Swimming through mud

Sometimes life feels like you are swimming though mud. Nothing comes easy. You’re tired. Your body is sore and eyelids are drowsy for lack of sleep. When you’re in a funk like this, there are only two ways that I think you can go. One, you can withdraw from the game for a while, take a day off or catch a movie. Catch your breath and come back when you feel more energized. The second way to go is to keep swimming through the mud until you come out on the other side. Go through the motions with as much energy as you can muster, knowing that you’ll eventually have more energy and that the going will get easier.
At least, that’s how I feel this week as I work my way through some difficult moments at work. I can’t stop working to take too much of a breath, because the work is important. These moments are too important to take too much time off to reflect.

Smelling the Roses!

As I write this, I am stuck in the San Jose Airport- trying with difficulty to not make eye contact with anyone. I’ve found that San Jose-ians (Jose-ites?) are excessively friendly, making it impossible to eat lunch alone, keep a mean demeanor in criminal court as an out of town hired gun and, yes, blog in quiet. I was so taken by the San Jose-ffians, that I came back to airport immediately after court and tried to make the 4:30 flight back to San Diego. Okay, I mostly wanted to make the flight to try to make a meeting with other defense attorneys back in San Diego. I told myself that I didn’t have time to smell the roses here in crazy-ville.

It struck me that I was a little like my parents in this attitude. My cousin Mayra and I used to complain that my parents wouldn’t take time out of business trips to take us sightseeing. Every summer, until I and then Mayra went to college, we used to drive with my parents from San Diego to Wisconsin to sell merchandise at the Wisconsin State Fair. We’d pass a few miles from the Grand Canyon on the way, but in over a decade of going to the fair we never stopped.

“It’s a hole in the ground,” said my father when he even acknowledged our demands. In truth, he wasn’t completely wrong about this, I thought when I went to see the Grand Canyon years later as an adult with my wife.

“Just beautiful, isn’t it?” She said

“Umm….”

So, I thought to myself as I drove back to the airport, Was I following in my parent’s footsteps? Would I have been better served calling up one of my friends in the Bay Area (or maybe my nephew in Santa Cruz) and making the most of my trip? At this moment, I could be enjoying a clam chowder in a bread bowl instead of my airport Jamba Juice (though it is “peach pleasure”!).

Then I think that the important thing about San Jose is that I had business here- I started the process of defending a client from her charges and I brought important business to my year and a half old firm.

There’s a time and place for everything, right? After all, the prettiest thing about the Grand Canyon wasn’t it’s majestic depth, but the lady next to me.

The times that I helped my parents at the state fairs, likewise, aren’t memorable for the sights that we saw or didn’t see, but because it was time spent with family.

So, the heck with San Jose! Southwest, hurry up and take me home!

A quick thought on weight loss

45 pounds lost and counting! But now that I’ve lost some weight, you think that I would feel a sense of accomplishment, inner peace, zen goodiness or something. To an extent, I do. I’m happy to be taking half the diabetes medicine that I was previously. I’m also happy that my clothes fit more loosely, though I’m not happy remembering a close wardrobe malfunction in court due to the loose fitting pants. It’s hard to argue while holding your pants up, but I think few people might listen to an attorney in underwear…

No, I realize that I should be happy. But, what frustrates me at times is the serene Buddha like chubby face in the mirror. It’s maddening to think that after losing 45 pounds, I still have 95 pounds to go if I want to return to my college weight. It’s almost enough to make one stop eating cheeseburgers…

Mingling

I come from a relatively antisocial family. My wife says that I was never taught to say hello or goodbye. I’m probably not what you would characterize as shy, but outside of work I’m comfortable keeping to myself. On our honeymoon cruise, when everyone went around introducing themselves, I initially said that I was declining to answer questions on the advice of counsel. But then my wife elbowed me and I loosened up a bit.

In truth, I’m completely comfortable on my own, engrossed in a book or in my work. In elementary school, I was the world’s biggest nerd in that I spent many recesses reading in some corner of the playground. I was also the world’s biggest nerd in that I was almost 6 feet tall by sixth grade. Needless to say I was never bullied…until meeting above mentioned wife.

