While out walking the dogs this afternoon, I came across a one-block stretch of chunky ice clogging the sidewalk. Of course, I was heading downhill. A boy about 10 years old and fresh off the school bus wisely avoided the slick mess and chose to walk on top of the rock-hard snow bank along the road edge.
“That’s a smart move,” I said.
“Yep,” the boy replied.
“Geez louise, but this sidewalk sure is slippery,” I added.
Silence.
When did I become an 80-year old geezer talking like that? Sheesh!
Categories: My Life
Several times a day, Daisy starts jonesing for the taste of blanket lint on the tongue. When she finally emerges from underneath the covers, Miss Rooty gets all happy-prancy and is good for a few hours until her next fix. I can only hope that Benson won’t succumb to the same temptations.
December 7 is both Pearl Harbor Day and my mom’s birthday. Wanda grew up on a farm in Dassel, Minn., along with four sisters. She joined the Air Force after trying college for a year. While stationed in Battle Creek, Mich., she met my dad, Robert. My cousins thought they were so fun and hip. Everyone else in the family had children when my folks got married (my mom was the youngest). Mom and dad would breeze into family gatherings in their “exotic” Fiat automobile with Old English Sheepdogs in tow. They’d talk about living in Italy and their other adventures.
Even after settling down in Duluth with two kids, my mom maintained her same free spirit. She taught me how to be a strong, independent woman who could do anything I wanted to in the world. She’s still a cool, fun lady with a great sense of humor and a generous heart.
Happy 70th birthday, mom. I love you very much!
P.S. – For those keeping track, I finished the lemon cheesecake and my mom’s tribute book at 8 am this morning.
Categories: My Life
With a lot to do today, I sat down this morning and wrote up a task list — I even included time estimates. I couldn’t have been more off base. I started out well by getting my freelance work done in about two hours. The rest of my to-do’s have gone completely haywire. The culprits?
Of course, I’m kicking myself for my gross underestimations and for doing things not on the list. I started out the day with good intentions, really I did! I’ll be paying for it well into the wee hours of the morning.
Categories: My Life
I just spent two-and-a-half frustrating hours trying to get digital photos uploaded to a local retailer so I can pick them up tomorrow. I generally keep online albums, but need prints for a special project I’m working on. I’ve never had any hassle ordering prints online for delivery. I was in for a surprise trying the pick-up option.
I first turned to my old standby, Shutterfly. I really like this site’s interface and editing options, so normally it’s a good choice. However, when I tried to select the Target store closest to my house, it was not listed in the store selector. I even typed in the store’s exact address, and Shutterfly couldn’t seem to find it. Arrgh!
I then tried ProEx/Ritz and Walgreens since they have stores even closer to me than Target. However, both of their online photo centers have terrible interfaces. I elected not to give either of them my business in protest.
I still wanted to give Target a chance, so I went directly to their site. They listed Shutterfly, Flickr and Kodak as partner options. I tried Flickr and bombed out. I don’t know if it was my browser or what, but I could not get the site to move beyond the “Are you in the U.S.?” screen (even though I clicked YES, YES, YES). Kodak ended up being the lucky winner. Their interface wasn’t nearly as good as Shutterfly’s, but I finally could pick my Target store, so I pushed the order through.
When you’re in the midst of such an experience, it’s hard to know when to just throw up your hands and cry uncle. I could have copied my photos to a USB flash drive, drove to Target, waited the hour for my prints and drove home in less time than I spent online this evening. I also could have supported my local independent photo finisher (they skip the online tools and just have you e-mail the files to them), but when I started this whole effort, I balked at their 3x higher price. Sigh. My time is worth something, isn’t it?
Categories: My Life
Tagged: photography
Today I became an official member of Unity Church-Unitarian in St. Paul, Minn. The Unitarian-Universalist faith practice is quite different from my childhood experience, where I grew up in a Lutheran household and was a good little Christian girl. I taught Sunday school and vacation bible school, sang in the church choir, performed in motion choir (I’ll save that story for another time), and even went to a college affiliated with the ELCA. However, as I became an adult, I fell away from the church because it didn’t really seem to fit me. I even felt a little pride of my non-church-going rebellion.
In the last couple of years, I’ve been exploring what spirituality and faith mean to me — what I believe in today. This past January, I stopped dabbling and made a concerted effort in seeing if a faith community could fit me again. I found it in Unity. Today, I signed my name in a membership book that goes back to Unity’s founding. During the service, my fellow new members and I recited the Bond of Fellowship with the congregation.
