I DO Hate These Dogs... A Submission... and What Information Can Spit Share With Us?

         I do. I hate chihuahuas. They're little. They're yappy. And I tend to trip over little dogs. 

       However, my sister's dog Chloe (a rescue) is part chihuahua and part terrier/mystery dog, and she's awfully cute and beguiling. She has longer legs (from the mystery DNA) than most chihuahuas, and is an odd-looking pooch, with all the wiry wisps sprouting up here and there.

       It's probably the quirky that gets me. I like things odd.

       A couple of days ago I sent off my "Listen to Your Mother" submission. Now it's out of my hands. The deed's been done. All I can do now is wait until late-February or whenever for the decision about who makes it to the audition phase.

      And on Saturday I got a DNA kit in the mail. You know, from Ancestry. That site that's advertising on the TV all the time. I've read the directions. All I have to do is spit into a tube and send it off.

      According to the story my biological mother told the adoption agency, my biological father was from Greece. Now, if you know what I look like, you might wonder if she said, "He was from Greece," or if she instead said, "He's from grease," which might have meant what? They loved fried chicken? They had french fries floating around in a deep fryer all the time? I'm not sure, but considering my skin's as white as notebook paper, I think I missed out on the Greek part.

      The Native American part, too. The biological family I was able to track down (my birth mom died when I was 9) claim there's a Native American branch in our family tree. The last name--Gann--makes me think of Scottish/Irish.

      I think it takes 6-8 weeks (or longer, because of all those commercials causing a flood of customers), but soon, I'll be able to say more than, "I don't know. I'm adopted," when someone asks, "Where is your family from?"

So, what have you disliked but later opened your mind up to?
Are you submitting to your local Listen to Your Mother show?
And have you done the DNA/ancestry testing thing? If so, what was the most surprising thing you found out?

The Power of Our Words

       Do our words matter? Does anybody read the lines we write down?

       I did a guest post at The Muffin, where I pondered the power of our words. Here is a link, in case you have a few spare minutes and would like to peruse...

http://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com/2014/05/friday-speak-out-power-of-story.html

These are some of the writers who shared their story
at the 2014 Listen to Your Mother St. Louis show.
My guest post at The Muffin tells about something that happened
to me right after the final show...

A Day for Fathers

           I never got to know my biological father. Not his name, not his character traits, nothing about his physical appearance.

       According to the story my birth mother told the adoption agency, his family came from Greece. Since I am white as notebook paper (with the blue lines, since my leg veins have become more prominent these days) and my hair color doesn't look like it's Greek, I wonder if "came from Greece" meant they recently returned from a mediterranean cruise.

       On the other hand, perhaps she was spinning a story to hide the shame that this was the second time she had gotten pregnant and had to give up a baby. I cannot imagine the dilemma she was in.

This is my birth mother with the 3rd daughter she
gave birth to. She managed to hang onto this girl for a while...

      Luckily, I grew up with a great mom and dad. Love and affection and attention showered down on me for the last five decades. While he was alive, I know that my dad's life was enriched because he had a daughter. And yet I have a huge void in my life... 

       This week I was flying around from Goodwill shops to Target  and (sorry) Walmart. Yesterday my husband loaded up a U-Haul trailer and headed to the other side of the state. And it was all for our son, who recently snagged a job in his field, along with an apartment in a very funky part of his new "home" town.

      Looking back on our days when parenting was an every-minute exhausting affair, I cannot imagine what my life would be life if I had to miss out on the joys, the sorrows, the fumbling. My daughter and her family, my son...our lives are so rich because of them.

      My birth father may not have even known about my biological mother's pregnancy. If so, he doesn't even know what he's missing out on.

      But my husband and I know all-too-well what he missed...


(Note: I was prompted to write this post because of what Barbara Hodges wrote on a recent post of hers. If you don't know Barb, you must take my word for it. She is one of the few "ladies" I know--always gracious, always kind--is a retired teacher, and is a prolific writer. Her parents really missed out on something special, but her grandparents got a gem of a deal!)