Ruth Mary Celeste

My Hardened Heart

2009-11-18T20:07:00.002-05:00

My Hardened Heart

I’m not sure when it happened, exactly. I just remember thinking, “No more Mrs. Nice Guy” ... no more trusting, accepting, smiling, etc. No more automatic acceptance of strangers, automatic friendliness, auto-anything.

Is this what happens to old women, living alone? Do they just get fed up? Do they stop trusting? I sure have. I’m nowhere nearly as friendly and gracious as I used to be ... all in less than a year’s time. Sad, I know. I dare not greet the world with an open heart, anymore. That can’t be healthy for me, nor for the world. I used to be so nice to people. I just dare not; not so much as before.

I won’t enumerate the specific events ... business co-mingled with personal ... that brought this on. Suffice to say, I trusted .... trusted too soon. My bad. My naivete. It won’t happen again. I have learned the lesson. I will do better, will be better.

Still, I am forever changed, finally grown-up, I guess. I know I’m not so damaged that I can’t be polite again, or fun-loving again. I just won’t ever be so genuinely trusting. That’s sad. I can feel myself getting cold and distant. I can feel the shell closing over my .... my ... what? ... my ... sweetness. Yes, that’s what’s gone.

Not one new person in my life will know that sweet me. She’s gone; probably, to some dreary, silent place for old women with hardening of the hearteries ...:)

Aging Alone

2009-11-14T13:58:00.001-05:00

Aging Alone

I am 70 years old, live alone, have friends, a family of cousins, a decent retirement, pretty good health, a car, activities I enjoy, and a volunteer commitment I take seriously. And, I’m lonely.

Why am I lonely? How dare I be lonely??

I think Loneliness is still in the closet ...:) I find that many people are quick to tell me what to do to not be lonely .... volunteer! do this! do that! They don’t know how to just .... listen. They want me to fix my loneliness, they rush to tell me what to do. So, I stop talking. I smile, and I listen to them ... I ... listen .... to them. I am losing hope of ever finding someone who will just ... listen to me. I think half my loneliness is for want of a listener.

One of the true pleasures I had when I lived in my house “out in the woods” was going outside about four times a day to feed walnuts to the squirrels and birds. I will have to find a handy place to do that here, in the city. I will find it. I will find some squirrels and birds to toss a few walnut pieces to ... and I will ease my loneliness. I will fill my need for good-giving.

I love purposeful work, thus, I volunteer. Also, I love to sing oldies. I am asking around for a pianist or guitarist to accompany me. I emailed one fellow who had been recommended ... but, I wonder if his interest slipped into amusement when he read that I am 70. I’m just saying ...:)

I am also putting together a program of poems and stories, songs, to share with local groups. Not everyone in the theatre/performance business I approach for advice is helpful ... or kind. I think there is an underlying ageism/sexism going on here. Really. I think if I were 30 and asking for advice I’d get advice. I suspect if I were a 70 year old man, I ‘d be heard with more respect. What I am getting are verbal pats-on-the-head and assurances that .... ha ha .. no, you don’t need a publicist ... ha ha ... you just need to put some things together and put on a little show in your living room for friends, then go to some poetry slams ... and get the word out to some senior centers ... just get out there ... just do it!

I wonder how many other old women have talents and desires to perform and are not taken seriously? How many just shut up and never tell anyone else about their wishes and ideas? I wonder how many old women I pass on the street or see in the grocery store or in the coffee shop go home to their apartments and houses and stare at their closets filled with binders of poems and stories and songs they will never get to read or tell or sing? I hope each of them will read/tell/sing a few pieces to someone, anyone, before she passes from this earth. It’s that important to her. It really is; she really is ...:)

Update for RuthMaryCeleste

2009-09-11T13:26:00.007-04:00

Update for RuthMaryCeleste

It is September 11, 2009. Eight years ago, this morning, I was chatting online with a friend, when the news popped that The World Trade Center tower had been hit by an airplane. Then, as I chatted with my friend, the second plane hit! We were stunned. The world changed, forever.

I saved our chat ... somewhere. Have no idea where it is, now. Moving from a three-bedroom house with an attic, basement and garage to a two bedroom apartment ... with a tiny storage bin down in the parking area ... ment pitching and donating many things. I know I saved the conversation from that morning, but I don’t know where it is.

I moved from a lovely, quiet WASPy enclave, to an artsy, noisy, neighborhood. My former neighbors come here on day-trips when they want to experience our sidewalk coffee shoppe and mingling with the local artists, poets, writers, etc. It is a wonderful place to visit .... and now, I live here. I love it!

I turned age 70 on September 1,2009. Many of my friends and former co-workers gathered at a local bar for a party on Saturday, Sept 29. I decided to invite people from all facets of my life. What a hoot! I loved it.

I switched political parties for the election ... I had to, to vote for Hillary. And, since the Republicans really don’t seem to like Liberals among their folk, I am staying over here. Somehow, my being a pro-gun Liberal hasn’t caused any of the Dems I know to faint, yet ...:)

I am still unaccustomed to the number of thugs that prowl city nightlife. That I don’t like about my new locale. And, the discarded bottles, cans, food wrappers, and cigarette butts, etc,, that litter the sidewalks early in the morning, on my way to the coffee shoppe. What kind of person just drops those things onto a public walkway? Yes, of course, I stoop over, pick up and carry some of it to several trash cans enroute to and from my morning coffee. I wonder if, as I grow accustomed to the criminals, I will also tolerate the trash ... hmmmm.

I am likely going to wrap up The Mothers Project with a DVD of the presentation and a book. I simply want to not have to schlep electronic equipment, ever again! And, many people want something to take with them ... a DVD or book. So, those two projects are in the works. All I need is money. LOL

I want to hand the conference coordinators a DVD and they can deal with the projectors and other electronic things that totally mystify me. All I want to travel with is my little valise of poems and stories to share with the audience, after they see the film. I am ready to just talk/do Q/A ... not fiddle and futz with clickers, PowerPoint, etc.

And, I want to expand my topics to include the one I am now experiencing: Ageing, alone.

When one is alone and single and has no children, whose place is it to take her aside and say, “We need to talk ...:)”

You know .... that talk ... about the memory lapses, the terrible fall/knee surgery, the isolation ... I described myself as “imploding from loneliness.”

My friend did that. She expressed her concern about me living “out in the woods.”

I shared about the impact of isolation, living alone, being lonely ... yes, imploding from loneliness. She said I needed to consider moving into the city, closer to my friends, my support system, We talked about going to lunch, to dinner, shopping, all kinds of activities I had missed ... because I lived, alone, out in the woods, too far away for a quick trip to the city. I used to love the solitude; now, I was drowning in it.

Well, that’s all behind me, now ... except for the lingering loneliness ...:) I am reminded of the saying ... “wherever you go, there you are.” Wow. So, I am still in a sort of Limbo. Someone said to me, recently, as I sat in her chair watching her prepare dinner .... “you look lost ...:)” I said, “I am.”

Yes, I am. I am more among people and that has helped so much. I love going to the coffee shoppe each day, several times a day. Still, there lingers a deep loneliness I cannot explain. I know that I miss telling the stories and reading the poems ... I am born to write and perform, talk, etc. I miss singing the oldies songs. I know that.

Maybe, finding my father might validate something in me ... or not ...:) He was from a long line of Methodist ministers, and I feel my talent for this writing and speaking, etc., .... must have come from that bloodline. It is such a natural talent, such a gift. Unfortunately, my efforts to communicate with his family are ignored. I could push it, of course, but I do not want to be hurtful. And, God knows, I don’t want to be rejected, overtly. I shouldn’t give a damn; but I do ...:)

Well, time to go meet a friend for lunch! Hooray!

NonMom

2009-03-09T22:25:00.003-04:00

NonMom

I know your story ... the hardships that battered your soul

The meanness and cruelty foisted on your little-girl heart

A childhood left to rot along Life’s highway.

I’m so sorry you were robbed of safety and love.

You had a baby and ... your parents gave her away,

Made you pretend it never happened

Made you get on with your rotting life.

And so, you did.

Maybe, you piled that loss on top of all the other scars

Maybe, that explains it.

See, I need to make sense of your meanness.

I know your daughter, and I’ve seen a photo of you

And, there’s no doubt she’s yours

She ... is ... your .... daughter.

Do you know how much she needs you?

She needs you in her Life, wants you to meet your grandchildren

You told her, “No!”

Perhaps, you have lived too long in your denial

Still hiding .... and, needlessly, stony-cold

Your heart sequestered ‘neath your scars.

.............................

This poem, NonMom, is about a mother who refuses to reunite with the daughter she lost to adoption, 40 years ago. She has met her, has had moments of joy with her, but, now, refuses to acknowledge her or work through the difficulties in reunion. She, I think, is terrified. I hope she sees this poem and knows how important she is to that young woman, who wanted to find her, all her life.

The damage done to her mother, early on, likely makes "blissful reunion" out of the question, but, maybe, they can meet each other half-way and come to terms with the relationship they have ... or could have, if each is patient and compassionate.

My friend needs to know her mother. We all need to know our mothers. Most of us get that opportunity and most of us are welcomed by our mothers. A very few, like my friend's mother, do not have the emotional stability to risk the openness and faithfulness necessary for reunion.

I support mother/adoptee reunion in all cases. We don't have to stay in contact if we don't like each other or have nothing in common ... but, at the least, we should send yearly updates. And, when we hit the bumps in the reunion road, we really ought to be a lot kinder to each other.

So, mother-of-my-friend, may you find enough faithfulness to reconnect with this kind and loving daughter who wants you in her life.

......................

I have never met a mother who doesn't want to reunite with her child .... I only know the many who never stopped loving the son or daughter their parents forced them to surrender to secretive, closed adoptions. Nor, have I met adoptees who don't want to reunite with their mothers. I have met mothers and adoptees whose reunions were not successful or are stagnate. I know the many younger mothers, today, suckered into "open adoption" arrangements that work ONLY so long as they stay on the good side of the adoptive mothers. That said, I welcome hearing from mothers who don't want to reunite with their children, adoptees who don't want to reunite with their mothers, moms and adoptees who have broken off contact, and from young moms happy in open adoptions. Email me, please, at cbsongs@aol.com

Musings on a Monday Evening

2009-01-26T18:59:00.002-05:00

Musings on a Monday Evening

More than one person has told me, softly, “Trust that the confusion and unease of the present time are part of God’s plan for you.” And so, I stifle my disgust at not being more productive, not downsizing my home, not pulling the hundreds of outdated things from shelves and storage units and drawers and setting them at the curb for AMVETS; not “finishing” The Mothers Project – the DVD and the book, not moving ahead with this feeling that I am ready to go in a different direction, to find another pianist and to sing “Oldies Songs” – I have soooo much fun doing that, --- to read poems and tell stories about Life, ageing and old times ... and to not have to deal with electronic mysteries that are part of my TMP PowerPoint experience. I liked it so much better when I just hauled those huge posters around. ... but, that limits me to local travel. And, I have many more images to share, in PowerPoint. Ah, well, it will all get sorted out, right ... God?

....................

Ageing is an interesting experience. I really am not handling winter very well. I don’t know why I continue to live in Ohio ... I have no family here, and I email -- rarely visit -- my friends just 20 miles away. Really, why don’t I move to Florida? All I need is a one-bedroom apartment, a television ... and wireless internet service. The bedroom is just for guests. I could be perfectly happy in a studio apartment. Likely, I’ll sleep on the sofa there, too. ...:)

..........................

I believe young mothers who want to keep their babies should be supported and loved by their families and communities, not forced or befriended to surrender their babies to other women in closed and open adoptions. My bias was formed by many interviews with women who were forced to surrender their babies, in generations and decades past. They never got over the loss; never.

