the truth is on the table

 The Blogmaid has been working on figuring out my heritage for a few years. DNA does not lie. I have half sisters and brothers. Jane is the most recent discovery and she welcomed me with open arms and had actually heard about the baby who was put up for adoption before our father married her mother. You can see that this is a long and very interesting story that I am condensing here. Yesterday Jane texted me a photo of her table (bottom) and I sent her mine (top). It's in the genes...

Grandma, is that you?

The Blogmaid has been relentlessly searching for my roots. Of course
you remember that I was adopted and those records are still sealed.
But yesterday my new cousin Phil sent this photo of Nena Flook
and wow, the puzzle pieces are fitting. Thank you for all your
work and persistence, Blogmaid. Love, Ms. Flook.

DNA doesn't lie

For many years the Blogmaid has wanted to discover who my birth
parents were. Yesterday I finally gave her permission to start
digging and I gave myself a month or a year to get used to this
idea. Unlike many adoptees I have never been consumed with
curiosity about my lineage, although I do think every person needs
their health history. Anyway, in about three hours the Blogmaid
wrote that I have two "close cousins" who are probably half sisters.
I wrote one of them this morning through Ancestry.com. Oh, hello.
Stay tuned...

stranger things

My youngest stepson Rob was on a flight to Baltimore Friday night and
snapped this photo of a woman who looks so much like me that it
is scary. Those of you who know my story will remember that I was
born in Towson, Md., right outside Baltimore. My "sister" loves the
puffy vest too and wears comfy Keene® sandals, as do I.

lots of blanks

My great nephew Garrett is at that age (12 ish?) when teachers want
the kids to dig around and find out about their long ago relatives. Many
people enjoy this activity, but not me. My brother died in 1998, and
this is his grandson and HIS job, but I will do the best I can. For
many reasons I didn't really feel part of a Family until I married
and although Husbando's People are not 100% normal, I consider
them mine and I receive a lot of love and many laughs. Oh, yes,
they piss me off sometimes - surprised? Anyway, this weekend I
will sort through papers and obits and try to reconstruct this other
family group for Garrett.  (The fact that my brother and I were
adopted from different sources indeed enters into this whole equation.)

adoption in the old days

Yesterday a new friend at work asked me about being adopted
because she reads da blog here. I found this old daily write and
will add/subtract a word or two before publishing. This is from
2004, and after I wrote this piece the blogmaid tracked down
the book from E-bay (e-Bay?). How sweet is that?

My favorite book as a little girl was "The Chosen Baby". My parents used
to read it to me and then when I could read I still loved that book best.
It told me how I was so special because I was selected, whereas other
poor parents had to take whatever child popped out. My brother was
also adopted, but he never seemed interested in The Book.

Adopted children live in a fantasy world, I think, of finding their Real
Parents and living happily ever after. Mine lived in a villa in rural
France and spoke English, of course. They didn't give me away,
because I was way too lovable, but someone stole me out of that
regal nursery and took me to Baltimore, Md Then my adopted
aunt took me on a train to (of all places) Pasadena, Ca. This fantasy
nourished me throughout childhood. I understand that children with
Real Parents also harbor these make-believe parents, but mine
were more possible because I was a Chosen Baby.

After mother died, I did try to search for my birth parents. It was
before the internet, so the search came to a dead end. I did discover
that my mother's name was Catherine Carter, and for some reason,
that was enough for me. Doesn't sound very French, does it?

I wish I had some medical knowledge, but other than that I sort of like
the idea that I was adopted. There is a certain mystery. Today the
process is all very open and civilized with couples taking care of the
birth mother and staying in contact throughout life. No French villas,
no dramatic homecomings for little girls who had been abducted
when they were a week old