Back to School

Today I attended ASU Law School Day. The ASU folks spent the day trying to sell themselves as offering a private school quality education for a public school tuition. This is not the official motto of the Sandra Day O’Connor Law School but the memo about the theme had certainly made the faculty rounds.

I was happy to reconnect with Blair, an L-1, first year law student. (Are you impressed with how I’m already using the jargon?) I’d met Blair, an ASU Law Student Ambassador, when I’d dropped by the school two weeks ago. She is very encouraging of “non-traditional” students as she, herself, is one. Non-traditional is the collegiate way of saying you are OLD. Of course, old in law school means anyone over 26.

I had brought her homemade brownies as a thank you for taking me on a personal tour. The brownies were very well received. (Never underestimate the power of homemade goodies.) Today, I was pleased to be able to walk and talk with her at the same time. On my last visit with her, I had smashed my big toe opening the door to the law library. I bled copiously all over the floor, but decided not to sue as I didn’t think that would help my chances on getting accepted.

For Law School Day, ASU had arranged a tour, talks on curriculum, financial aid and admissions, and a mock law school class. I thought the class discussion in our mock law school class was kind of fun. I found out later that in real life, L-1s do not speak up in class for fear of being flailed. They call this the Socratic Method.

During the talk on admissions, it seemed clear that many of the potential students were trying to ferret out “secrets” to getting accepted to law school, other than good LSAT scores and a good grade point average. But this is like trying to find weight loss “secrets” that don’t involve diet and exercise. Your best bet is to work hard as an undergraduate and study like crazy for the LSAT, which I will be taking December 1.

I currently devote two to three hours a day to my “Cracking the LSAT” workbook. Half the LSAT is logic, which is really common sense. A quarter is reading comprehension and writers are very good readers. So I am okay at both of those. My problem is that the last 25 percent are story problems. Who knew at my age I’d have to fool with story problems again? I never liked them the first time.

These are questions like, “If Mary is cuter than Daphne, but Jill’s father makes more money than Lillian’s father, who is the third choice of Tom to take to the prom and where should they go for dinner beforehand?” Clearly, I have more “Cracking” to do on my LSAT. I wonder is the LSAT board is partial to brownies?

The Chosen One

One of my first priorities in returning to Phoenix was to find a place to live.

Unfortunately, my housing standards have risen tremendously through the years. And rental houses usually do not come standard with the granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, 18” tile floors and mountain views I was looking for–at least not in my budget.

I found a small house that met most of my criteria. (I decided I could, if pressed, live without stainless steel appliances in exchange for the exceptional backyard view.) Of all the rentals I looked at, it was the only one that made me feel at home. I decided to rent it.

That, of course, triggered a flurry of interest in this house, which had been sitting on the market for at least two years. The real estate agent ignored me as she was sure she was finally going to get a sales offer. When that didn’t materialize, she heard from another interested renter. This renter was more attractive than me because they were willing to sign a longer lease.

But, true to form, she took her time getting back to them as well. In the meantime, they panicked and rented someplace else.

Even though I had been told, at least twice, I couldn’t rent this house, I wasn’t that surprised when the agent said it was mine and she was emailing the paperwork.

The owner of a bed and breakfast once told me that her house had chosen her. I thought she was a complete flake. But even though I’m not ready to start hanging crystals or chanting, maybe, in some oddball Cosmic way, this house HAD chosen me. Or maybe I’m just due some good luck.

Photo: A home with a view.

Class Act

What now? For my next big adventure, I've decided to apply to law school.

If I do well on the LSAT, I have an excellent chance of getting accepted. My GPA from college, back when dinosaurs ruled the world, is good. And law schools are actually looking for diversity. Not a whole lot of their applicants, whose average age is 26, have been married 27 years, raised two children and run households on four continents.

As part of the application process, I will also have to write a personal statement and submit a resume. Luckily, I've started doing some freelance editing again, so I’ll have something to add to my resume for the past three years besides being Special Events Co-chair for the American Women’s Network of Abu Dhabi. (Something tells me the application committee will not be too impressed with my skills in running book clubs and coordinating newcomer events, although these really do require good communication, organization and negotiation skills.)

Law school is a three year program, so if I'm accepted, Taylor and I will both graduate from ASU the same year. I told jokingly told Taylor that as fellow students, we could hang out together all the time and he could roll me around campus on the back of his long board.

Without a pause, Taylor suggested adding a sidecar to the skateboard, "with a tall flag attached, for safety." If they gave college credit for humor, we'd both be top of the class.

Don't Buy Six Shrimp at the Warehouse Store

Being on my own, I am learning all kinds of new things. My lesson for today was “Don’t buy six shrimp at the warehouse store.”

I was strolling through Sam’s Club this afternoon when I noticed they were doing one of their fresh seafood promotions. There was a nice display of boiled medium size shrimp and I decided to take some home for a light dinner.

I ask the clerk to wrap me up six shrimp. “Six pounds?” she said. This is, after all, a warehouse store.

“No, six individual shrimp,” I said.

She put them on a cardboard tray on a scale and pointedly informed me that there were so few shrimp, she couldn’t get a price.

“Okay, fine,” I said, walking away. About five minutes later, she tracked me down in the store and proudly told me she’d gotten the scale to work. She handed me the cardboard tray with my six shrimp shrink-wrapped inside. Affixed was a printed label for $.83.

I then realized I had no red sauce. And as this was a warehouse store, they only carry large sizes. I didn’t really want to buy a two-gallon jug of red sauce to go with my six shrimp.

So I checked out with only my shrimp. The guy in front of me glanced back and said, “Wow! They sure don’t give you very many shrimp here, do they?”

I admitted that I only wanted six shrimp.

“Well, I guess you can throw them on a salad, or something,” he said, trying hard to imagine what one could do with just six shrimp. He was buying potato chips by the case.

“Yes, they are my bounty from the sea,” I said.

On the Road Again

It’s a good thing I am so good at moving because I am at it again. I am returning to Phoenix to explore the second half of my life on my own.

Ramadan is not a great time to be relocating from the Middle East. I’m not enthused about having my Hungarian crystal packed up by men who have been up all night and are fasting all day. Luckily, my movers were not fasting. This also meant I could drink a glass of water or eat a snack without having to sneak off.

After only two hours, they told me they were taking an hour lunch break. During Ramadan, ANY worker can knock off at 3 p.m., regardless of religion. I need to be packed before I leave tonight. But they assured me they’d stay until the job was done.

My suitcases are packed. I had to repack one suitcase when I realized that I had mistakenly loaded up the large rollerbag with no wheels. (It lost them in some kind of bad baggage handling accident in Russia.) So I am bringing two duffles, stuffed to the max. I specifically chose to fly Delta because I only change planes once and I can check my luggage all the way through.

Plus Delta lands in Atlanta, Customs agents there have a Southern gentility that you don’t get at JFK. Actually, I feel pretty lucky if I get through JFK without anybody official yelling at me.

I had planned to use my Delta miles to upgrade my ticket to business class. The one-way coach fare is $900. That is, unless you want to upgrade. Then you have to buy an upgradable coach fare which is $2,000 and then use 25,000 miles for the upgrade.

It's a 14 hour flight so business class was practically full. But the back section of coach was wide open. I asked to be seated in the middle set of seats near the back where I should be able to commander my entire row. With three coach seats to call my own, I can lay down flat, something I can’t do in business class. They can keep their little business class amenities bag and I’ll keep my 25,000 miles.