I have met young mothers in very difficult open adoption arrangements. They, too, never got over losing their babies. Most agree, though, at least they know where their children are. A few do not know, because the adoptive family moved and the adoptive parents do not want the child to have more closeness with his/her natural mother.

I have not one story/interview about a young mother who is glad she chose adoption/open adoption. I do believe they are out there. I just want to understand it all. Maybe they like the open adoption arrangement because they know where their child is and with whom. Maybe that makes it work. Maybe they have no suppressed longing for that child, no regrets, no “too much closeness” issues that put the contact in jeopardy. I have no idea. I’d like them to email me .... cbsongs@aol.com ... I want to hear their stories and I want know the following:

1. how old were you at the time you had your baby?

2. who first talked with you about adoption/open adoption?

3. after you gave birth to your baby, did you still want to have him/her adopted?

4. what/who was most influential in helping you to choose adoption/open adoption?

5. did you want ongoing info about your child?

6. what are/were the specific contacts you and the adoptive parents agreed to?

7. how often have you seen your child since giving birth to him/her?

8. do you regret this adoption/open adoption? Why or why not?

9. in what specific ways are the adoptive parents good to you?

10. What are the most important things you want to say to a single, pregnant young woman who is considering adoption/open adoption?

And, please do not post your reply, here .... I want to hear from you, privately.

Thanks, Celeste

......................

What If?

2008-08-05T08:00:00.003-04:00

What If? 

I used to be for adopting. That's what happened to me. My single  mother gave birth to me and I was adopted. Just like millions of  other kids. Most of us went to good homes and had good lives.

Many of us think otherwise, now. I guess the biggest reason is this:  our mothers never got over losing their babies.

Why is it still socially acceptable to take babies from young  mothers when we know, now, they will never get over the loss?

Think back to your first pregnancy. What if you were constantly  badgered and told you had no business keeping your baby because you  were single, and too young, and too poor to provide for him/her,  that a married couple is waiting to provide him/her a much better  life, and you are selfish for wanting to keep your baby?

What if, in that 9 months of psychological duress and brain-washing,  you began to doubt your natural instincts to be a good mother? What  if you believed that all the adults in your life knew best -- so,  you signed an agreement to surrender your baby?

Remember how you felt about your baby, after giving birth? Would you  have wanted to keep him/her – no matter what agreement you signed  months, or weeks, or days before?

Today, as in our mothers' day, most girl/mothers change their minds,  after giving birth, but everyone around them demands that they honor  that agreement. The young mothers want to keep their babies! Nobody  listens, nobody cares, because adopters -- checks in hand and names  picked out -- are waiting for their babies.

I urge single young women to keep their babies. DON'T SIGN ANY  AGREEMENTS, and read everything you do sign at every agency, health  center or religious organization.

I urge /grandmothers/aunts/cousins to help young mothers keep their  babies within their families. If your daughter, niece or cousin is  very young -- or irresponsible, step in and file for Kinship Care or  Legal Guardianship. Don't give her baby away! Please, don't do that  to her. She won't be young and poor, forever.

I urge mature women to form support groups to help mothers and  babies get a good start in life, together. Don't hurt young mothers  by separating them from their babies.

Finally, I urge women to NOT adopt, no matter how much you want a  baby of your own. Adopting is legal, of course, and it is immensely  profitable for brokers and agencies -- but it is terribly unfair to  young mothers at the most vulnerable time in their lives.

Please, don't be part of that treachery and covert theft.

Pond Scum

2008-07-16T16:21:00.006-04:00

Pond Scum

Well, I’m old and cranky so I reserve the right to say this: thieves are pond scum!!

My friend’s purse was stolen. She had to call all the credit cards, Social Security, her bank, get a new driver license, buy a new cell phone. It has been a nightmare, as you might imagine. She’s not young, has medical problems, etc.

The thief took her purse from her grocery cart, when she turned away to open the trunk of her car. She lives in a rural area and well, you could do that fifty years ago. Not today.

No, today you risk losing a favorite purse, cell phone, your cash, your vital papers and credit cards. Why? Because some low-life pond scum wanted to get easy money.

I guess the thief pitched some of the contents along the road because a neighbor found papers with Jo’s name on them and called her, right away. No purse, no cell phone, no cash, no Visa card.

Even if the thief/thieves don’t try to use her Visa card -- that’s a felony, I guess they figured that out -- they’ve ruined her sense of safety and peace. Nope, she doesn’t feel safe, anymore, not even in her local grocery store.

Oh, yeah, I forgot .... she’s also a veteran. Ssome thanks for her service ... :(

Reunion Advice from an Old Adoptee

2008-06-11T16:57:00.008-04:00

Adoption and Reunion

With all this time at home, I have been visiting more with other adoptees, online. Mostly they are much younger than me, with different stories to tell, but we all share some adoptee angst of one sort or another. So, I thought I’d write a little about reunion.

People like me, who lived before television (!), can barely wrap our palm around a mouse let alone imagine the immediacy of email and chat and the hundreds of other nifty inventions that permeate the world of communication today.

So, the fact that many adopted adults and their first mothers are finding each other and emailing like crazy .... well, that is just amazing.

It is wonderful, a blessing, a profound gift from the universe ... to have access to information that allows the secrecy of the past to dissolve in an instant.

And, all that immediate intimacy ... like a rocket .... is incredibly scary, fraught with unrealistic expectations and bound to crash and burn if not dealt with, if not recognized as a possibility ... no matter how deliriously, deliciously, happy both are ... at first.

I think reunion is absolutely necessary and owed to both the adoptee and the mother, no matter the problems that seem to accompany so many of them. I just think we all need to deal with the realities, prepare for them, so we don’t crash and burn.

Now, none of this was even on the radar until the internet made reunion so possible, so soon, so here-and-now. But, as thousands of people are searching and finding each other every year, we must offer a plan of action, a guidebook of sorts.

I’m sure others have written such books ... and I’m sure they are very good, but I’m not sure the people who are finding their mothers/children are reading them BEFORE they actually start searching, finding, emailing, calling, etc.

So, here are just a few tips from an old adoptee. I found my mother in 1976, but I didn’t meet her until many years later, two months before she died. I wish I knew then what I know now...:)

Reunion Advice from an Old Adoptee

1. Mutually agree to approach all of this communication as “pen pals” who are strangers to each other ... not as “mother and child” who have always been and always will be. At least, start that way ...:)

2. Respect boundaries and relationships. Expect that while you once were inseparable, you now are strangers, each having been immersed in, perhaps, different cultures, languages, religions, behaviors, politics. Again, this is always easier if you begin as pen pals, who accord each other a lot of wiggle room for all the above. Right? Don’t you always stand back a bit with a new friend, give him/her a lot of leeway so you can discover the things you have in common, the special things that will help grow your friendship? Same thing.

3. Adoptee, you may be 34 and this may be your first mother, but, in matters of adoption/forced surrender/coercion ... she is back there, at age 16, vulnerable as hell and scared to death. Be patient, be compassionate, be gracious and tolerant.

4. Mother, you may be 50 and this may be your first-born child, now all grown up and possibly a parent or a PhD ... but in matters of adoption/having been "given away"/expected to be grateful ... he or she is about 7 years old and scared shitless that you will "abandon" him/her, again.

5. Not all mothers and adoptees fit that scenario. Some mothers are as self-centered at 50 as they were at 20. Some adoptees have so many screws loose that won’t ever be tightened, no matter how much love they get. Take time to know each other. Trust your instincts. Be cautious, be careful. Have an exit strategy. Don’t be mean about it. Compassion is necessary when you must pull back. There’s a reason your child or mother has problems. Be firm and be kind. This ps. from an adoptee: Remember too, that the bizarre feelings and actions are a result of adoption itself, and the laws, myths and secrecy that it created. Mothers, fathers, their daughters and sons have been through many years of separation sanctioned by the government. It takes time, patience and understanding when faced with situations that seem "out of the norm" - this is what adoption and separation did to all of us. There are layers up layers of unresovled grief, pain and anger that are not understood in the mainstream helping profession.

6. Some reunions don’t get past the first email or the first phone call. Some adoptees and mothers see, right away, that they have very little in common, aside from the hard facts of conception, and decide to pull back gradually or quickly. That’s just the truth, for them. Hopefully, they handle it with grace and bravery and, if safety is not a factor, will have a willingness to keep in touch. This ps. from a mom: I wonder if even those who don't want a friendship could be urged to at least send a birthday card and mother's day card every year? I think that even if reunions don't work out and either pulls away permanently they could at least have contact once or twice a year (just so each side knows the other cares enough to at least do that much. So we know the other is alive)? It seems that suggesting that isn't too much to ask, is it? They don't have to respect or do it but suggesting it would be so appreciated by many moms and adoptees, I think.

7. Let’s say your reunion is more successful, starting off. You like each other. You can tell, from pictures and voice and quirks, that you do share a heritage, ways of thinking, commonalities. GO SLOWLY! Be honest, be funny, be all the things you are, but don’t jump from cozy to canoodle!! I mean that ... so many people describe the feelings like .... falling in love, having a crush, etc. That’s understandable. Just don’t jump so deeply into each other’s life that you abandon other people, other relationships. Believe me, others notice and if they are pushed aside, they will bring down the hammer. Be aware. If either of you is going overboard, the other should gently slow things down ... not shut off the feelings, but slow down the train. And, do so with gentleness. There is no need to cut off all contact. Be sensible. Keep this relationship in balance with the rest of your life. Balance. That will save you a ton of argument and bad feelings and jealousy. Let’s face it. People expect two single people to be gaa gaa over each other and to focus on each other to the near exclusion of everyone else. They might shake their heads and roll their eyes, but they accept it. They are much less tolerant of a mother and adoptee having such an obviously powerful relationship and showing such preference and exclusivity ... especially when there are marriages and children and jealous other relatives and friends involved. It happens, more than you think. Their disapproval and rudeness can be devastating. Be prepared.

8. Get a backbone. I have urged that to adoptees who are so terrified of confronting their adoptive mothers’ insecurities, they stop having a relationship with their natural mothers and original families. Now I say it to mothers who are terrified of the backlash from their mates, partners, mothers, children, siblings and friends. Get a backbone! This relationship is off-limits to them. So long as you are fulfilling your duties and responsibilities as a mother, wife and other primary partner, you do not have to account to anyone for your enthusiasm about this relationship with your son or daughter. Now, that said, you do have to be sensible and reasonable with your time and duties. Just be gracious in telling others that you are happy and hope they are happy for you and your son/daughter. Then change the subject and re-examine if you are being reasonable with your time and energy. Make any changes that will ease the jealousy. If you are being as cooperative as possible, let it go, don’t beat yourself up over it and don’t allow them to hammer you.

9. Listen, listen, listen. Each of you has a story to tell. Most likely very few friends or family have truly listened to the truth about the coercion and surrender, and about the less than perfect life of an adoptee. Listening requires you to sit quietly and stop the chatter in your mind, the tendency to interrupt, etc. Just .... listen. Listening without interruption opens the path to honesty .... the truth as lived by each of you. Her truth in her time, your truth in your time. Each of you has this blessing of reunion to allow you to share your truth with the other. It won’t always be pretty, but it is the truth. You must speak it with a soft voice and you must hear it with a soft ear and an open mind. Just hear the other. Don’t judge, don’t challenge, don’t do anything but listen. What a gift of love.

10. We teach people how to treat us. My heart goes out to mothers and adoptees who are coping with terrible behavior from the other, and from jealous families, etc. Don’t stand for it! Reunion is difficult even when both parties are kind and patient. It is horrendous when either is mean-spirited or allows others to dictate the progress of the reunion. Do not allow anyone to shame you or to create difficulties for you. Only you can stop the abuse. Do not allow it, not for a minute. Be polite and firm. Trust your instincts. Limit your engagement with people who consistently hurt you. When someone is out of line, gather your courage and leave, if necessary. Your submission gives permission. Never permit people to mistreat you.

