The Chosen One

I always knew I was adopted.  When I was old enough to understand (6 maybe?), my parents read me a book called "The Chosen One." I remember it was about the size of a Goldenbook with a teal color and a baby on the front.  They read it and then explained what it meant and asked if I understood.

So I grew up with it being no big deal and I never felt like I was missing anything.  The only people I'll ever call Mom and Dad are wonderful parents.  Then one day in the mail I got a letter that I thought was from one of my Mary Kay customers who had gotten married.  The return address label showed a different last name than I knew, and the same town.  The letter started out stating the intention that it was written for "the girl I gave birth to in 1966. . ."  Wow!

Now as I stated, I never felt like I was missing anything, and I would not have looked for my biological parents.  I watch those shows about people finding their adopted children and siblings and I think it's very cool and beautiful how much healing that provides.  I could never relate to the ones who have always felt like they were missing something though.  Most of the people on those shows are close to my age if not older and it's pretty dreadful that they've lived their entire lives with that hole in their heart.  All I knew was that I had been one of six children in a family and that was explanation enough!

So further on in the letter, I found out that not only was I the oldest of three in MY family, but I was also the youngest of six in this "new" family.  There was a tie to this new mother and people who lived in the neighborhood I grew up in.  The letter ended with the ball in my court to get in touch if I wanted to.  She was living in the next town over.

First I told two of my friends who have always been intrigued about my adoption and they were pretty excited.  I waited two days to let it sink in and to think about what this new mother's in-person reaction would be.  What I didn't want were tearful sobs and such because I didn't feel that way back. I thought that she must have been a nervous wreck writing and sending that letter, and it would surely give her relief and maybe closure to see that I turned out okay.  I determined that the right thing to do was to meet this new family and I said I would visit in a couple days.

I've never had the experience of looking like one of my parents, so when the door opened for me after I rang the bell, it was odd seeing the familiar facial features of my birth mother, like looking into a futuristic mirror of me at age 80.

I felt like a gift was in order, so I took along some flowers.  We remarked about how each other looked and she informed me that I had the birth father's hair, certainly not hers!  There were no blubbering tears, thank God, because like I said, that kind of feeling wasn't inside me, just more of a curiosity and appreciation.

She explained how I came to be after the other siblings' father passed and she had "a thing" with another man who split as soon as he heard she was pregnant.  I'll note here that since our first meeting, I've had a vague memory resurface about my dad talking to a uniformed man in the street, calling me over to their conversation, and asking me if I knew who the guy was.  I think I was about 10 years old.  I said I didn't, and he casually let me know that's all he wanted to ask so off I went back to playing.  I asked Dad who the guy was later and he said "nobody," which meant I shouldn't ask again.  I forgot all about it.

Knowing what I now know about how the sperm donor ditched my birth mother, what a dick he still was 10 years later!  To have the gall to approach the best dad in the world as if he now had some interest or some contribution to make shows nothing but dick-itude.  It must have pissed my dad off, but he never showed it.

The sperm donor died in 1996.  Apparently, he had an epiphany on his deathbed and attempted to contact the woman he callously dismissed 30 years earlier. She told me that she remembered coming home from a vacation and seeing the name of a local hospital on her Caller ID.  There was no message and she didn't know anyone who worked at the hospital, so she thought nothing of it.  Not until 3 days later when she saw his obituary in the newspaper.  He died at that hospital.

So about the siblings - the oldest is a brother who is a minister in Missouri.  Next is a sister who is a lunch lady in Kentucky, and then another who is a restaurant manager locally.  The next oldest is a sister who is sweet as pie.  She has some medical and developmental challenges and is the only sibling that's not a parent or grandparent.  She's not doing so well as I write this, but the family ties are strong there and I believe that has kept her going.

The last sister does administrative work in a nursing home, where the sister with the challenges goes to adult day care.  My birth mother and two of my half-sisters live in my same town now.  I've attempted to do a couple things with my local siblings like go to a concert or out for ice cream, but the truth is, we've all already got our own lives and none of those ideas ever came to fruition.  I don't see my own mom very much, and I see my new family even less.  That's not to say I feel shunned.  They have all welcomed me with open arms.  I think I've met all of their children and grandchildren.  They all make the trek to town at Christmas.

