Summer Daze

Oh it is a cold and rainy gray day in Manhattan today.  And, despite my pledge of healthy eating and exercise, I managed to inhale an enormous lunch while planning drinks with friends tonight, Wednesday night and Friday night. Why, she said in a rather heavy-handed set-up, it's just as if I'm learning to be a summer associate again!

Well, ho ho! As it turns out, I am going to be reliving my summer associate days in a way. In a strange, happy twist of fate, I'm going to be helping run our program this year which will translate into shepherding 45+ sweet young things through work assignments and fancy lunches, 4 am karaoke nights and sailing on the Hudson.  It sort of boggles my mind. What can I say? I'm both excited and pleased with a heaping spoonful of trepidation mixed in. I cautiously voiced some concerns to some pals (mainly about me being old as the hills and married and not all whhooooooo! parrttttyyy! and hey, what about my cases?), but as my friend E gently explained to me, my role may be more along the lines of a "smiley approximation of authority" than 24-hour party person.  To which I say, phew.   

AND.  Did I mention that part of this gig is getting totally shielded from all other work?  Work like lawyer work?  Billable work?  Briefs and memos and conference call work?  It speaks volumes of my dorkatude, but I am already a little wistful for my cases.  Nonetheless, not being one to look a Mr. Ed-sized gifthorse in the mouth, three months is a pretty nice break from the usual routine, eh?  I'm looking forward to it.

I have to say, I loved my summer back in the day.  After my first year of law school, I got a grant to do public interest work and did homeless advocacy in Berkeley.  My 2L year though, I bit the bullet and interviewed at a bunch of firms, agonized briefly over which one to chose, and ended up in the right place for me.  I worked in one of the California offices and my memories are of working quite hard actually (it's not all ice cream trips and fancy lunches), writing memos and acting truly ridiculous with my cohorts. 

Yes, there was a weekend in wine country, picnics on the beach, a retreat in LA.  All of that.  But the hands-down best event was white-water rafting.  A (now retired) partner, Larry, who I loved, led the charge every year.  Larry was a corporate guy, but was heavy heavy into Native American culture and artwork.  He devoted a huge portion of his time doing pro bono work for a tribe in Arizona and his office was covered with paintings and bronze sculptures.  He wore a heavy silver turquoise bracelet that I noticed my first day shaking his hand – and I remember thinking, "huh, interesting." (read: what kind of hippie place was this alleged "white glove" firm anyway?)

So Larry has big into the white river rafting and organized a trip up to Oregon every summer.  We – DK got to come too -- met up early in San Francisco on Friday morning, got on a bus and drove for eight hours to the campsite.  And the bus ride!  God, we had to watch endless footage of Larry on various class 5 rivers, some instruction video and, disturbingly -- Deliverance.  Yes, Deliverance – a movie that haunts me to this day.  Nothing quite says Camping Trip Woot! like backwater crazy hick rapists, am I right? 

The rafting itself was a blast, with heart-thumping maneuvering and dips and rocks and lots of water splashed everywhere.  At one point, DK pulled Larry back into the raft when he went ass over teakettle after a particuarly steep bump.  And later, we all sat around a giant camp fire passing around a bottle of hideous moonshine Larry picked up god knows where, telling stories.  We all slept out under the stars -- per mandate that the night was "too beautiful for tents." (hippie). The outfit that organized the tour woke us up the next morning with mimosas and fresh mango and sizzling bacon.  Then we sort of floated down the river (there wasn't any hard rafting that day), lolling about in the sunshine. 

I wonder if January is too early to start daydreaming of outdoorsy fun.  What's that? It's frigid out?  Right you are.  But we are going on vacation in eight short days in warmer climes.  Oh sun, old friend, can't wait to see you.

Comments

[The Over-Thinker]

Here's to the summer ahead! (minus one disturbing movie & a few slugs of oh-just-maybe-a-sip moonshine) Unless of course they added to the whole experience, then by all means....BYOB (Bring Your Own Banjo!)

[AmK]

Please. Please. Why do you torment me with memories and visions of wet, delicious California when we are clearly HERE, in cold, grey NY, which is, I don't know if you've noticed yet, is NOT California and is almost the diametric opposite of said Sunshine State.

I don't know what I'm going to do upon the necessary and permanent relinquishment of all things summer at the urging of an actual jobby job. Cry, I imagine. And, quite possibly, throw myself to the floor and threaten to hold my breath. Which always helps things I've found.