11. Whatever happened to civility? In reunion, the ups and downs can be stressful. Even the best moments can be charged with triggering words, etc. Just step back from those events. Take a time out. Say so. Grant the time out when one is requested. Be very patient and understanding with each other. Always be willing to keep in touch, to be in contact when things settle down. Promise to come back, another day. Be nice, be civil. Apologize, forgive.

12. Trust in the truth. Each of you has the truth from your experiences. Share that with each other, listen, listen, listen. Life is short. This may be a wonderful relationship. Or it may be difficult, but whatever it is ... accept it, as it is. Be honest and be kind. When rough patches interfere with your safe journey, slow down, watch and listen with extra care, and have compassion.

I have one regret for the one time I saw my mother. I never touched her. Now she is gone. Please, be better at this than I knew how to be.

Blessings to you, both ...:)

Celeste ..... cbsongs@aol.com

"Trying to make sense of adoption is like trying to find logic in the absurd --- it doesn't exist."

Michelle Edmunds, host/producer TheAdoptionShow.com

A long, long winter

2008-06-11T16:40:00.004-04:00

Thank God, Summer is here! I have decided that I will not spend another winter in Ohio. Well, I can’t afford to live elsewhere for four months, but I can take at least one vacation between December and April.

I got a phone call from my dear friend, Jim, who lives in Key West and manages a small hotel there. He reminded me that we met on Christmas Eve, 40 years ago! Well, our 40^th anniversary will be this coming Christmas Eve. So, guess where I am going for my first winter vacation ...:) Key West, here I come!!

That slip-on-ice and fall in my driveway .... remember? Well, the pain never went away and a subsequent MRI revealed a torn cartilage. I had knee surgery a month ago and am doing very well.

The Grandmothers

2008-03-09T18:28:00.005-04:00

The Grandmothers

In generations past, most mothers of “unwed” pregnant daughters were frantic with fear and embarrassment, lest their neighbors, churches and communities learn the truth. So, they eagerly, quickly, quietly sent their newly-pregnant girls off to distant maternity homes where they were given false names, attended school, and gave birth, alone.

Some new mothers were allowed to hold their babies and nurse them, others were not. Most begged to keep their babies, but were forbidden to do so. They were sent back home, warned not to search for their child and told, “Never speak of this, again.”

Agencies, lawyers and baby brokers sold the babies to other mostly middle-class married couples.

Sealed adoption records and false birth certificates (naming the adoptive couple as the mother and father) assured adoptive parents that the child’s mother wouldn’t find her child. The lies and myths in adoption were never about protecting the identity of the mother.

To each grandmother of the past, I ask you to apologize to your daughter for giving her baby away.

To each girl/mother of the past, I ask you to forgive her.

I cannot change the business of adopting, but I can ask mothers of girl/mothers -- the soon-to-be grandmothers -- to help your daughters keep their babies.

I can ask you to learn from the millions of girl/mothers of generations past, who never got over losing their babies to adoption, who should have been allowed to keep them – whose mothers should have helped them keep them.

WWMS?

2008-02-10T20:55:00.000-05:00

WWMS?
©2008 Celeste Billhartz

Awhile back, the letters were WWJD? What Would Jesus Do? It was ment to get Christians to think before doing something stupid or illegal or just plain wrong.

My letters, WWMS, stand for What Would Mardi Say?

Mardi is my cousin. Like her mother before her – who was always my model for proper behavior -- Mardi makes a lot of sense. So, when I find I’m winding my guts around my brain, and I’m about to say or write something that is true AND hurtful, I think, ”Now, CB, what would Mardi say? “

Just to be sure I don’t forget, I taped a big sign on my fireplace mantel: WWMS? I see it, every day, when I am typing my diatribes against adopting. More than once, those letters have saved me from saying – publicly – what I say in private conversations with other activists. No sense in hurting the feelings of millions of good people who adopted a baby and are being good parents. Unfortunately, their gain was a mother’s loss.

Mardi would want me to be polite.

I can do polite. I just choose not to remain silent about millions of girl/mothers whose only sin was “obedience” … that much-valued behavior drummed into the character of every middle-class girl and boy.

And, most of the “unwed” mothers who were not allowed to bring their babies homes were nice, middle-class girls.

And most of the “unwed” fathers were middle-class boys who dared not defy their parents, dared not “ -- marry too young and ruin your life, your future –“ etc. Needless to say, they were … obedient. Millions of them, obeyed their parents, their church, their culture and class.

As one mother put it, about her Catholic boyfriend who said his parents and church wouldn’t allow him to marry her, “He didn’t sin by loving me, he sinned by leaving me.”

Indeed. She had no help, no parental support. All the adults in her life and her church insisted she had only one choice: adoption. That was the saddest day of her life, 40 years ago, when she surrendered her little boy.

They reunited a few years ago. He has never forgiven her for “giving” him away.

Tell me, how do I stay polite about that? Leave it out of the story? Would that make you feel better, reading this?

It’s impossible to tell the truth about adoption coercion and not ruffle some feathers, so I guess I will just keep telling the truth … AND keep glancing up at the fireplace mantel.

Carol et al

2008-02-03T11:22:00.000-05:00

Carol et al

I’m a simple woman. I live a simple life, apart from the hustle and bustle of work and family. I live alone, have no pets … well, I have the mouse who lives with me. She’s in my basement, in a box. I know she lives there because I have found … her … you know … droppings. Or, as I describe her … "my little shit machine.”

I have always lived with a mouse. First there was Carol … I named her for Carol Burnett … remember her? At the end of each tv show, she tugged at her ear – as a signal to her daughter.

My “Carol” had an ear that looked like somebody took a bite out of it and it was a tad larger than the other ear. I figured, well, she got the larger ear from scratching it, so much. (Humor me.)

My Carol went to the great cheese-fest-in–the-sky … I guess. I never found her remains and I don’t know how she got into the house or out of it. I just never saw another mouse with a huge, cleft ear.

I lost another mouse to my stupidity. I had set a humane trap – one of those that doesn’t snap their necks, but lures them into it with a food item then slams shut. I always took the “inmate” out to the woods, and released it. I just didn’t want any more “shit machines” in my house. But, I forgot I had set the trap under my dining room table, and by the time I noticed that the trap door had closed, the little visitor was … dead … starved to death … by my negligence.

I blessed the mouse and took it out to the woods and placed it in a clearing … so a hungry falcon or owl could find a meal.

I’d have a cat if I were not allergic to animals. Cats suit me more than dogs. I am not of the generous and spontaneous spirit dogs require. I am solitary, predictable and cranky, given to bouts of regret that are best soothed by steady purring rather than effusive, sloppy kisses.

That probably sums up my unsuitability for marriage, etc., too …J

Lucy Doesn't Listen

2008-02-01T15:50:00.000-05:00

Lucy Doesn’t Listen

We manage to have dinner about every month or so. It is always such a pleasure to talk about our very different lives, her family, her car, her mother-in-law, her dog, my recent ---, her advice, her taxes, etc.

I love her, of course. Still, I drove home with an ache in my heart, making peace with our one-sided chat.

As I roam the back roads of aging, I want to spend more time with the listeners and less time with the interrupters. I really do. And, I am not seeking to educate them, one at a time. I want to discover the listeners, one at a time. I want to find the listeners.

I accept those who don’t know how to listen. I just … smile, and we move on to the topics they present. There is nothing else to do. I will meet Lucy next month and we will love seeing each other; and I will know, going into the restaurant, that I must do so without expectations … just … enjoy her, us.

I know she loves the “listener” part of me. She calls it my “smile” … but, it is my silence, my listening/loving she appreciates. She just doesn’t recognize that.

Listening is hard. I didn’t know how to do it, until I was trained to do it, as a volunteer taking phone calls on a suicide/crisis hot line. I am ever grateful for it.

Here’s a mini-test: While you read the paragraphs, above … did you “interrupt” me with your words/thoughts, “Well, you could/should tell her you need to finish what you’re saying.” Sigh …J

See, we just don’t know how to listen.

I don’t have a manual in front of me and I hesitate to tell you something that isn’t “by the book” … but, here are some nuggets of advice that might come in handy, sometime, when your friend just needs a good listener:

• When someone starts telling you something, just listen. Smile, nod, say, “Hmmm” or “Uh huh” or any other short comment that assures him/her that you are attending to the words.

• Your mind cannot hold two thoughts at the same time, so choose to listen to your friend, not to your interior mind-chatter. Focus on his/her words, face, eyes, voice, etc. This is harder than you think. Most of us never do it right. Practice. Try it out on the next phone call you get from a friend or family member. Just … listen.

• Do not change the subject from your friend’s topic to your topic, your thoughts, your advice, gripes, commiseration, solution, etc. This is so difficult because we are not trained to listen. We think we are being a good friend/mother/sister when we give advice, so we rush to tell our friend how we would handle the situation, or how a similar experience affected us, or what advice someone gave us that worked or didn’t work.

Being listened to, really having been heard, for as long as it takes to say it all, is the most peaceful feeling in the world! When you have been heard … whether or not you solve a problem … your energy is better, your heart is lighter, a quiet power fills your soul.

I want more listeners in my life And, I wish that for you – more people in your life who, truly, listen. What a gift of love.

My TV

2008-01-29T08:53:00.000-05:00

My TV

There are companion animals, yes? Well, I have something even better. A companion tv.

I don’t have to feed it, or walk it, or worry about it when I go out of town. It’s as close as my remote. Well, my remotes. I have two.

One turns on the cable system and the other turns on the tv.

Yes, I know – most tv sets turn on, change stations and get louder or softer with the same fancy cable remote … the kind with 53 buttons.

This puppy is so old, the cable guy couldn’t program it to do that, so I have to use the old remote – with six buttons — to turn it on/off and to increase/decrease the volume. Works ... uh .. worked … like a charm.

Yes, my old friend of some 25 years is kaput.

I can’t tell you the panic I felt. I have to have tv! Morning news, noon news, evening news, Martha, Oprah, Ellen, C-SPAN!!

I was really pushed off-center.

I mean, I had to think of something, other than dashing out to buy a new tv. This isn’t like running out of milk for cereal. One doesn’t just run out and buy a new tv without researching, reading. That could take weeks. Could I go days …?

No. I’ll ask friends if they have an extra one to lend or sell.

Ah, then, I remembered. I went into the basement and dug out an old … very old, very tiny, square, portable, black and white tv … small enough to fit inside a grocery bag. Small enough that I can set it on my coffee table and watch it from my sofa, without squinting.

Good. That’ll do, for now.

It’s so old, I can’t connect it to cable, nor can I get any station clearly, but I found the three major networks and one strange UHF station. And, there’s no color. I’m adjusting to that, better than I expected.

I realize that it isn’t the visual tv I love, it’s the voices, the company. Chatter, humor, ads … anything to pacify the numbing loneliness.

And, I had no idea.

Shady Acres

2008-01-28T13:43:00.000-05:00

Shady Acres

I toured a retirement living center, recently. I agreed to go as a courtesy to my younger friend who thinks it is the ideal place for me. It is very near a large shopping center and has all the comforts and amenities anyone might want.

In our conversation about the pros and cons of such a big move, from a three-bedroom house with a full basement to a one-room studio apartment, I mentioned my anxiety about snowy driveways, falls, etc. and told her I now wear YakTrax over my boots/shoes when I must walk on a snowy driveway. She grinned and said, “Well, we know how you handle anxiety.” And she mentioned my not buying another glass product after cutting myself, badly, on a broken coffee pot, a few years ago.