Most of us keep in touch on social media.  The minister sends an electronic church newsletter.  I cross paths with my half-nephew at a convenience store where we both stop sometimes on our way to work.  I appreciate them all and am glad to be another cube in their sugar bowl.

My Favorite East Shore/West Shore Book Stuff

2nd & Charles store in the Harrisburg Mall should not be missed if you like to buy used CDs, DVDs comics and books.  I easily spend an hour there.  They have T-shirts, incense, and cool stuff like pillows, puzzles and footstools.  You never know what you'll see next in there.  Plus there's an Auntie Anne's pretzel stand next to it, and the Great Escape Movie Theatre in the mall.

In New Cumberland on the West Shore (about 20 minutes away from 2nd & Charles), check out The Inner-Connection Spiritual Center at 3rd & Bridge Streets.  Metaphysical books, candles, gemstones, oils, pendulums, jewelry, drums.  I've know the practitioners for 6 years.  They offer tarot, rune readings, angel readings, regular old mediumistic readings and a variety of classes in all things metaphysical.  Strike up a conversation with anyone.  It feels good there.

In the event you need more books than you've already purchased at these places, hop on Front Street in Wormleysburg and cruise a couple miles down to Cupboard Maker Books in Enola.  Like cats?  Good because that's really who runs the store.  I find Frances Parkinson Keyes books in there, and history books on WWII or another era.  This is where the second "Strange Magic" book launch is taking place.  They frequently have book signings and events.  It has an old feel to it with wooden floors and tables.  Another cool and comfortable place.

http://2ndandcharles.com/locations/harrisburg-pa/
http://www.fandango.com/regalgreatescapeharrisburgmallstadium14_aaurd/theaterpage
https://www.myinnerconnection.com/
http://cupboardmaker.com/

My Biggest Loser challenge - Weigh-in #1

My employer is challenging the company to a Biggest Loser program that goes until May.  Down 3.2 lbs. from the initial weigh-in.  Good start considering that girls night in over the weekend with the booze and junk food, and that spaghetti dinner I had last night.

I think my coworkers may be looking to me as an example since I had success with that last thing.  I'm on one team and the guy who lost 65 lbs. is on the other.  Weigh-ins are Fridays, so I started a Friday morning routine:  I take a 1.2 mile walk around some warehouse buildings before work, getting that little extra in before the weigh-in.

There was a time when walking 2 miles got boring, no challenge.  Not so much any more.  There was a time when I could do 45 minutes on the Nordic Track.  Those were the days I long to get back to.  It's probably over-goaling to say I want to lose 80 lbs. because truthfully, I can't say with certainty that I'm willing to work that hard.  I can say I want to lose 50.

And then there's Jesus.  I'm not a practicing Catholic, but Lent begins next week so my penance will be giving up some breads; specifically, sandwich breads and buns, dinner rolls, breadsticks and biscuits.  It's win-win:  I practice self-discipline and I keep those calories off my ass.  Amen!

That first Spring-like day - Ahhhhh. . .

There really is a psychological condition called Winter Blues.  There has to be because earlier in the week everything, in general, was darker and gloomy.  But these past two days, with abundant sunshine and warm temperatures, I swear, I was cured the instant I stepped outside and took a breath.

The daffodils (or crocuses?) have blasted through the ground for the world to welcome them.  Half of my Valentine's flowers are still looking beautiful and have been transplanted into a new vase.  I'm ready to make vacation plans for the rest of the year.

I wish I had drapes that blow in the wind instead of vertical blinds.  Don't you love seeing your curtains blowing around when the window is open?  I love that same as I love the smell of laundry detergent when I'm walking past a home.  Childhood memories, I guess, but I can't remember them exactly.

There's a bird outside repeating the same "cuh caw" relentlessly.  He's happy about this day too :)