts, baking and cleaning and multitasking like there is no tomorrow. --Personally, I was NOT one of those women; I was in fact a miserable cow and believed such women to be something of nonsense and myth conjured from a delusional male rumor mill... alas, it’s true, they are out there and Felicia is one of those freakish women. And, ever resourceful with her golden heart and generosity, she chose to use her powers for good, to help others who desperately wanted the family she has.

I won’t get into the details of the whole surrogacy process except to say, there is heck of a lot more involved than just sticking the proverbial bun in the oven; it’s impossible for me to imagine all the various testing, legalities, and poking and proding piled atop a 9 month sentence, but that’s why she’s the surrogate, not me.

This last pregnancy has a beautiful story, with a somewhat non-traditional twist... A tale of a loving and devoted, happily married couple unable to have a child of their own. Except that this baby has two adoring fathers. --That’s right, a happily married gay male couple - who obviously don’t live in California...

Which is what inspired me to do this shoot.

In November 2008, California passed the ‘Marriage Protection Act’ also known as Proposition 8, which declares that marriage is only valid between a man and woman in the state of California. As a form of photographic silent protest, The NoH8 Campaign was born, created by celebrity photographer Adam Bouska and partner, Jeff Parshley.

Personally, I am of the mind to live and let live and continue to wonder why we all just can’t get along. The reason boils down to the vast majority of people who vehemently believe that their way is the right and only way, forever and ever amen, period. Well, if that were so, then I think our Creator might have seen this coming, given pause in mid-creation of mankind, and went back to the drawing board. Besides, with regard to the Proposition 8 argument, heterosexuals in traditional marriages have no room to dispute who holds the title when it comes to domestic dysfunction... and after all, who produces more homosexual babies than heterosexuals?

A couple of weeks before she was due to pop, a small group of awesome people moved mountains and schedules to make this photo happen. Of course, I could have snagged any pregnant model and captured similar symbolism, but the legacy would not have been there... the legacy of love that is this baby’s life.

During make up, Felicia explained why she agreed to be a surrogate for this baby’s fathers as only Felicia could (to paraphrase):

“What is most important to me is that the baby is wanted and loved. When a gay couple chooses to have a baby, it’s most certainly not the result of a drunken one-night-stand or a failure in birth control. It’s not like a gay guy wakes up in a bad relationship and pees on a stick and oops, ‘I’m pregnant; we’re gonna have a baby’ and deals with it. They’ve thought about this and planned for a long time, they’ve gone through a lot, and spent a lot; that baby is wanted very much.”

And it’s true.

Shouldn’t the most important provision in any child’s life be that they are loved and wanted? Not race nor gender nor nationality, not faith nor social status, and not sexuality. If a child is loved and wanted, that is the foundation for a successful, confident, and genuine soul who will grow up to make a beautiful mark upon the world. Everything else is just a learning process.

The shoot itself was a lot of fun. More good times to add to my memory banks with Felicia. --As with any shoot, there is always one photo that stands out from all the rest. Often it’s not the one I originally envisioned, but it’s clear when I see it, it is The One. This photo is IT. And I love it. I love everything it stands for -- peace and love and hope - hope that one day, in spite of ourselves, maybe we can just all get a long.

Baby (boy) G. was born April 6th. Both of his fathers were present at his birth with front row seats, no doubt reaffirming their sexuality (anyone who has witnessed the miracle of birth knows exactly what I mean). I was fortunate enough to meet them both and Baby G. The love and excitement in the room was intoxicating and infectious. I felt like a happy spy witnessing something truly wonderful, special, and amazing, a historic cornerstone in our changing times, as I watched this new happy family discovering themselves, like any new family beginning the next chapter of their lives... And of course, Felicia was right, this baby is so loved, so wanted... and what a lucky little lamb.

Baby G. (NoH8 baby), a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

Then one of the dads asked if I’d like to hold him. Are you kidding me? What sane woman would pass up the opportunity to hold and snuggle a newborn? I practically threw my camera down. And then there he was, nestled in the crook of my arm, light as a feather and sleeping like an angel, smelling of Heaven.

He was beautiful and perfect. Just like love.

“They are preserving the sanctity of marriage, so that two gay men who've been together for twenty-five years can't get married, but a guy can still get drunk in Vegas and marry a hooker at the Elvis chapel! The sanctity of marriage is saved!”

...Lea DeLaria

Whataburger.

Whataburger., a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

Considered by many to be a Texas delicacy, I could not resist snapping a phone photo of my Whataburger while in Dallas, similar to this one, and texting it to my favorite displaced Texans...