I saw the shift from a glass coffee pot to a metal carafe as good and sensible. She saw it as over the top, excessive. She, I see, interprets my wariness about ice and glass as wimpy. I, who fell hard and had a purple leg for a month … and who had to get a neighbor to take me to the hospital at 6am because I couldn’t stop the bleeding … see my decisions as wise and sensible.

Living alone and aging alone – falling alone/getting a terrible cut, alone – does something to one’s sense of stability, I think. I am very careful, now, on ice and handling routine kitchen duties. I look closely at motions and distances from foot to step, that sort of thing. I don’t bounce down the basement steps, anymore. Handrails – like stainless steel carafes and YakTrax -- are my friends.

Still, after a good sleep and a day of lists marked “Sell” and “Pitch” and “Keep”, I called my friend and told her this: I am not ready for “Shady Acres” … or any other retirement center with three meals a day and housekeeping services, laundry services, beauty salon, etc.

I consider the visit to have been a good wake-up call! Indeed, I guess I am about 10 years from taking a studio apartment there. In the meantime, I will downsize my household, do some repairs necessary for selling my home, and make my next move to a one-bedroom apartment in the city, very near my friend’s home.

I was shaken by the reality of my vulnerability, but now I embrace it, smile at its predictability, and welcome the inevitable surprises … with as much humor as I can muster, or pretend.

Twilight Musings

2008-01-28T13:12:00.000-05:00

Twilight Musings

I am slipping. I know it. So many forgotten grocery lists, so many missed turns on familiar highways, more and more silent moments – waiting for the fact, the name, the hundreds of things I always knew.

Last week, I left a message for a friend. I was so unsure what to do. I seldom needed a friend to tell me what to do, guide me, know the sensible thing to say, to do. I used to be the wise one.

…………..

This year, a friend sent me fish oil for Christmas. She’s very poor and always sends me gifts I would never buy for myself. Meaning: if I wanted fish oil, face creams, trendy perfumes and ornate, girly things, I would buy them.

I thank her and know there is no sense in my reminding her, again, that presents are not necessary. She has a need to do that, so I stopped reminding her, years ago. In her hard and sparse world, health food, facials and fashion are hidden treasures. So, I say nothing.

I wonder what “gifts of nurturance” I give … that I most need?

....................

I shoveled half the driveway, this last snow. Before, I always cleared the whole thing – the way into the garage and the other half, alongside, ment for extra parking. A responsible homeowner is supposed to do that, I know.

My alternative, of course, is to hire a man to plow the driveway. I did that for years. The last time was fine, but I don’t feel safe, anymore, walking on the thin veneer of packed snow that is left.

My neighbor said that’s pretty standard. No reason to scrape the snow down to the asphalt and risk hitting a rock or something that would damage the blade. I see. I know it doesn’t take the fellow but three minutes to run up and down, push and drag the blade, and shove it all over the edge of the drive. Sure, I see. Time is money.

I can’t get it done in under an hour. One steady push of the shovel, from this side to that side, again and again. Many stops at either end, to catch my breath, straighten my back, hope to hell my heart doesn’t fly out of my chest.

I love seeing the pristine black driveway. Safe. That’s what it means to me. I can feel safe when I walk on it.

About two months ago, I took a bad fall on that driveway. There was a small patch of ice under the new-fallen snow. Really bad. Nothing broken, but it shook me up.

I just wasn’t ready to deal with winter, I guess. Or, I thought there should be a lot more snow to justify hiring a man to plow the driveway.

But, that bad fall made me realize that I had to be safe. I could have all the locks on all my doors and have security lights come on every time a raccoon waddles by at night, and still be vulnerable when I step onto an icy driveway, in broad daylight.

I thought, “Why clear the whole driveway? I never use that other side.”

I made one long clearing the width of my shovel, right down the center of the whole thing. I then shoveled the side I use to enter and leave the garage. It took about half an hour.

So, the driveway from the road into the garage is gloriously clear, and I can, safely, walk the length of it to the mailbox. The other side is snow-covered. I didn’t feel right about it, but, at last, the task is manageable. Today, I took a picture of it. I want to remember.

Their Crime

2008-01-19T20:38:00.000-05:00

Their Crime

Let's talk about sex ... I mean, that's really what their crime was ... sex before marriage. A baby is proof of it!

Even sex during marriage is, well ... we don't even mention it, do we?

My friend, Gladys, said she finally had to admit that her married daughter was having sex when she announced that she was pregnant.

Now, we know Gladys had sex, at least three times. There's Lois, and Thurman, and Millicent. Still, she acts like she's never seen a penis, let alone welcomed it into her ... uh ... nether regions.

Ladies, what is so difficult about accepting, as fact, that women actually enjoy sex? Take our mothers, for example. Even if they, apparently, didn't ever have good sex, they certainly had a hankering for it ... a few times in their life, I'm sure.

The good Lord made us fertile and excitable at age 12 or so. Some cultures just go with the flow. Ours decided we had better not loosen our juices... until we are married.

That marriage certificate sure works wonders for a woman's natural ... excitability.

I am all for marriage and privacy. I just wish we'd cut a little slack to the unmarried, to the in-love, and, especially, to the pregnant. Let's just stop punishing in public what we all do in private.

As for Gladys? Well, she's lying down with a cold pack on her head. Seems she was snooping through Millicent's night stand ... and found "Mr. Pokey."

Backbone

2008-01-19T17:38:00.000-05:00

Backbone

People often ask what I want to accomplish with The Mothers Project. I tell them I want to tell the truth about our mothers, the truth about adoption coercion, and I want adopted adults to get a backbone.

Adoptees grow up thinking we were “given” up, or “given” away, so our mothers could finish school or keep their jobs or some other self-serving goal … or, they “gave” us up so we could have a better life than the poverty or misery they lived in. Summed up: we get the message, over and over, year after year, talk after talk, that we are better off with our adoptive mothers than with our natural mothers.

Nobody ever tells adoptees the truth: Your mother was young, she wanted you, begged to keep you, and not one adult in her life … especially her own mother … would allow her to keep you, and certainly would not allow her to bring you home – to your family, in your town.

Adoption is a middle-class issue. Middle-class kids are taught to please their parents, not to argue with them or defy them. If your unmarried, teen-mother had paraded around town with a big belly, what would all of polite society have thought about her? If your teen mother had brought you home, what would that say about HER mother, her family?

Most likely, your mother was in love with a very special boy and they did what most girl in love do with boys … they had sex. Most likely, she was not a “loose” woman, and didn’t have a clue about how not to get pregnant. Even if she had heard about condoms, she surely didn’t know how to get them. Most girls trusted their boyfriends to “know what to do” … if they thought at all.

Not all girls, but most. And, some were raped. I have met them, too. They would have kept their babies if they had any way to support them. Most mothers were terrified and utterly abandoned during their pregnancies. They wanted their babies, but were not allowed to keep them.

Single mothers were not tolerated in middle-class society, families, or churches. Unless there was a quickie marriage and a baby the family could pass off as a “preemie,” the times demanded that a pregnant teen be sent away to a maternity home, have her baby and sign it over to a social worker, agency or lawyer who had a married couple waiting to adopt him or her. … for a hefty fee. Adoption is a billion-dollar a year industry in North America.

In generations past, the upper-class had secret abortions, via their upper-class physician-friends, the middle-class forced their daughters to surrender their babies for adoption, and working-class girl/mothers sometimes got to keep their babies by fighting long and hard to convince their parents that they could handle being mothers at a young age. And, their parents respected their gutsy attitude, their refusal to take “No!” for an answer. Again, as one astute activist told me, “Adoption is very much a middle-class issue.”

In middle-class families, the only acceptable outcome was for the young mother to surrender her child for adoption. Your mother had no choice, no voice … and, certainly, no emotional support or money to keep you, feed you, educate you, etc. In fact, unmarried pregnant women were still fired from their jobs as recently as the late 1970’s.

The sad fact is, had your natural families – your mother’s and your father’s -- stepped up to help your mother she would not have lost you.

Know this: Your mother never got over losing you. She was warned never to look for you, and was assured that you will look for her, if and when you are ready to meet her. Of course, sealed adoption records and false birth certificates make that very difficult for any adopted adult.

And, here’s another fact to wrap your heart around: sealed records and false birth certificates and all the secrecy around adoption was NEVER put in place to protect the identity of the natural mother, as has been touted by the adoption industry. It was done to guarantee the adoptive mothers that the natural mothers would never find their children.

Hopefully, your adoptive mother is emotionally secure, fair-minded and will do the right thing -- give you your original birth certificate and all the information that will help you find your natural family and get vital information re health issues, family history, traits, etc.

Your first mother is no longer that helpless, terrified girl/mother of decades ago. She is a grown, courageous woman. She, likely, will never allow anyone to hoodwink and manipulate and take advantage of her, ever again. She might be tough or tender, or both. No matter who she is and how she is today, she is owed something that was denied her for many years – the truth about what happened to her child, her son or daughter. She needs to know who you are and where you are. She needs to see you, again.

Now, to the backbone issue …J

You owe her reunion and at least one face-to-face meeting. If that can happen easily, fine. If not, you need to get a backbone and make it happen – away from your adoptive mother, despite your adoptive mother’s insecurities and whatever consequences you might have to deal with for defying her wishes.

Get a backbone, please. If you are an adult, you have every right to find and spend time with your mother. It would be great if your adoptive mother and father stepped back and gave you total support as you and your mother work through your relationship, through the ups and downs of reunion -- and there can be many.

If they don’t, you need to be brave and risk their displeasure … even risk their overt or covert threats to not support you, financially. You must get a backbone and decide what you are willing to do to spend time with your mother and natural family, if you want to.

Face it, there’s only so much gratitude and loyalty we can show our adoptive parents. There comes a time when they must step back, be gracious, and support us in our efforts to reunite with our mothers and first families. We were never “gifts.”

I support open records for adoptees.

Yes, that can be sticky for a few mothers who have never told anyone that they had a baby 20, 30, 40 years ago.

Yes, a few adoptees and a few mothers are screwed up, mean, and are best left out of each other’s lives.

Yes, a few reunions turn out to be nightmare experiences. Not every mother or child is a sane, kind, honorable person. I have met the rejected moms, the rejected sons and daughters who tried to reunite and were turned away, some actually had the doors slammed in their faces. It breaks my heart.

This message, however, is for the other 99% of mothers and adoptees who are sane, kind and honorable, and should never have been separated in the first place. I say, go for it! Find your mother, find your son or daughter. Start out slowly, with emails and phone calls and get to know each other, feel you can trust each other to behave respectfully.

Then, meet! Meet!

That's it now

2008-01-15T10:22:00.000-05:00

That's it now

Well, that’s it now. I had my meltdown, I backed away from ever using electronics in my show again … and I reverted to schlepping many mounted posters -- size 2ft x 4ft -- instead of a tiny flash drive that plugs into any computer. OK. You win – all you 21^st Century devotees. I give up. I yield. I surrender.

Last night, I schlepped my 35 mounted posters to our local Panera Bread Company - meeting room … and presented The Mothers Project. It was billed as a “rehearsal” … just in case I screwed up the whole thing.

My trusty “roadie” did her best to get each poster up onto the easel and I did my best to tell the truth about adoption loss ... and not insult the social workers and adoptive mothers who might be present. We did a good job. Many sincere and appreciative comments at the end.

Still, I confess that I really must change with the times. Not because electronics is better, but because I am too old and too cranky to deal with schlepping 35 mounted posters, an easel, a guitar, etc … anywhere, ever again.

You have to picture this: Ohio, winter, snow … and my having to cart two huge portfolio cases, a guitar case, a music stand and an easel from the restaurant, across a parking lot and into a very old Chevy Blazer. Like I said, I am old and I am cranky. And, when the whole load shifted off the little hand truck -- as I pushed against a slight curb -- well, that did it.

