Linda Hoye's Blog, page 202

Good News in Rhode Island

I love to post good news and here's another piece of great adoption-related news.

As of July 2, 2012, adoptees age 25 or older who were born in Rhode Island will be able to obtain a copy of their original birth certificate (OBC).

The cavaet is that birth parents will have an opportunity to indicate that a) they would like to be contacted, b) they do not want to be contacted, or c) they would like to be contacted through an intermediary. Regardless of their choice, they will still have the opportunity to provide updated medical information to their child.

I'm delighted to report that the bill passed unanimously in both the Rhode Island House and Senate.

Progress is being made! Let's celebrate!

Video Post – Memoir Writing Resources

Today I'm sharing some more resources I've been intimately intertwined with over the past few years. Some very personal and special items like family history books and a sampling of some other favorite books I've been inspired by along the journey.

What resources do you turn to on your own writing journey?

Video Post – Pulling It All Together

Four years. That's roughly how long it took me to write my memoir.

I'm looking forward to sharing some exciting news with you very soon about my book! Meantime, I thought I'd show you some of the adoption-related information I gathered over the years, beginning in 1985 when I first reached out to try to find my birth mother.

A Face in the Mirror

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In her book The Primal Wound, adoption expert Nancy Verrier defines mirror as a verb:

"To reflect back, especially with babies, children's own image of themselves so that they find that image to be positive. Mirroring, something that mothers do naturally, builds self-esteem in children."

For an adoptee raised in a family with no genetic ties, mirroring doesn't happen and many of us struggle to understand who we are and where we fit in this world.

When I became a parent I was thrilled when people told that my son and daughter looked like me. They were, after all, the first people I ever saw who were biologically related to me so. Even though I struggled to recognize the resemblance, knowing other people saw it was enough.

We just returned from spending a few days in the happiest place on earth–the city where my grandchildren live– and I had an experience while we were there that surprised me.

My daughter and I were sitting on the floor working on a puzzle with my granddaughter. Makiya is three now and at an age where we can really have a conversation together. (She's also at the age where she has a qwirky sense of humor as evidenced by the goofy look on her face in the picture shown above!)

It struck me, as the three of us chatted and worked on the puzzle, that we resembled one another and that we shared the same DNA. I can't do justice to the feeling I had with mere words, it was a sense at the core of me of belonging that I don't ever remember feeling before.

I've spent many hours together with Laurinda and Makiya in the three years since my granddaughter was born and never had such a sensation. Perhaps the difference this time was that the three of us were relating to one another verbally, in addition to visually, in a simple and casual manner while we worked on the puzzle together. Perhaps it had something to do with three generations and a recognition of the circle of life.

I thought to myself, so this is what other people feel who are blessed to be able to spend their entire lives among people they are biologically related to.

It was an amazing and affirming moment.

My Heart Breaks

A co-worker came by the office today to show off her brand new baby boy. He was born just two short weeks ago.

We ooh-ed and aww-ed over the precious baby, took turns holding him, and laughing at the funny faces he made while he slept. The new mom was positively glowing with pride as we exclaimed over the perfect child.

It was the high point of my day. And a well-needed respite from the heaviness I had been carrying throughout the morning.

I read a news story earlier this morning that broke my heart and, at the risk of breaking yours, I am going to share it with you here.

It was from Australia and told from the perspective of a Dr. Brian Hoolahan who was a medical student in the 1970s when babies here inhumanely taken from their young unmarried mothers immediately after delivery.  What he described chilled me to the bone; I can only imagine the lasting effect such an experience would have had on both mother and baby.I'm given to believe that similar things happened in Canada and the US as well; more about that in the coming weeks.

I grieve for these young women who had no say in the matter; who were treated in unimaginable ways. I don't imagine they ever recovered from the experience.

I grieve also for the innocent babies who never had an opportunity to know their mother's touch. I suspect the experience for the babies was similar, if not the exactly the same, as that of other babies who were taken from their mother's immediately after birth to be put up for adoption.

Adoption. For many prospective parents it's a source of immeasurable joy; for many adopted children it's a blessing that changes the course of the rest of their life. But you can't escape the fact that in the beginning there is a mother and a baby who are ripped apart.

How could either of them ever be the same?

My Writing Life – Balance

I have a confession to make: since I declared my memoir finished last fall I've done very little new writing.

Instead, I've been practicing the art of inhabitation.

I've found fulfillment in my kitchen as I've tried new recipes. I even purchased a pressure canner and I've been busy canning a variety of beans from recipes I've come across on Pinterest. I've been knitting –  in fact I've got a couple of projects on the needles that will be Christmas gifts this year. I've been planning my spring garden and caring for tender tomato plants I'm growing from seed. I've been tending to my new "worm hotel" and learning about the benefits of vermicomposting.

But I haven't been writing.

I'm convinced that the idea of achieving balance in our lives is a myth. It's impossible. I'm certain of it. Rather, I believe we have to choose those things that are important to us and worthy of our attention in a certain season.