“Be friendly to people,” she said as we walked into the party. I tried on a TV anchor smile and got elbowed yet again. I thought about hugging the first person I was introduced to, a lovely lady in an evening dress, but my ribs were still hurting…

The party was actually filled with interesting people, about half of them dressed with jeans, big belt buckles and boots. The men were also dressed fairly well… All in all, it was a typical party in Tijuana, a mix of city and rural people. There were apple martinis and carnitas tacos. I was dressed in a guayabera shirt, slacks, shiny black oxford shoes and looked the part of either a tourist or a Cuban landowner.

I tried my best to engage people in conversation. I talked to my tablemates. “You know, I never can find cowboy boots that go with my suits…” I joked around with the waiter who was supplying the never ending drinks. And I drank a good number of fruity martini’s- making the round of apple, coconut, melon, tamarindo and other assorted flavors that no self respecting macho man would be caught dead drinking. I say no self respecting macho man drinks fruity drinks.

Okay, I'll admit, they were delicious!

They say alcohol makes you more sociable. In my case, it doesn’t exactly work this way. I do talk more to people, but sometimes it’s just to indulge a childish sense of humor.

I took a picture with a heavy set guy, explaining to my wife later that I wanted to post the picture on facebook so that people would think I lost weight. I then commented to a guy with tattoos running up and down his arm that I liked to use the same font when drafting legal pleadings.

You’d think at some point that people would get annoyed by the antics, but everyone was in a fruity martini mood. Even I listened patiently as I listened to people’s attorney jokes.

Maybe alcohol does make mingling easier. I’ll have to do some research on this… Hopefully the wife won't mind.

The LOOK!

I’m treading on shaky ground with my wife. There’s a party for one of her friends this weekend and I’ve been warned in no uncertain terms to be friendly to the friend’s husband.

“Don’t give him the look,” she says.

I chuckle and plead ignorance, but I know what she’s talking about. Those of you who know me well probably have trouble picturing me being mean to anyone. At the height of my boxing prowess, when I was knocking out other amateur heavyweights, a female friend told me that I looked like a big skinny teddy bear. The years have taken care of the skinny part…, but something of the teddy bear image remains. Even my friend Louie, who has known me since the college days, says that he can’t quite picture me mad.

Still, there are times, when the teddy bear turns into a little bit of a grizzly bear. This is when the look comes into play. What is the Look? It’s something that goes back to the primitive side of male machismo, common in the streets and assorted correctional facilities of our community. It’s simple in action, just a direct, narrow stare that you hold for longer than normal. If done correctly, it signals to the other guy that he’s in danger of physical harm if he keeps…say…eating all the nachos. If done incorrectly, it might result in an unwanted date..

I find that the look is an old bear’s way of dealing with problems. Where before I might have had to take some action, now I find that just a general warning is enough. Especially if you are dealing with a guy much smaller than you! I gave the friend’s husband a warning with a look when he tried to take the seat next to my wife. In younger days, I might have thrown him out of the seat.

At least that’s what I tell my wife when I defend my behavior: “Hey, at least, I saved the guy some hospital bills!” My wife just rolls her eyes and looks at me.

Now that’s an intimidating Look!

Politics!

Once upon a time, I was pretty active in politics. Blame it on my environment maybe. I was a student at UC Berkeley and got caught up in some of the idealism. I became president of my housing association, became involved in a number of clubs, ran for local office and served on a few boards and commissions. A local paper called me the "dynamic voice" of the student community. Sometimes being a student felt like my side job!

Fast forward several years into my post college life and there’s very little politics in my life. There are no campaign posters with my face on them. I no longer walk precincts for my favorite candidates. The most controversial group I belong to is my local Kiwanis club, which is about as controversial as stopping at a red light. Some would argue that my work is political, but they’d be wrong. I may beat the system from time to time, but it’s on behalf of a single person’s rights- my client at the time. My cases aren’t crusades. They are about protecting my client’s rights in the face of whatever opposition, be it the DA’s office, Immigration…or just an unreasonable ex-spouse!