So, I give up. I surrender. I will put the images onto a flash drive and ask the venue to provide a computer, a projector and a screen. Just like a modern person. Sigh …J

Letter Limbo

2008-01-11T08:01:00.000-05:00

Please ignore the gmail address above, and continue to email me at cbsongs@aol.com -- thanks, CB

Out of Sight

2008-01-07T15:39:00.000-05:00

Out of Sight

When my computer crashed, I bought a new one. Then, my internet service provider's old modem was defective -- repeatedly kicking me off line -- so I finally got a replacement. Both those incidents might seem annoying, but not worth posting about. I am writing about them because of what I learned from the experience.

See, I had my life on my hard drive. Most of my joy and companionship was with the many daily emails and instant messages with people online and when that connection ended, I was lost. When I got the new computer I had a difficult time finding my way around it, having to re-establish favorite places and create new folders, unable to remember passwords. I stayed lost.

I live alone, have no pets and am not a very social person. I really enjoy my solitude. Still, when I lost my internet connection, my life changed, instantly ... and stayed that way for two weeks. I had to own something I had tucked away: Loneliness.

I shared that awareness with a close friend who lives in Arizona. She has been quietly drowning in her loneliness, too. Her daughter died last year and she is grieving. We both admitted our need for .... something. Finally, we agreed to be each other's support system, our own little 12-step program for growth out of loneliness.

We are going to take the initiative and call friends locally, make plans for lunch and shopping and lots of girl-things. I am not going to depend on the computer for companionship.

I wonder, how many other older women are hidden from society -- by dependence on the easy access of computers -- and simply don't bother to make connections in other ways? I wonder about many who don't have computers -- like my friend -- and are simply out of sight, yet very, very lonely.

"I know," she said, "my mother died of loneliness." My friend is determined not to crumble and whither away, nor expect others to come to her door. We readily acknowledge our responsibility for our own happiness; we just didn't recognize, until this conversation, today, that what ails us is loneliness and the cure is friendship.

Injustice

2007-12-31T14:17:00.000-05:00

Injustice

I abhor injustice

The false imprisonment

Of wrongly-accused, wrongly-charged, wrongly-sentenced men and women

I implore the civilians, officials, professionals --

Who put them there and keep them there

Who refuse to release them --

How dare you refuse to right the wrongs?

Your wrongs, Sir or Madam ... your wrongs ... :-(

Reflection

2007-12-30T10:24:00.000-05:00

My computer crashed ... I bought a new one ... I wrote a long piece about it, but can't figure out how to post it. So, here's a poem that sums up much of my recent experience. CB

Reflection

In the aftermath of loss, came fear

And sudden, necessary change

So, I rebuilt my perceptions --

Who I am, now

What I value, now

I thought my past was decades old

It isn't. It is yesterday

And every moment matters

There are so few certainties, now

I see my world has limits

Thus, I treasure moments more

Listening and The Listener

2007-12-28T19:36:00.000-05:00

Listening

I know listening when I hear it

Foremost, it does not interrupt

It doesn't change the focus from thee to me

From your exasperation to my solution

Listening is a learned skill, an art

Or, it is born of compassion

From having not been heard

.............

The Listener

The impatient one speaks harshly

Another is kind

Yet, in the midst of my expressions of fear and confusion

The impatient one listened, and listened, and listened ...

And I found my way to acceptance and a new bravery

The kind one stopped me short

Told me what and when and how she solved her problem ...

And I vowed never to reveal myself to her, again

Less and Less and Less

2007-12-28T07:54:00.000-05:00

Less and Less and Less

There's something missing in our country. I've been feeling that way for quite some time, but I never talk about it much. Yesterday I sat with an older gentleman in the customer waiting area at our local car repair shop. I asked if he minded my turning up the volume on the TV. He didn't mind. Soon, we were chatting about the annoyingly-loud and too-frequent commercials that interrupted the show.

"Greed," he said. "It's all about money."

We both listed numerous examples of how money influences politics, war, daily life. He fears for his grandkids' debt-saturated lives. We abhor the seeming loss of honesty in government, the horror of our country losing so many young people in Iraq. The horror of Iraq. The answers neither of us has.

A little girl was playing with blocks at the children's table, so we spoke in soft, abbreviated, cryptic ways so as not to frighten her.

Just then, her 30-something father came in to help her finish a game and put the blocks away. He heard us mention Iraq ... and he barely contained his sadness. His cousin just died in the war. He said he has lost all respect for President Bush "He's probably a decent guy, you know, but I no longer trust him or his administration."

I looked at the older gentleman, who, by his appearance and fine features, surely votes Republican ...:) "I voted for him, twice," he said ... and shook his head.

The young fellow helped his daughter with her coat, nodded and smiled, and they left.

Commercial after commercial charred the air. The manager stepped in for a cup of coffee and told us we could change the channel. "Thanks," I said. We just kept staring at the television.

"Do you feel like things are missing?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

We sat in silence for a long time, both sad, both wishing we had answers .. and proven good deeds from politicians who hadn't sold their souls.

"We need Harry S. Truman," he said.

Thank you, God

2007-12-11T14:14:00.000-05:00

Thank you, God ...
©2007 Celeste Billhartz

The blessing of showers ... that's what I am thankful for. I thank God, each time I am blessed with a hot shower, my favorite soap, shampoo, conditioner, fluffy towels, warm bathroom, comb, a barrette for my hair.

I thank God for clean clothing -- my favorite t-shirts, jeans, and the sox I love to wear with my favorite shoes.

Each day I haul my old frame into the tub, turn on the water and feel so blessed to have a hot shower I say, "Thank you, God ... thank you."

And, each time, I wonder who is blessing homeless old women with hot showers and shampoo, with soft towels and clean clothes?

I envision portable showers and donated soaps and shampoos and towels and clothing. Surely, some group or other does that for the homeless. I hope so, because there is some measure of peace and healing .. a blessing ... in showers.

If I were homeless, that's what I would appreciate most, I think -- a safe place to go for a hot shower and some clean clothes. They wouldn't have to match or be the right size; just some clean clothes ... and maybe, a barrette for my hair.

Circus

2007-12-11T14:10:00.000-05:00

Circus
©2007 Celeste Billhartz

There was a news story on TV about an old circus elephant shackled and displayed in a small zoo that closed. She was sent to a larger zoo where she saw another elephant ... for the first time in 20 years.

The two of them called to each other, so loudly, so persistently, that the zookeepers finally opend the gate and allowed them to touch each other. Turns out, records show that they knew each other. Years ago, they were in the same circus.

As the narrator ended the story, I whispered, "Oh, my God!" and I cried. I cried because I knew that ADOPTING is a circus and we are the elephants, separated from our herd, sent far away, dressed up and taught to perform on cue.

And I thought about the circus audiences who are thrilled to see the elephants! They don't think about them having been taken from their families, forced to learn tricks, forced to perform for them. They would protest, I'm sure ... if they thought the elephants were mistreated, but they are well-trained and well-fed. So, the show goes on.

Most adoptive mothers are good women who mean no harm in their adopting an infant. They don't see the mother/family from whom the child was taken. They don't see the incalculable losses, all around.

The adopters, their families and friends see only the "circus" baby dressed up, re-named and taught to twirl and dance on cue.

Adoption Reality

2007-12-03T15:33:00.000-05:00

Adoption Reality
©2007 Celeste Billhartz

A few months ago I got a photograph from a mother who visited with her daughter, in a hospital room. In the photo she is showing her the beautiful little christening gown she had saved, all these 40-some years, to show her daughter that she never wanted to "give her up" for adoption. The daughter blinked, "Yes" in acknowledgment ... her body frozen by ALS/Lou Gehrig's disease. My friend's other daughter took the photo and another daughter stood, nearby. They had come to say, Goodbye.

Not in the photo, but standing "guard" in the room, was the adoptive mother, who would not allow them a precious few moments of privacy.

Four months later, my friend's daughter died. At the funeral service none of the adoptive family, and none of their eulogies, acknowledged this natural family, sitting there, grieving ... and not one person offered condolences on their loss.

The lies in adoption are many. We all tell them, every day. It's all we know, all we have been told to say, all that is allowed. We pretend our sisters, brothers, cousins are, really, ours; they are not. We pretend we have traits inherent in our adoptive families; they are not our traits.

And, all our lives, we protect our adoptive families from the truth: We have our own natural families, our own sisters, brothers, cousins ... our own trails of traits, somewhere, reaching back to the ancients in our souls.

And, our natural mothers ... we wonder where are they, who they are, why did they "give" us away?? Not having answers, not "awake" to the reality of adoption coercion, many of us pretend. We believe they didn't want us or wanted something else more -- school, a job, etc.

And, so, we make new lives among the strangers -- not of our skin, not of our hearts. We doze; we pretend. All our adoptive lives, we pretend. And, because we believe we are lucky to have been adopted/wanted, we protect ourselves with happy faces and words of gratitude.

Eventually, we are old enough to be more curious than content, so we ask about our origins. The good strangers -- and there are many -- tell us what they know, show us the original papers with the original names we must see, offer any help we may need to find our mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts and uncles. How odd; we are strangers to our kin and we love our strangers.

Still, we must reunite. First, for our mothers, and then for ourselves. We both are owed nothing less.

Unfortunately, some adoptive mothers refuse to help adoptees reunite with their natural families and refuse to be gracious, helpful and respectful to natural mothers.

The adoption world has convinced adoptive mothers -- and most civilians -- that Amoms are the saviours of millions of babies/toddlers whose own mothers/families couldn't or wouldn't care for them as well as Amoms can and that natural mothers don't deserve to care for them as much as Amoms do.

Rubbish.

Lawyers, doctors and adoption workers (many of them unmarried women who never had babies) have always taken advantage of young mothers instead of helping them. In closed adoptions of yesterday and open adoptions of today, all the players take advantage of scared young mothers. They count on their agreeing to "do what's best for the baby" well before the young women give birth, well before they know the powerful, undeniable, life-changing love they will feel for these little beings who slipped from their wombs and are, forever theirs, no matter what pre-birth agreements were signed.

These mothers -- millions of them -- are now "awake" ... and they know they were used by the indu$try to supply millions of infertile women (and today, single women) with babies.

Most of society doesn't know how devastating adopting is to young mothers. Most don't want to know, because they can't imagine being forced/schmoozed to surrender their own babies. They cannot imagine anyone daring to do that! They want to believe adopting is always -- and only -- in the best interests of the babies.

Truth is, adopting is a bu$iness.

When women stop paying big bucks to buy infants and toddlers, and when pregnant women are supported in keeping their babies, the bu$iness in adopting will dwindle, and babies will stay with their own families ... where they belong.

OK, you're an adoptive mother who is "waking up" -- now what?

• Help your adopted son or daughter know about his/her natural family. It isn't only a mother lost, but a whole tribe, a whole lineage, sides of two families, personality traits, physical traits, habits, health, quirks and talents. No more secrets. No more lies.

• If mother and child are planning to spend time together, don't stand in their way. Step aside. This is not about you.

• Let your conscience be your guide. You know right from wrong. Most of all, you know injustice when you see it.

In The Mothers Project, I tell the stories of the girl/mothers who lost their babies to adoption in past generations. The coercion continues. Adopting is woman's inhumanity to woman.

The Mass is Ended

2007-11-27T08:50:00.002-05:00

As an anti-adopting activist, I know the horror stories of adoption coercion committed against our mothers who lost their babies to prejudice and greed. The sad fact is, most of us were taken from good families and sold to good families. This is one of my favorite stories about my adoptive family. CB

This week I escorted my dear aunt (age 96) to her final resting place. I had the honor of being a pallbearer, my first such experience. It was a rainy, cold day and, after the Mass, we had the option of holding the graveside service inside a small chapel at the cemetery, but we chose to carry her up the hill and through the trees. She was our matriarch and she would have insisted on that, rain or shine, for any of us.