For the past number of years writing has been near the top of my list and I came to accept there were some other things I had to set aside. Like quilting. I haven't made a quilt in about five years and I love making quilts; I love giving quilts as gifts; I love having quilts throughout my house.

But there was this memoir I needed to write and so I packed my fabric away and put the cover on my sewing machine and turned my attention to my story.

Last fall, when I declared my memoir finished, I found myself out of sorts with no writing project on the go. Sure, I was busy with other pre-publication activities but I found I had more time on my hands. Then, around about the time the holiday season was beginning I started to settle in and enjoy my newly found down time. The timing, of course, couldn't have been more perfect. The weather kept me indoors, the dark cold days of winter kept our fireplace on, and our traditional Christmas jigsaw puzzle on the dining room table kept me planted in one place for a time. Then the lure of Pinterest drew me in and I discovered all kinds of new ideas and things I was interested in.

Ah yes, it's been an inspiring, quiet, inhabiting few months.

But I miss writing. I miss putting my thoughts down on paper and I miss playing with words. This morning I read a post on Linda Joy Myers blog, Memories and Memoirs, about priorities and tips for what the National Association of Memoirs is calling "The Year of the Memoir" that has stuck with me all day and I know it's time to shift the scale of balance in my life and put my focus back on my writing.

As I don't believe in balance I know some things will change. Perhaps that quilt I have been thinking about won't get started, or perhaps some of my knitting projects will be put on hold for the time being. The thing is, we make a choice every day about how to spend the twenty-four hours that are allotted to us. I believe each of us, if we're honest with ourselves, know the best way to use those hours to accomplish what we are meant to accomplish in this life.

So I'm shifting the balance again and turning my attention away from some things and toward some other things. There are some exciting things ahead in 2012 and I'm with the National Association of Memoir Writers in declaring this to be the Year of the Memoir! I hope you'll stay with me…I'll be sharing more about this very soon.

Meantime, I'm interested in what you think about the concept of balance. Is balance possible? Have you achieved it? Let's chat in the comments.

Babies, Chicks, and Spring Fever

Last evening a new baby boy was born to one of my co-workers.

Two more co-workers are due to deliver at the end of this month.

Another is due in April.

I received some adorable pictures in the mail today of five baby Yorkies that were born four weeks ago. One of my Yorkie's, Maya, is the auntie to these sweet babies.

And we'll be welcoming our third grandbaby in May.

It's raining babies! It must be spring!

Chicks are arriving at Reber Ranch, just down the road from where we live, in a couple of weeks. I pored over the list of the various kinds of chicks they're expecting. I want chickens in the worst way but our HOA says they're not allowed unless they're show chickens.

Bah humbug.

Unfortunately it seems that all the show chickens are large birds and I don't want chickens to show, for heavens sake. I want chickens to provide eggs and to improve our soil and, frankly, to improve our lives just by being there and reminding us of a different way to live.

I suppose I've resigned myself to the idea of waiting until we retire before we get chickens.

Meantime I'll get my chicken-fix by checking out the chicks when they arrive at the ranch, enjoying the distant crow of the rooster who lives somewhere in our area, checking out chicken coops on Pinterest, and reading about the care and feeding of chickens in my latest Kindle purchase, City Chicks.

I think I've got a titch of spring fever. How about you?

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Celebrity Meltdown and Linky Love

I don't follow the lives of celebrities. I have no interest in the Academy Awards, or the Grammy Awards, or any other kind of entertainment awards.

Well, that's not completely true. I am interested in awards like the Giller Prize, Canada's literary award for works of fiction, and Canada's Governor General's Literary Awards, and other such literary awards.

But I don't live under a rock (Although I sometimes wish I lived on a mountaintop, or better yet a farm on the prairie, away from all the craziness.) and I knew that actress Demi Moore was in the news recently, though I didn't know, and didn't care, what for. Until this morning.

I was doing my usual hop and skip through Google Reader when I came across Lynne Spreen's post on her blog Any Shiny Thing and learned that Demi Moore is having a meltdown over turning fifty.

I've heard, and read the words of, more than a few women who have embraced aging gracefully and love being in their fifties and I count myself among them. As I've posted here before I am now more me than I've ever been in my life. I've embraced every wrinkle, every extra pound, and every gray hair I have as symbols of all I've come through, the wisdom I've gained, and the sense of settledness I enjoy these days.

Poor Ms. Moore, it seems, is not ready to accept her advancing years and step into the woman she was created to be. She doesn't know what she's missing out on. Nor do many other women who buy into the "eternally young" mindset we see put in front of us day after day.

It's time to change that. It's time to celebrate advancing age and increased wisdom. It's time we all start to appreciate the beauty of a woman who knows who she is and isn't wasting time, money, and energy trying to be a younger version of herself.

You agree, right?

I invite you to click over to Any Shiny Thing: A Discussion of Middle Age and Beyond and tell blogger Lynne Spreen you agree.

