I haven’t blogged lately because nothing has happened that is “fit to print.”  Oh, plenty has happened!  But since I can’t journal publicly about clients or cases, there isn’t much to say!  Suffice it to say that I’ve been busy.  Last week I had several hearings, all of which were stressful.  But in the middle of the week, I found an oasis at Fausto’s the neighborhood old-school Italian restaurant I frequent.  It’s close enough that I can leave work, head home, feed the dogs, shed the suit and throw on jeans… and still get there no later than 8:00 p.m.  Usually, I opt for a seat at one of the high tables next to the bar.  The bar tender knows I want Grey Goose – up with a twist of lemon (and please don’t call it a martini because there is no vermouth!).  Luis my waiter knows I want an appetizer while I look at the menu (which I know by heart but I always study it and I always change my mind 3 times about what I intend to order).  Damien, my other favorite waiter, pauses as he passes by to give me a quick hug.  Everyone knows I am likely to forget my credit card and so before I leave, a collective check-list is performed to make sure I am taking all of my belongings, including my cell phone and ear buds.  I love knowing that it’s a place where I can relax, have something good to eat, play with my phone if I want to, or talk to the bar tender if I choose to, linger (or not) and get back home without a lot of hassle.  I even celebrated my birthday there a few months ago.  When the going gets tough, I go to Fausto’s.