The casket was very heavy and our shoes sank into the muddy grass as we each did our part to carry her safely there. With quiet tears and runny noses, we said goodbye. I was so thankful for the opportunity to give something back to her for the many kindnesses she had extended to me all my life.

She was the classy one. From her I learned how to lead, how to follow, how to entertain, and how to speak up for what I wanted, how to insist and persist ... and how to stay on good terms with the disagreeable.

The priest said some wonderful things about her and he reminded us that she lived almost an entire century ... through two world wars, numerous conflicts, the Depression, and saw the marvels of science and invention. We found out that she started a hot lunch program for the parish children ... almost 60 years ago. Our whispered ... "Wow!" echoed in the big old church.

At the funeral home, before the Mass, we welcomed the visitors. My cousins didn't think anybody but the immediate family would be there, because my aunt hadn't lived in that little town for many years ... but, that's where her husband is buried and that's where we all gathered to bury her.

We said our goodbyes to her, the doors opened, and soon the room filled with elderly cousins and friends from far places, former neighbors from other towns where they had lived, and people none of us remembered, but who had been in her life. They had read the obituaries in their local papers and they came to pay their respects. My aunt would have done that, yes.

Later, someone asked if I remember when funeral announcement cards were posted in every store ... and tavern. I didn't remember that. I remember my adoptive father's tavern and the brass spitoons I polished, when I went with him to open the place, at 6am ... and how men gathered there for "pool" (billiards) tournements ... and that my dad had a special child-size pool cue made for me! I bet I can still make a bank shot.

I rode back to the house with two of her grandsons, in their late 30's. Ah, what is it about synchronicity. They were teenagers when I last saw them. We hardly had any time together before the service, but they had insisted that they should drive me back. I thought that was rather sweet of them ... wanting to cart around an old lady for a two-hour drive through what's left of farmland and prairie.

As we passed farms and shopping malls, I told them about the taste of real pork sausage, about all the things I learned in a 1940's rural world, about butchering, about tractors and general stores, about a town marshal, about learning to use a rifle, how their aunts ... all of us ... knew how to shoot. They grew up in an "anti-this and anti-that" world; my world was ... different.

We had the best time! I found out e v e r y t h i n g I ever wanted to know ... and some of what I, surely, didn't need to know. Of course, we gleefully made a secrecy pact. Evidently, there are no big secrets in the family .. I just never was around to hear about any of it. Our pact was to not discuss our discussion; probably best.

1. They both left the church ... yeah, I know .. I did, too. You DID????...:) The driver feels really bad to have put his mother through that. He shook his head and marvelled at her willingness to be right there with him as they thrashed it out. He loves her for that and for accepting his religion and being there for the baptism of his children. My God, I thought, she is a strong and loving woman! (In her house there is a photograph of herself, her twin sister and me .. all spindly and squinting in the sunlight, in our Sunday dresses, probably from 1948. I looked at us and wondered ... when did we get old?)

2. The other fellow is struggling, terribly, with the Catholic thing ... he is searching for a welcoming place for worship.

3. The driver announced, sheepishly, and somewhat proudly, that he has become his father, after all; and, like his dad, he insisted on stopping for a huge bag of beer nuts and a Coke, after promising his mother that we would not eat anything before we get back to her house for lunch! She had smiled at me with that "And you will see to it, won't you?" look. And I had smiled, "Of course, dear." Oh well...:)

We took the long way back, driving past their grandmother's house ... oh, it used to be so much bigger, they said .. and, remember how grandpa used to back out of the garage and bump into that fence ... see? It's still bent! We laughed and sat there awhile, smiling, remembering.

Then, we tried to find my school, a beautiful old building that held so many memories and housed an order of nuns, but it had been torn down and a shopping mall is there. What a shame. They tried so hard to find it for me. Their mothers had gone there too, and they wanted to tell them they saw it.

We talked about their careers, their aspirations, and, woven through all of it, their boundless love for their grandmother ... and how she made them each .. and all of her grandchildren and nieces and nephews, feel powerful and special. Lots of kleenex and patpatpats. We agreed that we are glad it is over and very glad we did it the right way. Their shoes and trousers were caked with mud. They were pallbearers, too; it was their first time, too.

Church kept coming up. "How did you do it?" they asked. I told them the very brief version .... felt a need for a deeper spirituality, something was missing, had tried different parishes, etc; went on a two-year search for the right fit, the right religion, the right church. Tried 'em all ... everything from holy roller to Quaker. Really? Yep. Well, they had to hear every detail.

I told them I believe the search was spirit-inspired: two weeks after I found the right church, I found out I had cancer, and that little church congregation was a gift ... direct care for me in one of their homes and spiritual support. Then, one of them asked, "What does that feel like ... you know, I mean ... to find that out? Were you scared?" I said, "Yes, but, at first, all I felt was disbelief. I just couldn't believe it." (And I was thinking, they don't need to know all this! Do they?) Then I realized, this family doesn't talk about .... things...:)

Well, now they know everything there is to know about mastectomies and ... breast implants. (I could just see my dear aunt making a quarter-turn in that grave!)

During this short visit, I watched these wonderful men, and the other adults, interact with the twin girls (age 4) and their sister (age 10), who are the children of driver's sister. I was amazed at the respectful way they talked with them, how all of them accepted the interruptions in their adult conversations to comment on the proud little coloring projects, how their father took time to help the older girl with her math assignments, etc. I was ... amazed. I must have said that several times. I had experienced so little of that ... respectful talking, discipline with respect, expectations with respect ... but, I did get it from my aunts and uncles.

I had an opportunity to talk with the twins' mother and I told her how proud I am of her and her husband for their parenting. She thanked me and said that before they drove here, they told the girls, "Now, you will be having to do a lot of coloring this week and you must behave and mind your sister (age 10) because we will be very busy with the funeral."

And, they were ... with the exception of one very squeaky exchange ... when one of them drank from the other's cup. They are identical twins, and their grandfather cannot tell them apart. He asked, many times, "Which one are you?" They always said the other one's name... then laughed, jumped around and ran off.

Their "Papa" is retired and delights in going to his "building" ... this wonderful garage-of-sorts on the outskirts of town where he refinishes furniture he promises to sell ... but, keeps giving away to his daughter and son when they come to visit. He tells me, off to the side, "My wife thinks it's too cold in here and it's all junk" ... but he sees the treasure. He really loves showing off his woodworking tools and I loved seeing them. I told him, "Well, yeah, some people might think it's just an old shed, but I know it's your 'building'." Just then, my cousin walked in and said, "So, what do you think of his shed?" We all laughed.

When it was time to leave, Nanna and Papa drove me to the airport and insisted on going inside and waiting with me, just in case there's a problem with ... you know, "all this security business." We never talked about the 9/11 events, but we stood there, silent, knowing we share a profound love for our country. I grinned and told them I was careful not to wear my jacket with the Glock emblem. He knew what a Glock is, but my cousin wasn't sure ... and probably wouldn't want to know.

And I know, to the depths of my being, I know ... they love me and accept me ... all the oddball aspects of me. .. And they know I loved my aunt, who gave me the few ... truly, the few snippets of respect I had, as a child. I never knew I was loved and part of a family, until this visit. I know that I can tell them anything, be anything and still be loved, cherished. I am so grateful for that.

On the way to the airport, we talked about family things. I told them, again, about my amazement at how healthy and sweet their grown kids are, what good parents they are ... and how they had to have learned that from them. I decided to snip a little corner off the secrecy pact I had made with their son and told them how cute it was when he gave a long sigh and said he had become his father... and about the beer nuts and cokes. They laughed, and Papa's cheeks got red and he just ... beamed, his hands shifting and clasping the wheel.

We talked about all the grandkids. I told them that I really like the wildest one ... the glib, edgy, tell-it-like-it-is- one, with bright red hair ... this week; the one who carried her grandmother with me.

She was poised and careful and knew exactly what to do in church...which is a lot more than I knew. Besides, it was she, the hard one, who slipped her arm through mine at the cemetery and said, "I was at the hospice when your birthday card came last week for Grandma and I read it to her .. she was in a coma, but I read it really loud so she could hear it ... and I made sure she knew it was from you."

I will always love her for that ... and for creating the collective gasp that shot the through the livingroom when she suggested to Papa, quite seriously, that we settle this silly identity question ... by having the twins tattooed.
.........................

All the Stolen

2007-11-25T11:20:00.000-05:00

I followed the stories about missing children and wrote this song, All the Stolen. I sang it for one of the moms I interviewed for The Mothers Project. She was overwhelmed by it. She said that mothers who lose their children to abduction are the ones who most understand the constant terror, fear and longing of the mothers like herself, who lost their babies to adoption.

I started singing it at places where I present The Mothers Project. Now that travel with a guitar is burdensome, I just sing it acappella. Works for me.

All the Stolen
©2002 Celeste Billhartz

I've been searching the midnight sky
I remember the years gone by
Kiss good night in your warm, cozy bed
Little curls on your dreamy-dream head

In the news, on TV, radio
Photograph, call your friends, they don't know
Little boy, little girl, daughter, son
Search the world for my own stolen one

I've been searching the midnight sky
I remember the years gone by
Kiss good night in your warm, cozy bed
Little curls on your dreamy-dream head

To the man or the woman out there
Keeping secrets ... it's time, now, you share
Tell the truth, bring your proof, bare your soul!
Peace will come when you empty the bowl

I've been searching the midnight sky
I remember the years gone by
Kiss good night in your warm, cozy bed
Little curls on your dreamy-dream head

A sweet college girl out for a run
Just a kid on a bike, having fun
All the stolen ... return them, you must!
Point the way to their faces ... or dust

I've been searching the midnight sky
I remember the years gone by
Kiss good night in your warm, cozy bed
Little curls on your dreamy-dream head

Two poems

2007-11-20T17:43:00.000-05:00

The Branch
©2005 Celeste Billhartz

Someday, the man will cut the branch
The tree will look better from the road ... I know this
I have been tempted to make that tree fit some symmetry
I think the man will cut the branch soon after he moves in ...
Before he knows better ...:)
He'll spend a morning raking and sweeping beneath the tree
Intent on bagging that debris ...
Then, of a sudden ... he will see
He has no branch to lean his rake or broom against!
We mustn't make a thing perfect
There's every reason to let it be ...
The oddsome branch on an old cherry tree.
..................
This is not a poem about my mother and me.
It is a familiar scene that breaks so many mothers' hearts. CB

The Old Women
©2006 Celeste Billhartz

How will the old women tell us why?
Will they smile, take our hands in theirs?
Say the usual things -- about "the times"
About their daughters, their nearly-ruined lives, the talk?
The shame of ... us?
Will they shudder, remembering?
They will be polite, of course.
Still, I wonder how they will say it, tell us why.

I found my mother.
"They made me give you up," she said.
"I know, Carol, I know."
The word -- Mom -- hung in my throat.
It was the most truthful word
And I couldn't say it, yet.

Her mother, the old woman I was about to meet,
Forced Carol to surrender me.
There was no "they" ... really.
All those middle-class wives ... desperate ...
What would people say ... about them?

All those old women -- millions of them --
Changed their daughters' lives, forever --
And rarely, ever -- for the good they ment.

"Nice to meet you, Grace."
She took my hands in hers and smiled,
"Grandma ... call me Grandma."

Credits for Prayer for Truth -- on YouTube

2007-11-18T07:46:00.000-05:00

Click on the title, above, to see this powerful two-minute video! The credits are in the description, to the right of the YouTube screen. I include them here, too. Please share this video with your friends and organizations who may want to add it to their blogs and web sites.

I want to thank Chris Andrikanich, my Mac Guru and web guy for The Mothers Project web site The Mothers Project - Celeste Billhartz , for putting Prayer for Truth on YouTube!

