Jonathan: Found Monday, January 28, 2008, 6:14 PM On December 15, 2007, the boy my sister gave up for adoption nineteen years ago called her out of the blue. She said the call went something like this: "Uh, scree, hi. This is skritsch-swish-flish-ing-warble." (That's me trying to write what it sounds like when you get a bad phone connection.) "What? Who's this?" Rhonda asked crankily because she doesn't like talking on the phone. "Yabba-dabba-swish Name." Immediately, she thinks the caller is somehow related to my ex husband and that he's trying to get ahold of me. "Let me call you back," she said (still cranky). So she did and this time, the connection was clear. "This is Jonathan. And...I think you gave a boy up for adoption nineteen years ago...and I think I'm him." "Shut up!" she screamed. You have to understand my sister--she yells when she gets excited. If you hear her, you know it's not an angry yell, but her Dorothy waking up in Oz yell. It didn't scare Johnathan off, either, because three days later he drove from Indiana to Michigan to meet his birth mom. He met his half-brother, Harley the dog (who kept trying to french kiss him), and felt comfortable enough with them all that he stayed for a couple of nights. She said she didn't cry (by then she'd cried out all her happy tears), and neither did he. But we learned later from Jonathan's fiance that he'd been up all night the day he discovered Rhonda's letter and the photos. I imagine it was some damn heady stuff to work through for him.  He decided to spend Christmas Day with our family, something that took me and Oogie by surprise because normally, one spends Christmas Day with his family. But Johnathan assured us that his parents were okay with it. I think they were not okay with it, but didn't want to let him know. His parents never hid the fact that he and his sister were both adopted. From the photos he brought of them all, they looked like good people and I think Rhonda realizes that Jonathan has a good life, that he is well loved and adjusted.I did a double-take when I first saw him. He is the spitting image of his birth dad and Rhonda's first born son, Matt. Jonathan even talks like his birth dad--they both speak slowly and kind of draw out their vowels. It's uncanny. I asked him if he did a double-take when he met his dad or Matt, but he said he didn't so I guess he doesn't look in the mirror much. He has Rhonda's love for being busy, and being with lots of people. He has her blue eyes. And anyone can tell he's in love with the idea of meeting his mom--and with his mom. He and Rhonda already seem so close. And I'm so happy for my sister. This really was the very best Christmas present she could have received. It was a durn good holiday for family.  
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Cause life has its OWN pace  Just when you think you're ready...you're not. Like with this shot, which was a total mistake but makes me laugh anyway. Those entries I keep meaning to write are invading my dreams, right along with incorrect accounting codes from work, guilt about how I should make an appointment with the dentist, and call the landlord to fix my toilet so I don't have to keep reaching into the tank to make it go flush. I almost wrote one of the entries tonight, but then I got busy getting the need-to-get-stuff-done done, got overheated from coughing too much (hey, it happens when you're doing too much stuff), and now it's past my bedtime. Besides, I'm still recovering from my wild week getaway with Keanu. I'd share details, but he's sworn me to secrecy. You'll just have to use your imagination.
Engage in Unhingenosity
I have escaped DEATH I know I have a family reunion story to tell and, because Jodi tagged me for seven weird and/or random facts about myself (that's going to be rough, heh, heh), but I'm here now to say that I was just so doggone sick over the past five days, it's a freaking miracle I have enough brain cells left to send the right pulses to my fingers and type this. (Hah! Anybody want to diagram that sentence?) Ian, I saw your request for a critique. I'm not ignoring you--I was just trying to get past the stage of wanting to die. Mkay? Off to catch up with the rest of the WWW. But not at once. Slowly. Because Superwoman I am not.
Engage in Unhingenosity
So far away Yeah. A few months ago, I was not allowed to enter the building where I work because they were filming a car commercial. I forget if it was Nissan, Lexus or BMW. All I know is that I felt a spark of white-hot anger that I was being stopped from entering a building I routinely entered by a bunch of-of-of guys in jeans and sunglasses. God, if it's anything I dislike, it's someone wearing sunglasses and looking impossibly impassive. Makes my hackles rise. Makes me want to play like I'm Greek and spit on their feet. Only I don't, because I'm not made that way--too damn chicken. Anyway, I saw the car commerical on TV one night and shouted at the TV: "Hey! Those are the idiot people who made me walk halfway around the building and made me late for work. Ucker-fays." Stupid, so stupid. But I can't quell that zing inside that makes me go badda-bing, I stood there, I glared at those people, I was inconvenienced, I work there. You know the movie Judge Dredd with Sly Stallone? Parts of it were filmed where I work now. Only I didn't discover that until about six months or so ago, compliments of TNT. We know drama. Yeah. More than they know. ~*~*~*~ It's calm in Los Angeles now. We had a flood warning last night because it was raining cats, dogs and ant eaters, and L.A. isn't properly prepared for rain. Water was two inches high at the intersections, and my ankles got drenched on the walk home. But it made me smile nonetheless because a little rain and cool weather (mid-fifties, which ain't nuthin' to the mid-west) doesn't phase a Hoosier Girl who once cowered in a bathtub during a tornado watch. I welcome inclement weather because there's all too little of it in Los Angeles. Who'da thunk I'd get sick of sunny day after sunny day? The real threat of L.A. is traffic. Hot-headed people with full bladders, empty tummies, and headaches, trapped in steel cages on ribbons of cement. I don't envy 'em, and I don't want to be anywhere near them, either. The other threat of L.A. is a person's shell. How you look. How you dress. What kind of shoes you wear. This was driven home to me when I went back to Indiana last week. Back there, I felt pretty and young, at the top of my game. It was cold as hell, there were no leaves on the trees, and the clouds hid the sun, but I didn't feel invisible. But for now I live in L.A., and I can't help but feel a sense of kinship when I recognize a piece of the landscape in a movie. It makes me nod and smile, and reminds me of how far I've come, something I forget too often.
Engage in Unhingenosity
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