For years I heard my ex-husband (also a Texan) and friends talk about this great, greasy phenomena and I always thought "waterburger" was a strange name for a burger chain. It wasn't until 2000 when I drove from Raleigh to Brownsville with my soon-to-be-ex-husband (to say it was a hellish haul would be an understatement) to finally meet my soon-to-be-ex-in-laws that I first had a taste of Whataburger. Sure it's yummy, in that clog-your-arteries kind of way, but not sure it was worth all the hype, but then again, I'm not from Texas so I suspect I am somewhat immune to the nostalgia.

In any case, my husband was the first to reply to my taunting text visual, stating simply that I sucked. However, my favorite response came quickly from my adoring sister, Elvia:

"I would cuss u out but I gave up cussing for Lent! Enjoy and I hope you get diarrhea!"

"Sacred cows make the best hamburger."

...Mark Twain

happy Saint Birthday.

the wreck. a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

Kevin is a Saint Patrick's day baby and as is customary, we must have his birthday lunch at an Irish pub, so we closed the office for a leisurely couple of hours to try out a new spot that had just opened near by just in time for the mad Irish rush...

Ballymor Irish Pub sounded great, mouth-watering even, on the web and I suppose to be fair, I'll have to visit another day when they're offering more than their holiday menu of three whole items served in fine paper Chinet with plastic cutlery before completely dissin' them.

En route back to the office on Six Forks Road, traffic had come to a complete halt... I was just beginning to wonder if there was a wreck up ahead when I heard the screeching of tires seconds before being slammed into the driver's seat in front of me. Holy hell... there goes my back again.

Poor Partner Esq. (previously known as The Associate Esq.) -- we always make him drive when we go out as he is childless at present and therefore has the cleanest and roomiest vehicle. And apparently also the safer of the two vehicles involved in the rear-end collision as the car which struck us was pretty much totaled while the Explorer maintained its dignity with only some bumper scuffing and the dislodging of the spare tire beneath the rear end.

The other younger fellow was shaken up of course but very nice and apologetic. We all waited together while Raleigh's finest did their thing and the wrecker arrived hauling off the other vehicle. The fellow began chatting casually with the guys asking where we worked...

The Husband, Esq. gave a little chuckle and simply replied, "Just right down the street."

"What do you do?" he inquired.

The Husband, Esq. and The Partner, Esq. exchanged comical glances before The Husband, Esq. said, "We're attorneys."

"Oh nice," the now carless driver says, "I just hit two lawyers."

The look on his face was priceless. (No one bothered to tell him that it was The Husband, Esq.'s birthday too and The Partner, Esq. was now running late for court...)

An hour or so later, my back is already on fire and seizing up on me so I dip into my emergency stash of pain relief while trying to score a last minute chiropractic appointment. As a result, The Husband, Esq. is charged with picking up Liam from daycare... only to phone me 20 minutes later to inform me that he had gotten a ticket for expired inspection. Oh yay.

I asked him if he mentioned to the cop that he'd already been involved in an accident. No, he said, but he did ask the officer why he hadn't wished him a happy birthday... the cop smiled sheepishly and told him he hoped his day got better.

So probably NOT Kevin's happiest birthday, but definitely one of his most memorable. Love you anyway babe!

Such is life...

"The return of my birthday, if I remember it, fills me with thoughts which it seems to be the general care of humanity to escape."

...Samuel Johnson

life is an autobahn.

This weekend was supposed to be my desperately needed Girl's Weekend, though not only is 'Law a jealous mistress,' she's also a trifling bitch who stacked this week's calendar for The Husband, Esq. with, among other festivities, a 2-day trial and 2-day mediation which meant either I gave up my Girl's Weekend or find myself a new job and a new place to live (read = hide) 'cause when The Husband, Esq. shifts into Trial Mode, well -- remember the Incredible Hulk Series when, in just about every episode, somebody would start some shit and David Banner would say, "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry." -- he doesn't turn green or anything, but my usually easy-going, joke-cracking, wise-guy hubby turns into a hyper-focused, ultra-competitive Pitt bull who is anything but fun to be around... SO, I packed up the offspring and headed to Virginia to play single-mom with my sister and left the hubs at the mercy of his Mistress...

His famous last words to me: "Don't get in trouble and if you do, make sure it's in North Carolina so it won't cost me as much." Doh, JINX!

Fast forward to Sunday's return trip back to Raleighwood...

On the NC border, Virginia State Route 85 is a nice easy stretch of divided highway cutting through miles of beautiful woods and farmland; not a bad drive at all really. Except for the numerous "Official Use Only" cut-thru / turn-arounds spaced every mile or two or three that just kind-of sneak up on you when you're barreling ass down the road. Sometimes with a car parked up in there. Sometimes the car parked up in there has little lights up on top, blue ones... like the one that pulled me over in Dinwiddie.