Y'all have to know ... I am a 19th century women, flung into the 21st...:)

CREDITS
"Prayer for Truth"
from The Mothers Project

"Prayer for Truth" and "Celeste’s mother, Marcella"
©Celeste Billhartz • www.themothersproject.com

"Little Joe"
©Joe Soll • www.adoptionhealing.com

"Karen and Michelle Renee"
& "Karen’s senior photo"
©Karen Wilson Buterbaugh • www.geocities.com/karenwb2001

"Salvation Army officer consoling unmarried mother"
©Salvation Army Archives and Research Center • www.salvationarmyusa.org

Media production by Storytellers Media Group, LTD
www.storytellersmediagroup.com

Bring The Mothers Project to your area!
contact: celeste@themothersproject.com
www.themothersproject.com

Lessons

2007-11-17T10:15:00.000-05:00

Lessons
©2007 Celeste Billhartz

Many years ago, I attended barber school. Yeah, "shave and a haircut" ... that kind of school. I still have my straight razor and I think I could still strop it, correctly. That's barberspeak for putting a sharp edge on the blade by moving it, deftly, quickly, over a leather strap. Real barbers call it a "strop" ..:)

When we knew what we were doing, we provided free shaves to street people. The men got to come in from the cold or heat and we got to practice our trade, under the watchful eyes of our instructors.

Lesson #1 was a reminder from our instructors: This is somone's son.

Boy, that got our attention. We never forgot it, always treated the men with respect and gentleness. Most were sad characters, alcoholic, addicted and otherwise-afflicted, or just down on their luck.

We would soften the scraggly beards by carefully draping a hot towel on their faces. Many of the fellows fell asleep in the chair, grateful to be off the streets and in a warm or air-conditioned building, safe in a soft barber chair, reclined, surrounded by the scent of Old Spice and soap and treated to facials as much as to shaves.

We, on the other hand, were treated to the most horrendous body odors, wafting up from soiled clothing, dirty bodies and open mouths of rotting teeth.

Lesson #2 was to sprinkle some Old Spice onto the hot towels ... then step away from the fellow, shake some Old Spice into our other hand ... and daub it into our noses. Works like a charm ...:)

From the mouths of babes' mothers

2007-11-15T08:26:00.000-05:00

New Organization to Probe Adoption Abuses

Plano, TX -- November 14, 2007 -- A new organization has been formed to investigate and shed light on what is known as the “Baby Scoop Era.” This was the period in American social history between 1945 – 1972. During this time, unprecedented numbers of white, middle-class mothers surrendered babies for adoption, often against their will.

The Baby Scoop Era Research Initiative, also known as BSERI, was founded in October 2007 by two mothers, Karen Wilson-Buterbaugh and Barbara Franks-Morra. Both lost newborns to adoption during this period.

Franks-Morra explained that maternity homes radically changed after 1945. As social workers took over management from altruistic religious organizations, homes that had once sheltered single mothers and prepared them to raise their children began instead to promote closed, stranger adoption.

Wilson-Buterbaugh stated, “The social work profession brought a psychological bias to their work with single mothers. They introduced the untested notion that single mothers were ‘neurotic’ and could be cured by taking their babies. This idea radically altered the outcomes for single mothers during this period. These practices persisted through 1972, when the number of domestic adoptions began to drop dramatically.”

“These homes, which were sometimes little more than reformatories, often used coercive practices such as shaming, blaming, and removing or withholding babies from new mothers to force adoptions. Mothers were then told to ‘go on with their lives’ as if nothing had happened. Obviously this was impossible for most of them.”

Franks-Morra said, “We demand acknowledgement of the historical truth surrounding past adoption practices in the United States. We demand recognition for the millions of women who were systematically denied their inalienable right to raise their infant sons and daughters.”

“The Baby Scoop Era has become a footnote in American social history, except to the mothers who survived these practices. These women have carried into their adult lives burdens of worry, grief, pain and a corrosive secret. The lifelong consequences of these forced adoptions are still operating in the lives of millions of American women.”

For more information, www.babyscoopera.com or email bseri@babyscoopera.com

Buddy

2007-11-14T21:48:00.000-05:00

My friend, Buddy, is moving into an assisted living center. We had talked about it, for about a year ... and agreed that he would have to do that, someday.

His house is at the bottom of a hill, and the steps are terrible in the winter. He knows he has to leave, must move to a safer place.

He said he can afford to do this, but he is angry that his many years of paying for extended care insurance do not apply to assisted living. He cautioned me to read the fine print.

Have you seen, "Sicko" -- the film?
No, I said
Well, you see it ... you see it. It's all true.

I have never given much thought to elder issues ... except to get my friends to promise that, when I am at Shady Acres, they will see to three things:
• pluck my chin hairs
• don't let them put me in a housedress
• keep my glasses frames updated

This is reason enough to always have a few friends who are younger ... and still have all their marbles.

Noooooooooooo!!!!

2007-11-14T08:47:00.000-05:00

I had a terrible day, yesterday. Boiled down, I tried to get my new internet service provider to behave like The Vermont Country Store: A real person answers the phone, has a gracious way about her, takes my order, thanks me and we hang up.

Instead, I clicked on five telephone buttons to connect with 11 menu items and wound up talking to a kid who told me to remove a disc I know I didn't insert and to turn off my computer. Well, that solved the problem of the spinning circle and the endless download I was supposed to do, but it didn't answer my questions and I still had no idea how to eject a disc I never inserted. He also rattled off all the other services I might want to purchase.

I thought, "If it's this difficult to get my email from you people, why the hell would I want your phone service, too?"

I didn't say it, of course, although I did tell the next fellow that the kid told me to turn off my computer, which I did, and now I cannot get my computer to turn on. Well, it is on, but just the Apple logo and another spinning thing ... for about 10 minutes, now. Could he help me?

"And ... it's a Mac." Might as well get that out of the way, up front, as it seemed to annoy the kid.

This time I got an older fella. I like them. They talk slower and have less tendency to say, "Huh?" He told me none of the internet service providers know much about Macs and I shouldn't have installed what the kid told me to install, and the message I kept getting that the download would take 6 more hours wasn't true ... and that I didn't need to install the disc. "Don't know why he told you to do that."

"Just shoot me." I said.

Suddenly, magically, the computer screen filled with wallpaper, files and icons!

"It's .... back!!"

He walked me to the new "post office." I got my mail, thanked him and we hung up.

One of the emails is from the ISP, wanting to know how I like their service and would I like to add phones.

Just shoot me.

Differences

2007-11-11T17:53:00.000-05:00

Differences
©2007 Celeste Billhartz

Each time I meet an adoptee or a mother, or hear/read their stories, I must remember that, regardless of our similarities and differences, we are all together on this Earth, twirling around the Sun, hoping tomorrow will be better.

I have chosen to befriend people from many walks of Life ... and they have chosen to befriend me. I must remember that we need not agree on everything, and that I must be careful not to allow the larger disagreements more space in my heart than is necessary to maintain my boundaries and be civil.

I would hope that kindness and honesty are values we all share -- I mean really share, not just talk about -- regardless of our experiences, views, biases and preferences.

Some have lived through unimaginable horror, betrayal and loss ... and have come through it all (I don't know how) with their humanity in place, their hands extended, their hearts open.

Other have not. They cannot; or will not.

They slip and slide on the slopes of half-truth and denial; or stand in holes they have dug for themselves ... screaming at the night sky.

I still like them, but I don't trust them, fully, with my heart or my candor ... or my playfulness, lest I get trampled by their insensitivity, fear or rage.

Of course, I forget -- their "stuff" isn't about me.

May we all know, despite our differences, we are loved, the world spins on ... and tomorrow is another day.

The Adoption Show

2007-11-10T16:03:00.000-05:00

This amazing, innovative internet radio program is as close as your computer - http://www.theadoptionshow.com/

Host, producer and creator, Michelle Edmunds and her techie genius, Thaddeus Pedro (producer and web designer) - along with their staff - bring the truth about adopting to the world. Yes, TAS is heard/seen on computers around the world!

I met Michelle in New York City in 2006 and, as adoptees, we share many heart-to-heart conversations. In fact, when I first talked with her, prior to my appearing on The Adoption Show in July 2006, I realized that our lengthy and open discussion was the first – the very first – totally honest and fulfilling conversation about adoption I had ever had in my entire life. I was 67 years old.

Michelle is a gifted and generous host who takes on the thorny issues in adoption and handles them – and the guests -- with fairness and grace.

The Adoption Show originates in Toronto, Ontario Canada. Subscribers can access current and past show. Get your subscription, today!

For $25.00 a year you can learn the truth about ending the myths, meet some awesome people who are the legends of the past, storytellers of the present and leaders of the future.

TAS is like a favorite "magazine" I can "read and hear" anytime ...:)

Activists, organizations and advocates for adoption reform please alert your members/readers to go to the TAS web site and subscribe TODAY!

What's Best for Mothers and Babies

2007-11-09T18:08:00.000-05:00

What's Best for Mothers and Babies
©2007 Celeste Billhartz

I have a friend who is convinced that all adopted babies are/were removed from their mothers for good reasons and that adoption is always in the best interests of the babies.

She cautions me to be less strident about expressing my anti-adopting views. I don't argue with her because she is older and a lot smarter about life.

I know my views are difficult for her to hear. She volunteers her time on behalf of an organization that supports and encourages young mothers to surrender their infants for adoption. She sees really mixed-up teens who are reckless, irresponsible and drug-addicted. No doubt, their babies would suffer in their care. Taking them from their mothers makes sense, of course.

My departure from my friend's view is around the issue of adopting -- selling the babies to strangers. (Or, non-profit organizations accepting a large "donation" in exchange for them.)

Even infants-at-risk ought to be kept within their familes, with responsible, caring adults -- grannies, aunties, cousins, supportive friends. The mothers and babies could also benefit from wise and caring mentors, too.

I believe women-of-conscience who want to adopt should become mentors, instead. They should help mothers and babies, not separate them. At some point they must realize that their willingness to pay tens of thousands of dollars for an infant is the reason adopting is a billion-dollar a year industry that flourishes in North America.

Because we now know that the girl/mothers of past generations -- who were forced to surrender their babies -- never got over that loss, we must stop taking babies from young mothers who do not pose a threat to them, but simply are young, gullible and unmarried when they give birth.

Yes, having a baby changes everything. Yes, dreams get put on hold. Yes, life is never the same. That's why it is so important that families welcome mother and baby home, that we-- as a society -- show compassion for young single mothers instead of shaming them, and that women shift their desires from buying a baby to helping many mothers and children make their way in the world.
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To really get a new perspective on babies who are/were separated from their natural mothers, read Julie Rist's blog -- Lizard Chronicles: Happy Adoptees

Biases and Preferences

2007-11-07T19:03:00.001-05:00

Biases and Preferences
©2007 Celeste Billhartz

I could take the high road on this post and talk about preferences. I could say I prefer to see balding men wear their hair very short and parted at what's left of their natural part, but really, my stronger feeling is a bias -- I hate long comb-overs and those awful hairpieces that look like plaster casts.

And, I could say I prefer to hear people say, "et cetera" -- but, the truth is, when they say, "ekcetera, ekcetera, ekcetera" -- it gnaws the patience right off my bones.

• samwich -- the word is SANDwich -- dear God, it's bad enough I hear it in normal conversation, but to hear it in commercials is .... is .... annoying, ... ekcetera, ekcetera, ekcetera. (Sorry, couldn't resist ..:)

I could do that, say things in a better way, but I'm old and cranky, so, here are more of my biases:

• aggressive, inconsiderate drivers who grossly exceed the speed limit, do not maintain a clear distance from the vehicle in front of them, dangerously cut in front of others, and who never wave, "Thank you" when the rest of us let them pull in front of us. They are almost always young men.