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As we head into the weekend I'm looking forward to visiting the Pacific Northwest Flower and Garden Show. It will be a time of inspiration and awesomeness and I suspect that images from the show will be adorning posts here in the days and weeks to come.

I leave you with a few other links to posts I enjoyed this week and hope you will like them too.

My good friend Carmen is a Grilled Grandma over at Grandma's Briefs.
Sweet lady Jeanette Levellie writes about dealing with people who dislike, or even hate, you.
Writer/Gardener Grace Peterson touts the wonders of Pinterest. (I'm hooked on Pinterest too. Let me know if you want an invitation!)

Don't forget to visit me at A Grandma's Garden this weekend. I'll be checking in on the worms and transplanting tomatoes.

What's on your agenda this weekend?

Inhabit

I padded downstairs this morning after performing my usual morning ablutions and did some things I could not have imagined myself doing at one time.

I'm changing. As I grow older I'm becoming more settled, more home-focused, more of the person I was meant to be.

At the beginning of 2012 it seemed people were coming up with their own "Word for the Year". I resisted the trend. But there has been one word dancing around in my mind the past few weeks. So often have I heard it whispered in the quiet of my mind that I felt I must speak it aloud and claim it for my own Word of the Year.

Inhabit.

Inhabit.

This is the year I will inhabit, more fully, my home, my life, my self.

Since I finished my memoir, and find myself in this pre-publication state, I've had more time to myself than I've had in a long while. I've taken time to consider what is important to me and where I want to focus my time and attention. I've had time to knit; time to cook; time to plan my garden, and time to start my new gardening blog. It's felt good. It's felt right.

My morning activity this morning was evidence of this new found inhabitation of my life.

I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a jar of cooked steel cut oats to take with me to work. On the weekend I prepared a large batch of steel cut oats and portioned it out in mason jars for quick, on-the-go breakfasts for Gerry and I. How gratifying it was to see those ten jars lined up on the counter when I was finished filling them.

While I was at the refrigerator I pulled out a freezer bag that contained the ingredients for BBQ Chicken; I dumped the entire bag into my slow cooker and turned it to low heat. In addition to making oatmeal this weekend, I spent a couple of hours preparing four different recipes and filling eight freezer bags with meals for my slow cooker. The satisfaction I felt as I dumped the bag in the slow cooker this morning reminded me how those hours had been time well spent. There would be no wondering what to make for dinner tonight.

I pulled a container of homemade dog food out of the freezer and put it in the refrigerator. Every seven to ten days I make a fresh batch of food for my girls. It's become a ritual that Gerry and I do together–another fulfilling activity.

I turned on the grow light for my newly-sprouted tomato plants and spritzed a bit of water on them. Then I turned my attention the flat of flower seeds sitting on a heat mat across the room and, seeing they had sprouted, removed the plastic cover from the flat.

Next, I turned to the dehydrator on the counter where I started batch of bananas on Sunday afternoon. They were sufficiently dehydrated and, as I filled two large mason jars with healthy banana chips, my mind wandered to my grandchildren who I'm making the chips for. It's always a pleasure to think about the grands.

Later, as I bent over to kiss Gerry goodbye and give the girls a goodbye pat-on-the-head, my eyes longingly rested on my latest knitting project. Tonight, I told myself. I'll get back to it tonight.

And as I gathered my things and left for work I heard a whisper. Inhabit. And I was content.

One Negative Comment

Yesterday I was delighted to receive an email from Jenna Hatfield, Family Section Editor at BlogHer, letting me know that one of my posts was being featured! Recently (very recently as this was my second post) I started cross-posting some of my posts on BlogHer.

Turns out that it's an excellent way to get more exposure for your writing and your blogs. As of this morning my little post was read 855 times; traffic here on A Slice of Life Writing was up yesterday too.

When I posted Baby Shower here last week it seemed to be popular with regular readers. Eight kind readers clicked the Facebook "Like" button at the end of the post and it was even featured as a Site to See at As The Crackerhead Crumbles. All in all, I was pleased with the post and thrilled when I learned BlogHer featured it. I received a few nice comments over there too.

So why can't I get the one negative comment written about it on BlogHer out of my mind?

The commenter made mention of "dramatic and unnecessary gasping" in the post. Apparently my attempt at humor didn't set well with everyone.

Reference was made to the very-real dangers of putting babies to sleep on their tummies and nursery furniture that is below today's safety standards, implying that I made light of advances in safety in recent generations. On the contrary, I couldn't be more grateful for every safety precaution my children are taking with my grandchildren to keep them healthy and safe.

In my mind the first section of the post was obviously written with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek; I assumed it read that way too.

If one negative comment bothered me that much, I can't help but look forward to when my memoir is published. I don't expect that everyone will love it; I'm sure there will be some less-than-flattering comments. We all have different likes and dislikes, and that's just fine.

I realized that this pre-publication time is a perfect opportunity to start preparing myself mentally and emotionally to handle negativity and criticism about my book.

No one ever said the path of a memoir writer was going to be easy. That's okay. I still believe it's the right path for me.