Bond of Fellowship
As those who believe in religion,
As those who believe in freedom, fellowship, and character in religion,
As those who believe that the religious life means the thankful, trustful, loyal and helpful life, and
As those who believe that a church is a community of helpers, wherein it is made easier to lead such a life;
We join ourselves together, name, hand, and heart, as members of Unity Church.
- William Channing Gannett, March 9, 1879, adapted
I’m embarking on a spiritual path that will give me the freedom to determine my individual beliefs and to explore both the reality and wonder of the world. I’m excited about the step I made today and the journey that is to come.
Categories: My Life
Tagged: faith, spirituality, unitarian, unitarian-universalist
This afternoon I headed out into blustery, snow-sprinkled conditions to walk the pooches. I decided to forgo the iPod and simply daydream the time away while battling the winds. My daydreams are often elaborate fantasies where I completely remodel my house or become a famous author/artist or move to far-flung lands or whatever strikes my moods (and current obsessions).
Today, I imagined buying my next door neighbor’s house (the one that is poorly maintained and suffers from several ugly additions). I’d tear down the structure and expand my existing house into the double lot. I even plotted out the raised vegetable beds — ones that could enjoy tree-free sunshine that my yard doesn’t offer.
At the end of my walk, I stopped short and stared at my neighbor’s house. Taped to the front door was a sign posted by the city. The house was condemend. Say what???
I don’t exactly know what it means when a property is condemned, but I sure plan on calling the city tomorrow to find out more. Who knows, maybe my daydream will come true after all. I wonder what vegetables I should plant first …
Categories: My Life
I was adopted as a baby and have known I was adopted for as long as I can remember. My parents couldn’t have children and adopted me and then my sister four years later. Growing up, I occasionally thought about searching for my birth mother, but I never had this burning ache. I was curious, more than anything.
In my early 20s, I contacted the county social services agency from which I was adopted. The brown envelope of informational materials sat in my filing cabinet for more than a decade. I contacted the agency again in 2005 and was told there was a four-month waiting period before I could talk to a case worker. I hesitated for more than a year before I finally mailed in my $250 fee. My search officially started in April 2006.
Two months later, my case worker called to reveal non-identifying information from my file. For 71 minutes, I wrote down pages of notes about my heritage, what my birth mother revealed to her intake worker, health concerns the doctor had about me at my birth, and what my foster mom said about my early months. I’ve never had a more surreal conversation. It was my life, but one that I had never known.
This past July, my case worker called again. She had found my birth mother and would try and reach her. I had to wait several days before my case worker called back with the results. … She had talked to her. BAM! She was alive. That was the first thought that flooded my brain. Isn’t that weird? She’s only in her late 50s, but I must have feared that I missed my window to find her. BAM! BAM! She now knows I’m looking for her. Holy shit. This is really real!
My birth mother was shocked by the call. She apparently hadn’t imagined that I would try to find her. I had asked my case worker to share my concerns about the search and how much I respect my birth mother’s feelings. I’m incredibly nervous about what my outreach will do to her. It can be a traumatic experience, but I want to do anything I can to minimize the stress or anxiety that she may be feeling. My case worker said that my birth mother was relieved by my concerns and seemed to appreciate the thoughtfulness I’m giving to the process. In the end, though, my birth mother wasn’t ready to receive any materials from my case worker. However, she did ask if I lived near her. Since I hadn’t explicitly given my case worker permission to share this information, my case worker wouldn’t say. That ended up being a good thing since it showed that we’re serious about confidentiality. My case worker won’t tell me anything my birth mother doesn’t allow and vice versa. My case worker did tell me that we sound a lot a like, both in voice tone and vocal mannerisms. Double holy shit!
It’s been almost three months without any contact. I talked to my case worker today and asked how we should proceed. She left the decision in my hands, but recommended that we give my birth mother more time. As I look back on how long it took me to get started, I know that I must be patient. We decided to wait until January before my case worker will make contact again. By then, six months will have passed and the holidays will be over. I want to move cautiously as well. I want my birth mother and I both to be sure of each step before we proceed. Once we know who we are, there’s no turning back. Come January, I want my case worker to try again and share my first name with my birth mother. I want to see if she’d be willing to accept a short letter from me. I’ve drafted this letter over and over again during this process and still am not sure what I want to stay. Buy maybe by then, it will become clearer for both of us.