• selfish adopters who refuse to return infants to young mothers who change their minds soon after giving birth. Hey -- ladies --- it is inhumane to keep those babies! There is something very wrong with a society that thinks adopter-rights supercede mothers' rights in those cases. Well, money talks.

(Uh oh, I feel a rant comin' on ...:)

Because so many girl/mothers change their minds, we -- as a civil and compassionate society -- ought to presume that will happen, expect it to happen, and hold several new thoughts:
1. adopters, don't count on getting that baby from that mother.
2. mothers, expect that you might change your mind after giving birth.
3. grandparents, what the hell are you thinking??? Support your daughters!!
4. adoption workers, don't promise the adopters a baby and don't insist that the mothers stick with their initial plan to surrender.
5. the babies should stay with their mothers, when mothers change their minds. No more long, drawn-out court business that is designed to keep infants away from their mothers and is intended to give adopters the right, in a few years, to say, "The baby has bonded with us."
6. two months is a good time to hold off on any binding, final agreement.

We know, now, that the mothers who suffered coerced surrender back in the BSE and in recent decades, never got over losing their babies. That, alone, ought to change our minds, laws and practices about taking infants from their mothers and natural families.

The adopters are supported in their "theft" by doctors, lawyers and adoption workers -- and many civilians -- who do not understand or care that a wrong was done. They only see the desires of the adopters -- really, the female adopters -- who have more power and money than the girl/mothers.

The adoption industry knows most mothers change their minds after they give birth. That's why they -- and adopters -- do the selfish things they do.

(Well, now, I feel better ...)

Back to my biases:

• anything that is priced .99 -- you know, $9.99, or $14.99, etc. What's up with that? What the hell goes through a merchant's head that he/she thinks we are so stupid as to settle for something that is $4.99, when what we really want is $5.00. I know, some marketing research study says we are that stupid. Well, I won't buy something that is priced that way ... unless I really want it.

• haggling, persistent bargaining, etc. I don't know how to do that and I get really irritated when people do that to me. I seldom respond to "On Sale!!" lures ... unless it is something I want anyway, and I am standing there in front of the item, and can afford to buy it.

• ok, call me crazy but why must I pay more for one less egg? Today I had breakfast at one of my fav places and I ordered two pancakes, two sausage patties, and one egg.

My habit is to eat one pancake, one egg and one patty at the restaurant, pack up the other cake and patty to take home for another meal -- with an egg from home.

The server said that's more expensive-- one egg -- than getting two eggs, etc. Huh? I don't understand, really. The cook has to fry one more egg, the owner has to buy one more egg, and now I have another egg I have to use up before it spoils ... and it's gonna get darn over done when I reheat it.

Well, another tasty snack for Coonie -- my nightly visitor who never turns down a free meal out here in the woods.

• you'll probably find this odd, given my penchant for listing my biases instead of my preferences, but ... I dislike unfairness and meanness. I mean, we are all entitled to our failings and a well-managed snit now and then, but habitual public displays of rudeness and unkindness just baffle me. You know the kind -- patrons being rude to servers, people with power being impatient with customers and clients who have disabilities, that sort of thing.

• telephone sales calls. Ok, I'm on the "do not call list" and I still get called. That's bad enough, but what really frosts me is the stupidity of any company that thinks I -- a 68 year old middle-class woman -- am going to have anything positive to share with a 20 year old kid who rattles off barely-understandable English at break-neck speed from a prepared script ... or an obviously foreign national named "Nancy" or "Kevin". What the hell are they thinking??

Good God, if you are going to interrupt my day, have a middle-aged American call who doesn't speed-talk -- or say, "excetera, excetera, excetera" -- and has some sense of manners. Oh, sorry, I forgot ... employers no longer value the middle class in this country. Besides, they'd have to pay them a living wage.

• unruly children. I cannot imagine being a parent, let alone being a good parent (!), so please forgive my ignorance and intolerance of noisy, demanding children in public. I am one of a handful of females who never wanted to conceive, give birth to nor raise children.

Still, I adore moments -- those once-in-a-liftetime moments captured on film about kids. A look, a balk, a smile ... so wonderfully explicit about the naivete of children.

I would rather have hot sticks poked into my eyes than be around most children, even those very normal and friendly types belonging to my friends. I simply don't know how to "be" with children. I think I am too business-like, but that does manage to keep them at a distance, thank God.

Truly, I don't think my "Mamma" wires are well-connected. So far as my relating with children is concerned, there's no "there" there ...:) Needless to say, I become flushed and nauseous when handed an infant.

I was an only child, probably well-behaved, and generally agreeable. I remember a favorite adoptive auntie whose method of babysitting was to set me in front of the cuckoo clock and tell me to wait for the bird to come out.

That probably accounts for my well-honed attention to detail -- which pleases me and annoys the hell out of friends. I am one of those nettlesome few who email back the latest Snopes.com report on every well-meaning urban legend ever sent around the internet.

Are there women-curmudgeons? My friends would say, "Indeed!"...:)

Shopping for a Church

2007-11-05T19:16:00.000-05:00

Shopping for a Church
©2007 Celeste Billhartz

Oh, Lordy, all the nuns who taught me for most of my life will plotz and those who are gone will spin in their graves, but -- I am shopping for a new church!

I want a place that is pleasant, friendly and where I don't have to stand and kneel, stand and kneel so much. Sigh. I've been church shopping for about three months now.

I tried the Catholics, the Episcopalians, and the Unitarian-Universalists.

First, I went to the Episcopalians. Lovely church, so retro-Craftsman era, etc. My favorite kind of "look". However, I soon tired of the up-down-up-down quasi-Catholic stuff. Scratch the Episcopalians (I apologize to my fellow-WASPs, of which I am half.)

Then, I tried the Unitarian-Universalists. Now, there's a study in retro. I hadn't seen that many men with ponytails since the 60's. A very smart bunch, they had a presentation on computers. Yes, the sermon was about computers.

Now, I like computers, and I loved the 60's, but I didn't "get" the church service. Still, there was no up and down, up and down, so I might try them, again. Also, they don't dress up like the Catholics and the Episcopalians, so that's a point in their favor, too.

Ah, the Catholics. Well, I tried a 10am Mass and, except for the up and down, up and down, I liked the familiar scents and rituals. But, it wasn't as user-friendly as the UUs, nor as welcoming and well-appointed as the WASPs.

I think what I am ready for, spiritually, is something intellectually stimulating, more of a discussion group. I don't know how that ties in with "spiritual" but, that's what I want ... and no up and down, up and down...:)

Early Afternoon, Same Day

2007-11-01T11:57:00.000-04:00

Early Afternoon, Same Day
©2007 Celeste Billhartz

Well, that little snit out of the way, here are more thoughts for this sunny afternoon:

You know the Robert Burns line, "Man's inhumanity to man"? Well, I decided that adopting is "Woman's inhumanity to woman."
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I hear about some happy-camper moms in those Open Adoption
arrangements, but my advocacy is on behalf of the BSE (Baby Scoop Era 1940's - 1970's) moms who were severely, unconscionably, brutally taken advantage of by authorities -- and by their own mothers -- to take their infants from them.

The authorities -- many of them women -- wanted the infants to supply the adoption industry. The consumers were women. Don't get misled by the photo of a loving couple -- women wanted those babies ... and they got them.

The girl/mothers were abandoned by their own mothers. I don't care how long ago it happened or what your reasons were, YOU owe your daughter an apology. That is sooooooo important. Just put aside your pride and tell her: "I am sorry I gave your child away."

One of my mom-friends had that experience of her mother's apology, and it was greatly appreciated.
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I don't hate adoptive parents, don't hate my adoptive parents, nor any of my adoptive relatives. I just hate adopting. I should never have been taken from my mother, nor should most of the children who were/are taken from their mothers.

The "most" is to acknowledge the very few babies whose mothers were/are terrible and ought not parent and the few who do not want to parent. That said, even those babies should stay within their families -- with grandma, auntie, cousin, good family friend.

Fat chance, since states and agencies make money/bonuses when kids are ADOPTED from foster care. Oh, don't get me started on that!
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Gee, I had intended this blog to be warm and fuzzy. Guess my activism is sooooooo deeply felt I can't separate it from the rest of my life.
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Things I love:
Hershey's Nuggets with milk chocolate, toffee and almonds
Real maple syrup on blueberry pancakes
Maple cereals
Clothes from Lands End and LL Bean
Catalogues from Magellan and Territory Ahead
"Tweed" perfume and talc from The Vermont Country Store
Non-fiction reading
Solitaire -- not the computer version. I have several decks of large-print cards -- one for travel and one for home.
Scrabble -- I want one of those travel-versions.
Crosswords -- love to bring my big book of NY Times crosswords to share with other volunteers at our local public radio station fund-drive. When we aren't answering the phones and taking pledges, we solve puzzles.
Natural fibers.
Woodsy places, forests, wildlife.
Lunch with friends.
Cooking -- I love to cook, especially old-fashioned meals I learned at home, from my German adoptive family. My favorite is Pork Roast, sauerkraut, mashed potatoes, gravy and green beans and applesauce.
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Speaking of lunch: I have several "Lunch Buddies" -- women I have known for a long time and a few newly-met, with whom I meet, in two's or three's, about once a month or so. What makes these events so interesting is that they have never met each other! We are kindred-spirits because of politics or old days or interests, etc. I love them all. I think we stay friends because we don't annoy each other with our biases. lol

I am, clearly, anti-adopting and most are pro-adopting. I am a registered Republican, and most are Democrats. Still, we manage to be loving and kind to each other. They are very supportive of The Mothers Project and those who have seen my little DVD, Prayer for Truth, have been so moved by it. I told them, they will probably all meet at my funeral. Well, if I ever get my longer DVD done about The Mothers Project, I will have a showing of it and invite them all.
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Thoughts for early today

2007-11-01T08:27:00.000-04:00

Sure, I like the outdoors. I'm happiest sitting on a porch and looking at it -- with a Perfect Rob Roy in one hand and some nachos in the other.
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Hillary lost my vote last night when she waffled and kissed-ass with the "let's give driver licenses to illegal aliens" folks. Hillary -- what part of illegal don't you understand??

Here's the thing -- the illegals who come here to work are not the enemy; the enemy is every greedy American employer who hires them and pays them peanuts, instead of hiring young men and women who are American citizens. We -- who hire contractors and lawn services and other businesses -- ought to refuse to contract with them.

There are many healthy, strong young people who do not have a way out of their hard lives who could get a chance by working for a living wage. Shame on American employers for overlooking them and for taking advantage of illegals. Shame on American homeowners and consumers for buying services and products that line the pockets of these cheap and greedy businesses.

I don't have enough interest in this to take the time and effort to only buy legally-harvested produce, but I sure can question potential home services.

Anyway, shame on you, Hillary -- what a disappointment you are! I didn't know, until last night that you're no different from every other pandering pol. Damn.

I am so naive.
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First Post

2007-10-31T14:25:00.004-04:00

First Post

2007-10-31T14:25:00.003-04:00

Welcome!

I have a web site - The Mothers Project - Celeste Billhartz
but, I wanted a less formal way to communicate with you.

This blog is very personal. When I was born, my mother baptized me Ruth. Because she was single, Catholic and middle class, she was not allowed to keep me. Her mother and everyone around her, all those in authority, told her I was dying, and if she wanted me baptized, she must sign a form. What she signed was a release for adoption. She thought her baby died.

I was taken to an orphanage and re-named, Mary. Eventually, I was adopted and re-named, Celeste -- after my adoptive mother, Celestine.

This blog is the "relaxed me" as opposed to the more reserved, serious, public me in my web site. The real me shines forth, of course, when I speak or present The Mothers Project.

It's a beautiful day and I hope you are happy and healthy. I will write more at another time. CB