Things Said (and Unsaid)

It's been three months, almost to the date, since my last post.
Life got pretty exciting.
So exciting that I didn't have time to write.
So exciting that even if I did have the time, I wouldn't have been able to focus.

Sometimes we have stories we can share. Sometimes we have stories we can't. (And often times, let's be honest, we have stories we shouldn't share but do anyway).

Some stories cannot be shared because when we are in the middle of them they consume us. They hit every emotion possible and the intensity at which we feel those emotions leaves our head spinning. All we can do is hold on and see how it will all unfold.

Some stories cannot be shared even after they have ended because they are too dear, too personal, too full of love, too full of pain.

And sometimes, stories cannot be shared because there is the hope that, despite reaching a climax and conclusion, there is more to the story. There is the hope that even though the story's end appears to be well-written and finalized, perhaps it's really just a beginning, a beginning to a much longer and even greater story.

The story of the past three months cannot be shared for all of the above reasons. I have other stories to tell though (if anyone still wants to read them), but I'm struggling to find the strength to speak.

Until I find my voice again, I thought I'd let someone else do the talking...

Judge:  Are we on the record?
Hearing monitor:  Yes
Judge: [to no one in particular] There's an attorney from Dallas that I see and I never know what hair color she is going to have when I see her. Sometimes it's red, sometimes it's blonde, sometime's it's brown....but with Becki, she's consistent, I always know it's going to be red. I just thought I'd get that on the record.


Niece, age 3: [at Thanksgiving Dinner] This turkey is dead. But it used to be alive right?
Us: Yes
Niece: Did the lawyer kill it?


Judge: What do you do all day?
Claimant: Nothin'....Sir, I'm a crackhead.


Judge: Good morning counselor. It's always a pleasure to see you. I see you got the pink shirt memo.


Client: [to Security Guard] I found my attorney in the parking lot, isn't that great? And wouldn't you know, I got the prettiest attorney in the parking lot.


Unknown Man in Lobby: If you were stuck with a tiger, lion, and camel and had a gun with one shot, which would you shoot?
Unsuspecting Victim in Lobby: [shrugs shoulders]
Unknown Man: I'd shoot the tiger, erase the "line" and smoke the camel.


Security Guard: You're just a baby attorney, aren't ya?


Unknown Man in Lobby: [as I walk by] You need a wedding band.


Judge: Is this some kind of joke?
Me: Uh....
Judge: Jerrilyn and Becki Lyn?
Client: It's pronounced Jerr-Lyn, no i.
Judge: Ok. Then for the remainder of the hearing you will be Beck-Lyn.
*Client's name changed above.


Conclusions that can be drawn from the above statements:

Judges like consistency.
Lawyers kill birds.
Crackheads are honest.
Female judges pay attention to your wardrobe while male judges stick to hair color
Older clients are flirty.
Older men in small towns think they're funny.
I apparently look like a baby (again).
I need to get married.
And certain judges like to tease female baby attorneys with red hair and double first names by refusing to call them by their last name which is proper protocol.