And, yet, sometimes I miss working for the larger cause. I wish I could find time to picket against something or walk a precinct. One of my favorite politicians, Mary Salas- whose first campaign I volunteered for when I was a student, lost her race by a handful of votes. I know that I could have made a difference in her campaign- if only by marshaling my many contacts in Imperial County to turn out her support. A good volunteer is worth a swing of a few hundred votes. I felt a twinge of guilt when she lost, but I told myself that I was honestly too busy with building my law practice to give a good effort on her behalf.

Life always seems to get in the way of my politics. The other day I almost went to meeting to organize against the Arizona immigration action, but I ended up at the gym instead. Leading the fight against my expanding waistline! And I mean to contribute money to help out someday, but most of pennies seem to have bills waiting for them.

I honestly don’t know when I’ll get involved again, but I admire and appreciate people like my niece Gloria (who fought against the closure of the Chula Vista nature center) and my cousin Cecilia (who is a big time activist in LA). Who knows, maybe someday soon I’ll be walking the picket line with them.

Viva la Causa! Just let me know which one…

A dizzy moment

I felt dizzy this morning. It brought the mind the feeling that I felt once when I was punched in the side of the head. A sort of instinct takes over. In the fight, strategy went out the window. I raised my guard, shuffled my feet and bought time for my head to clear. While my feet danced me around the boxing ring, my slow brain wondered what had happened. It took a moment to snap back to reality. That’s the way I felt this morning as I drove from a meeting to my office. I took a deep breath at a stop light and thought about pulling over, but then I drove on to the work that was waiting for me at my office. I took out my kit to measure my blood sugar, but in preparing for client meetings and working on cases, I didn’t actually test my blood until the afternoon. The blood sugar was normal by then and the crisis had passed.

But sometimes I think life is a lot like boxing. You sometimes don’t have a lot of time to sit back and reflect on what is happening. We are in the ring with our challenges and sometimes we get hit. Just take a quick breath and hit back. I won the boxing match years ago. Life remains a constant and happy battle.

Hair Dye!

I dyed my hair the other day.

I’ve spent much of my professional life wishing that I looked older, but now that the curse of the Estolano grey has set in, my thoughts are rapidly changing. The hell with looking older!

Outside of my hair, relatively little has changed in my life over the last couple decades. The scenery is different, but many of the players are still the same. The same couple buddies that I used to hit the gym with are still among my closest friends. We got together for a carne asada just the other week. We look different- a few pounds (or maybe more than a few!), dress clothes instead of sweats and a few grey hairs. We do different things- as "grown ups", the three students are now a lawyer, a bus driver, and a teacher.

But, the humor with which we view the changes in our lives is still the same. My friend Louie is still instant fun, seeing the world in an often enthusiastic way that gets Jose and I smiling so widely that our faces can barely hold the good humor. My friend Jose is still the “natural food” nut, trying to convince us to avoid processed food, while he downs yet another beer that I suppose came from a beer tree.

And as for me? I’m still the same easy going, slightly irreverent person that I always was. I have worries and obligations like everyone else, but I try to get through every day with at least a few laughs- the most recent laugh at the black, shiny haired guy that is staring back at me in the mirror.

Washington DC

I hit Washington DC for a training with one of my best friends. We had a great time. It really is something to be in a place where so much history has happened and will happen. When we were sitting in the actual courtroom where the Supreme Court met, I almost felt a tear escape from my admittedly too macho eyes. I wondered what it would feel like to be justice Estolano deciding on the great issues of the day. It will likely never happen, but there's a good chance that I may get to argue a case before the court some day. If so, I'll pay the courtroom sketchers some extra money to drop a few pounds from my sketch!

B-day celebration

A few of the guys and I went out to celebrate my friend Ruben's b-day yesterday. It was a good time. Sometimes there's nothing like hanging out with friends that have known you for a long time. We shared stories that we had all heard many times before, drank margaritas and had a great time.

Nothing really notable happened (well the waiter apparently did try to rip us off)- just good conversation. Often that's more than enough.

