The Adoptee Rights Demonstration

Something very special is going to happen soon. Adoptees, and those who support them, are going to gather in Chicago at the National Conference of State Legislators and fight for every one of us.  Not only will there be a demonstration, but they be on the convention floor, speaking to the people who can give every adoptee access to their identity, making our case, and, in a real way, changing the lives of US adoptees.

All of this is a huge effort, I know, I was part of it last year. It’s very much a labor of love and commitment to the cause, by organizers and attendees. They all deserve your admiration and support. Go here and learn more. Adoptee Rights Coalition.

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A Day In the Life-Photo Blogging the Addie Way

Last night, a  friend of mine threatened to kill me if I started a photo blog. I don’t blame her. I hate the damn things too.

All the real life most of them seem to be chronicling seems very unreal to me. All the “after a very softly focused breakfast of of 3 perfectly ripe strawberries, a croissant they whipped up with butter from the prize-winning super photogenic Jersey cow they keep in the backyard , all served on Royal Doulton, accented by a doily that was hand tatted for Queen Victoria, and then running five miles before going to yoga class on the beach” gets to be a bit much.

I’ve written about a lot of real life on my blog, and most of it isn’t anything like you would see on the thick, perfectly matte pages of an upscale lifestyle magazine. But I did just get a really nice camera, so I thought I’d share my early morning routine. Let’s start with breakfast..

 

 

 

Pretty glamorous, huh. I’ve got CoffeeMate too.

 

 

 

Here’s a shot of the sun coming up from my porch…

With everything so overgrown, you can’t even see my neighbors mobile home, or that I need to spend a good portion of my real life day mowing the yard. Oh and how’s this for the beauty of everyday life? I have to get this thing out of my house…

 

Yep, that’s a furry flying emissary from hell know as the Missouri Brown Bat. I made his acquaintance first thing this morning. I will make every effort to rehome him in the most elegant way befitting the writer of a photoblog. Perhaps I’ll invite him to share a Mimosa in the conservatory, more likely I’ll try to trap him between my broom and dust pan and throw him out the door. I’m thinking I won’t be quick enough to snap a shot of him flying off into his new life, but for you, my gentle readers, I’ll try.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then I believe I will take to my bed.

Envying my lifestyle yet?

 

Sometimes I Feel Like an Athiest

A FaceBook friend of mine posted the clip below. It’s from a public access TV show in Austin called Atheist Experience. This episode is hosted by Tracie Harris and Jen Peeples,both are calm, well-spoken,  and offer sound arguments for their position. The caller seems to be willfully ignorant. It wasn’t so much the subject of the exchange that struck me, but the tone, it all sounded much too familiar.

Te clip was like too many discussions many of us have had concerning adoptee rights. First, the caller assumed the host had had a bad experience, that they just hadn’t found the right church, because if they did, they would agree with him. Sound familiar? Ever been accused of having a bad experience with adoption? When Tracie Harris mentions that she actually had some good experiences in church and her atheism was the result of knowledge she had acquired, it was so much like an adoptee rights activist telling someone that they do love their adoptive parents.

Moving on to the “Why do you even have to have this show?” section, I got that one 100% too. How many times have we been asked the same thing. Just like the hosts, when we point out all the wealthy, well-established institutions (many of the same institutions the atheists are pointing out, in this case) who promote adoption, and justify our right to express our own differing position, it doesn’t matter. We still should just shut up and go with conventional wisdom, because they say so.

Then there’s the whole “it’s a miracle that Gabby Giffords is going to live and recover” thing. To my ear this sounds so much like the “if we can just save one child” argument. I agree with the hosts, it’s great Mrs. Giffords is going to be OK, but it’s no miracle, it’s a tragedy. Many people aren’t OK because of that act, they matter too. The caller just can’t see that. Much like many adopters can’t see that they participated in a system that hurts many, that their little miracle doesn’t make that OK.

Anyway, here’s the clip…

So, anybody else feeling like they’ve been there, done that?

 

 

The Widow’s Debutante Ball

I made it through yesterday, through the last year. If on this day last year, you asked me if I be around in a year, I couldn’t have been sure.

Like so  many milestones, I don’t feel a bit different after its passing. Now I don’t feel the all encompassing, debilitating, agony of fresh grieving, I still grieve, and it still hurts. I can go to the store, club meetings, doctors appointments, without feeling like everybody is looking at me, feeling sorry for me, watching to see if I’ll lose it. I’m no longer the woman whose husband just died, I’m just a widow.

I still don’t know what being just a widow means. Since a year has passed, I know I’m supposed to rejoin society, whatever that means  I almost feel like I should have some kind of weird widow’s debutante ball.

At this ball people could gather and wait for the widows to enter. We’d all be veiled and covered in black, once entered we would remove our black garments to reveal colorful and stylish clothing beneath. We would be welcomed back with dances, gifts and good wishes. Everyone of us widows would be gracious and smile. But the smiles wouldn’t be because we were truly happy or ready to rejoin the world. We would smile because we all would have learned to take anything offered. We would know how little we have and to never turn down any act of kindness, they are few and far between. We would smile because, for one night, we would be distracted from the loneliness that is, and probably always will be, our constant companion. After the party we would go home and everything would be the same.

OK, the above is too bleak, too negative, too dark. I have moved on. I’m not alone. I do really smile and laugh. I’m blessed and loved. Loved more than I could ever imagine, and I can return that love.

But part of me will always be at that ball.