Once upon a time as a Criminal Justice student at WTCC, I incidentally discovered that having a stash of Criminal Law books in the front seat was a helpful gimmick for avoiding traffic tickets. Especially since, back then, most any badge carrying law enforcement professional in the greater North Carolina triangle area had studied under the much beloved Bob Decatsye and Mickey Williamson at one time or another. One peek in my window would strike a conversation about school on to, "How's ole Deke?" and end with a quick lecture on slowing it down and wishing me luck. Hell, it worked so well that long after I had left my studies to provide for myself, I kept a text book or two in the car for just such occasions... ahhh, those were the days...

As soon as I saw the Virginia State Police Officer sitting there in that little turn as I whizzed right on by in the bright red Jeep, I knew he had me so I went ahead and eased into the right lane and waited for him to catch up. Dammit! I thought. Great, I'm never gonna hear the end of it. I thought. Oh shit! What's the gun law in Virginia? I thought.

I dug my .38 out and placed it in plain view on the front passenger's seat in between my purse, camera, scratched CD's, miscellaneous junk, and kiddie provisions and prepared for the worst.

Hands on the steering wheel squarely at 10 and 2, I announced as the officer reached the driver's window, "I have a loaded pistol in the car."

"Is it registered to you?" he inquired without batting an eye.

"Yes sir."

"Not a problem," he said, "but ma'am, you were going 85 mph, and that's a problem."

He peeked in the car at the kids in the back seat at Isabel who smiled and waved and Liam, completely passed out, drooling on his seat belt. Too bad, he would have been much more excited about the encounter than I was.

The officer returned handing me my driver's license and the traffic citation for 85 in a 70 zone and proceeded to give me the court spiel and share with me tales of his last stop of two guys doing 90 mph who wanted to argue with him on the side of the highway, "I told him, 'Man I am not the person you need to be arguing with because you're gonna lose.'" --Yeah, I could tell that about him.

"Well," I said, "I know better, my husband is an attorney. Unfortunately, not licensed to practice in the state of Virginia though."

"I bet he's got some friends up here who can help you out," he offered.

"If he doesn't, he's about to be making one."

"A successful lawsuit is the one worn by a policeman."

...Robert Frost

(un)professionalism.

attack., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

pro·fes·sion·al·ism
–noun
1. professional character, spirit, or methods.
2. the standing, practice, or methods of a professional, as distinguished from an amateur.

So recently, The Husband, Esq., had a Equitable Distribution mediation in yet another tedious, though not exceptionally complex, domestic matter... or at least it shouldn't have been all that complicated as The Husband, Esq. had figured on settling the remaining issues in around 3 hours considering that a threesome of experienced, heavy-hitter legal professionals were allegedly working toward a common goal: getting the parties to agree on stuff within the confines of the law.

A mediation, for those who don't know, is a costly process whereby the two parties involved in the matter come together with their attorneys in a common location (though in separate rooms) and a neutral third party attorney 'mediates' (between the parties' rooms) through their respective counsels in attempts to reach an agreement in what is basically a last ditch effort to avoid an even more costly court trial.

The specifics of the matter are mute in this story even if I could tell it; what is important to know is that there's a certain amount of ethics that go into how attorney's behave themselves and rules of conduct and such, like not directly speaking to nor contacting the Opposing Party who you know to be represented by counsel absent of the courtroom and only while they are on the stand. (For Pro Se parties, that is another matter entirely because then you are your own counsel... and we've all heard the phrase, "...fool for a client.") And of course, it goes without saying that as a professional, one is expected to conduct oneself as a professional, play nice, use good manners, and all the other life lessons learned in preschool.

The anticipated 3 hour mediation began around 9-ish... and ended approximately NINE hours later. Hardly a record, but, well, you can imagine the frustration and irritation after spending an entire day arguing with no real break to speak of, not to mention, the heightened emotional state of the parties.

It was near this time of day that the Opposing Counsel was inexplicably compelled to stick her head into The Husband, Esq.'s conference room to fuel the fire and verbally slight The Husband, Esq.'s client. WTF? (Anyone who knows The Husband, Esq. should know that challenge and confrontation doesn't end well.) After a brief exchange, The Husband, Esq. tells her to GET OUT.

Not one to be told what to do, the Opposing Counsel appears yet again in the conference room of The Husband, Esq. with more copies of more last minute changes and revisions that had not been on the table for discussion and commences to pass them out between The Husband, Esq. and his client. Words are exchanged loudly and she is told again to GET OUT.

(Here's the good part...)

At this point, having nothing left in her professional arsenal of assault, this 50-ish Doctor of Jurisprudence / Opposing Counsel resorts to hunching over and waiving her arms and hands wildly about in a creepy spell-casting fashion, not dissimilar to a 12 year old bully mimicking the legendary boogie-man, and in a juvenile taunt exclaims, "Oooooh, Keviiin's getttinnng maaaad!" while backing out of the room like a lunatic... leaving The Husband, Esq. sitting there with his mouth hanging open, utterly dumbfounded and speechless. --A rarity indeed.