A brief eulogy of sorts

My aunt Sophia passed away last night. I wasn't as close to her as many others in my family, but I remember her as an intelligent and kind lady. She took primary care of my grandmother while she was alive, was a professor in Mexico and dabbled in stone statues that my father sold for her at his tool shop. I saw her often as a child, but much less as I grew older and saw my Tijuana extended family less and less often. I'd talk to her every few years at family gatherings or when she came to visit my father.

I remember my parent's offering to give me a stone picnic table that Sophia had made- it was beautifully decorated with ceramic tiles, but wobbled unevenly. I think it had been sitting unsold at their store for several months. I thought it might be a good table for people that had too much to drink at carne asadas, but my wife and I decided to pass on it. I kind of wish I had that table now.

Another time, I remember our garage being full of stone animals for about a year, until my mother freed them to roam in different placements among our yard. It made the yard look almost like a zoo. I don't know if Sophia ever made much money with the statues, but they were always pretty.

I never got around to seeing Sophia before she died- part of me felt like I wasn't close enough to offer her much comfort and another part of me has trouble dealing with cancer, even some ten years after I survived it. But, I know that she was surrounded by family that loved her. Her siblings, including my father, went to see her frequently.

I wish her the best and hope she has that peace in heaven that she deserves.

A pain in the neck

I slept badly last night- due to a neck that I sprained at the gym earlier in an attempt to keep up with the guy in the swim lane next to me. I thought that there was no way a older guy could beat a not yet forty me, but some of those senior citizens are very spry.

As I sit down to write this blog, my neck still aches. I'm tempted to try some home remedies that my future brother in law (dating my wife's sister) has recommended. For instance, he speaks highly of a substance used for cow teats in treating aching muscles. Apparently it's popular among cyclists and bovines. However, I'll probably stick to the Advil.

This incident has gotten me to better understand the meaning of saying that someone is a pain in the neck. Overall, being a "pain in the neck" isn't that bad a thing. It's a pain that is annoying, but far from debilitating. A pain in the ass, on the other hand...

Despite the neck, I did go to the gym again this morning and am making steady progress in my weight loss goals. I'll admit that it's frustrating at times to not see overnight dramatic changes...or to not be able to run a few miles w/o fear of my knee caps exploding. However, it is kind of satisfying to walk out of the gym knowing that I'm giving a good effort.

A weird side effect to the weight loss (maybe 40-50 lbs) has been a increased fascination in clothes. Some of my suits are beginning to fit better and I've been receiving compliments from people that I come across. It's lead to the purchase of some stylish french cuff shirts, some vintage cufflinks from the 30's and to a restocking of my tie wardrobe.

Even 100 lbs ago I was never much of a clothes horse, but now that I'm losing weight again I seem to strangely fascinated by my shrinking appearance. I look in the mirror to examine shrinking love handles and a gradual reduction to a single chin!

I've even promised myself a custom suit should I hit 210 lbs again.

What a fool believes, no? It's going to be a long journey back! The 210 pound me of 10 years ago never really cared what he wore or even, if the guy in the next lane was swimming faster. He just wanted to be a good lawyer.

Can I switch places with him?

Estolano Law- a year and change later

It's weird to think of where I was a year and half ago at this time. I was probably sitting in my little office- bills accumulating, unsatisfied with my cases and playing with the idea that maybe I should do something else.

Today, the bills are still high, but are being managed better and better. I still in the same desk as before, but in a nice office filled with people that I enjoy working with and who are making Estolano Law a success. The cases are interesting and always in my areas of expertise- immigration, family law or criminal defense. The future is not without it's problems, but it looks bright.

The world of falling pants

What kind of underwear does a fashionable divorce lawyer wear nowdays? I'm trying my hardest not to let the world know, but one the side effects of my weight loss has been that none of my pants fit me well anymore. I gave a half hour legal argument, pacing back and forth with one hand holding up my slacks.

And, yet, despite the weight loss, I'm still to heavy to be able to use my old belts. Time to hit amazon for an in-between belt.