Again, W.T.F.? Really???

The good news is that in spite of the antics, the parties somehow managed to settle and The Husband, Esq. had a jolly good time reenacting the episode for his darling wife that evening and his staff the next day.

Of course, my personal fun in all this was coming up with a list of appropriate come-backs:

1. "I know I am but what are you?" (submitted by Alvin)
2. "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me."
3. In a Jack Nicholson impression from the classic movie, 'A Few Good Men,' "You can't handle the truth!"
4. "I'm tellin'." (again, Alvin) ...and when all else fails there's always,
5. Placing one's thumbs in each ear while waving fingers and sticking out one's tongue.

Just another fun-filled adventure from your friendly neighborhood law office! ;-)

"No letters after your name are ever going to be a total guarantee of competence any more than they are a guarantee against fraud. Improving competence involves continuing professional development ... That is the really crucial thing, not just passing an examination."

...Colette Bowe

happy 84.

a lifetime of love., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Today is my Grandma's 84th birthday.

She has certainly seen better days. Visiting her now is always bittersweet for me as the essence of the wonder-woman I grew up with has all but moved on waiting patiently for her soul to follow...

She's tired, I know this, and is winding down. Her health is failing and her appetite gone. It's hard to convince her to eat anything especially when she's quick to argue about the big breakfast she just cooked and how she can't eat another bite, even though it's 6pm and she hasn't been in front of a stove in years.

She sleeps a lot these days, making up for all that she's missed in her long lifetime I suppose, but a couple of weeks ago she fell into a deep, sound sleep giving quite a fright to all who love her. When she finally woke in the evening, she indicated to my aunt that she was fine and had spent the day talking with the Lord. The Lord told her that soon he would heal her and take her home; she said that was fine by her.

That is so Grandma.

Grandma has always had a strong faith in God though she rarely went to church. Her church was the outdoors, her gardens, her flowers, the wilderness, and wildlife. I believe Grandma knows the truth. I also believe that her truth is one of many.

She died once, many years ago on the operating table during a procedure. She told me of how she watched from above all the commotion as doctors and nurses scurried frantically about her body in attempts to revive her. Like so many others have recounted of near death experiences, she saw the "tunnel of lights" and felt completely at peace, ready for the journey. She saw a hand move away from her and understood that it was not her time... She awoke later in the hospital with vivid memories of her encounter.

When I was young, Grandma and I had many conversations about death and dying and God and what we thought happened next. We made a promise to each other that whoever went first would try our best to come back and let the other know we got there okay.

I don't know how I will ever face it, but I know that time is coming.

Kevin, the kids and I went to see her recently and took some of her favorite foods in hopes that she would eat: pimento cheese (yuk!), fresh strawberries, applesauce, and a couple of new things to try - blackberry flavored water and a Starbucks coffee.

Grandma always loved her coffee and sweet tea (the mother's milk of the south). After more than eight decades, I decided it was high-time she had her first Starbucks. So I took her one: a sugar-free 1/2 decaf. Cinnamon Dolce with whole milk.

Each time she tasted it, she said it was downright delicious. She ate a quarter of a pimiento cheese sandwich before telling me again about her big breakfast. She tried the blackberry flavored water and told me how she could make it taste much better because it wasn't sweet enough, "All you gotta do is stew some fresh blackberries with a cup or two of sugar..." she said, which kinda defeats the purpose when you're diabetic but I'm sure she was right. After a slice or two of strawberries, she began trying to feed the children, who were happy to eat Grandma's strawberries and Grandma was happy to see the children eat them.

"Okay Grandma, how about you have the applesauce and Liam will eat the strawberries, he hasn't been eating well."

I turned to my son, "Tell you what, for every bite of applesauce Grandma eats, you have to eat a strawberry," I said as I was cutting the berry halves into minuscule pieces.

Worked like a charm and both Grandma and Liam finished all of their fruit while Isabel gobbled down the remainder of the uneaten pimento cheese sandwich. Grandma was very proud of Liam for eating all of his strawberries. ;-)

84 years: 1st Starbucks., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

"Oh Grandma," I said for the dozenth time, "I brought you a coffee to try. It's from a coffee shop called Starbucks. I think you'll like it; it has cinnamon in it."

And once again, she would try her very first Starbucks latte and proclaim in surprise, "Well Crys, I've never had coffee like this before but this is downright delicious."

Happy Birthday Grandma!
I love you! Always and always.

"Grandma always made you feel she had been waiting to see just you all day and now the day was complete."

...Marcy DeMaree