This is progress, right?

Court has been going very well recently. I'm in a rhythm heading into a few weeks of big contested cases. Estolano Law is doing well also. I've brought my paralegal Joe in full time and he's made a huge difference. I was sitting at my desk going over police reports and had a nagging feeling that there was someone that I should have been calling back, but it was a false feeling. Joe had everything under control!

So, I'm off to a healthy dinner with my buddy (and perhaps my wife). Another week of this and maybe I'll get the tailor to actually tighten the waistline of the pants a bit.

So, what underwear does the fashionable divorce lawyer wear? Whatever kind his wife buys for him!

The world looks blurry from up close!

The symptom that finally sent me running to the doctor was blurred vision. I managed two weeks of frequent bathroom trips and ignored it when my water began to taste metallic, but when I went through three days of vision so distorted that I couldn't make out a wall calendar or distant freeway signs, it scared me sufficiently to visit the urgent care facility.

After a few days of medication, the blurriness went away. For awhile. Now, it's returned with a vengeance, but with a twist. Before, things that I saw in the distance were blurry. Now, my vision up close is blurry. I have difficulty reading anything that is a few inches away from my face (though this large computer screen, a couple feet away is OK). During lunch today, I struggled to set the time on my father's watch because I couldn't read the print on the buttons.

This is apparently a natural phenomenon for diabetes as my eyes snap back into shape with a decreasing blood sugar level.

But, it feels strange to not be able read a book in comfort.

The Big D

I was diagnosed with diabetes on March 11, 2010 after I struggled through three blurry vision days in court. I could barely see the huge calendar on the court wall, but struggled through several hearings. Justice may not have been blind, but this attorney almost was!

I'll blog further on it as time permits- but for now let me just say that diabetes is truly life altering when it comes to your diet.

As of this weekend, I had lost about 10 pounds since my diagnosis and am eating less than ever before in my life as I adapt to this new reality.

My closest friends, as always in a crisis, have been there for me. They've worked out with me, listened to my venting sessions and have generally helped me through this.

My family, those who know, have also been great. My brother Carlos, as usual, is my irritable confidant (you'd be irritable too, if you had to listen to "unfiltered" Ray). My mother has offered her usual mix of intelligent reasoning and crackpot medical theories (diabetic tea and the such..). And my wife has been mostly patient at eating her meals with a mad man who looks at the corn bread on her plate as if it were a long lost love.

Ah, cornbread, I remember you when...

A night with Culture Clash

It's funny how life takes you down different paths and it's interesting to think about who you could have been. Last night, I watched a Chicano acting group named Culture Clash put on a series of skits about what it means to be American. The last time I'd seen the group perform was at UC Berkeley as an undergrad. At the time, I played around with the idea of trying out for a similar group. My girlfriend at the time was all for it.

"You make people laugh. I think you'd be a natural for it."

"I think people would be laughing at me, not with me. And I haven't acted since high school," I said, but I remained tempted by the idea. I made a mental note to look into the try out.

"Just don't let them know you voted for Reagan!" she added sarcastically. It wasn't true that I'd voted for Reagan(I was 13!), but having grown up in a small family business I did tend to be a bit more conservative than my friends.

As a student at Berkeley, I was drawn to the provocative and enjoyed watching a theater that made me think about society. I've always like to have my opinions challenged. I also loved the idea of possibly being a part of something similar to Culture Clash, but I ended up involved in local politics and never followed up on the acting.

Some eighteen years later, I remembered this as I walked into the theater to see Culture Clash.

An interminable two hours later, I found myself wishing that anyone but the actors on stage had tried out for Culture Clash. Their performance was, to say the least, less than provocative. One bit made fun of the different way that Latinos from different countries dance. Another bit, in the age of Will and Grace, made the shocking point that some Latinos are gay.

I was tempted to stick around for the 'question and answer' to ask where the revolution went. What happened to the radical guys that I watched in college?

I guess Culture Clash lost its bite as it's actors aged and got mortgages.

Maybe they would have been better off with a guy that voted for Reagan?