Grease Monkey Girl

Ok so I was going to post pictures of my birth mom but I forgot about one minor set back.... They are in storage.  Some may not know but in February my house caught on fire and decided to um..... Burn.  So while we are rebuilding from the rubble all of our valuables are in storage. So you'll have to wait on photos for now.

However,  to update everyone, the four of us are getting VERY excited for this trip.  We have a fb group that we post in. I posted 75 more days! to which Munds replied "11 more Saturdays. That sounds better". He's right!  Last weekend Chuck and I drained our radiators and checked hoses. I was also going to do front brakes while there, but it's hard to do them when you leave the brake pads at home instead of in the saddle bags. I'll get to the brakes when I throw a new clutch in the bike over the next week or two.  After that,  all my maintenance will be done and we'll be ready to roll safely.

I've been in contact with Denise about accommodations and what to do while we're out there.  Her family is planning a bbq and apparently there's a testicle festival going on while I'm there.  Now, I'm from Massachusetts, not too far from Provencetown.  I thought it was some sort of gay parade.  Apparently it is a festival every year where they neuter all the livestock and have rocky mountain oyster festivals.  This trip certainly will be a cultural eye opener.  Wonder if I can get the boys to eat land oysters HAAAAA!

So how did I find her?

Well.. someone asked, how did I find my birth mother.

Grab a seat, a glass of wine (or whatever your poison) and read on.

So after I received all my non identifying information I was interested in finding out who she was. Who this mystery woman was who cared enough to have me hang around in her for 9 months and then hope I would have a great life. So I contacted my adoption agency again, which by the way is The Cradle in Illinois, and for a few buck (like $5000) they would "see" if they could track her down and "see" if she wanted to have contact with me. I was going through a very bitter separation, was working two part time jobs and raising my child full time. 5G's was not in the cards. Even if it was, I feel it to be somewhat of a blood money/blackmail situation. Some folks just don't have that, and why should they have to pay for something if perhaps their biological parents are out there looking for them too?

So what happened? Here's a little tid bit that had NOTHING to do with finding my birth mother. It turns out that at the same exact time (down to a week period) when I contacted The Cradle my biological mother had also contacted The Cradle looking to see how to try to find me. Wow that would have made a good 10G's for them huh if we had paid. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

But back to reality.. Reality TV that is.

So one night after I put my little one to bed, I sat down with a bottle of cabernet or merlot and sat in front of the computer with the internet. I punched in adopted children websites. By this point I felt that this was going to be my last ditch effort to find her. After The Cradle extortion I tried to figure out Illinois laws and they were INSANE relative to closed and sealed adoptions in the 70's. I could hire an attorney, go to court, be granted the ability to see what my birth parents were, but if my birth parents had blocked me from looking then it was all for naught.

So a glass of vino in, I started hitting every adopted child reunion website possible. I put in all the information I knew from my non identifying information. I put information on so many websites I called it quits at 4 am. This was my last ditch effort. I walked away from that computer with carpal tunnel syndrome and most likely a hang over in the making.

I felt at peace. I had done all I could do and I was exhausted. I left my search right there at the computer and carried on with my life. Of course I felt that 1/2 of those websites I entered all my information into would sign me up for swingers sights and credit theft disaster so I used my work information for contacts.

Nate Fletcher (way back when he was a dispatcher for our dept) called me one Sunday morning. He said "hey Woof, your mom is trying to call you". That seemed really weird since of course my mother knows all my information. She would never need to call my work to find me. Then he went on to tell me that it was actually a woman from Florida who said she had found my mom and was trying to get in touch with me. I had no idea what this meant so I came into work. He gave me the Floridian's phone number and I called it back. I still remember to this day sitting in a chair at work where a woman named Judy had told me that she had a match. She worked for one of the web search engines and that absolutely everything I had put down in my online search matched that my birth mother had entered. I didn't believe her. And this also meant that my birth mother had been looking for me!

So like all good folks who work in a police department- I grilled her. I refused to believe that this is real. She told me everything, and then asked if it was ok that she give my phone number to my birth mother. ABSO FREAKIN LUTELY!! She also told me that after our phone call if we wanted to meet she would make sure that would happen. At first I was ecstatic but then I asked for more details. Free web search data bases don't just fly people around to meet each other without something for them to gain. The fine print was that we would have to go on a tv show. Deal off. Too tacky.

So anyway, she still gave me the name of my birth mother and told me that she was going to have my birth mother call me later that day. Denise, my birth mother, did call and it opened up this whole new world.

Now many of you who know me realize I am an optimistic skeptic. I wanted more solid proof. In the next few days, when I can get a portable scanner home I will scan pictures of myself and Denise. You'll see no DNA testing is necessary. Denise sent me pictures of her right around the time she had me all the way up to currently. She also sent me a few baby pictures and it is next to impossible to tell us apart

Don't take it seriously

Do you have any idea how hard it is being a 5 foot, 13 year old, size ten, brace face red headed adopted kid growing up? It builds Chutzpah. I had a "wicked pissah" personality. Growing up prior to boarding school I loathed going to school every day because someone always had a snappy comment for me. Thankfully I had some really fantastic friends who had my back growing up. Lynne, Marnie, Emily and Heath were my trusty four. We each, for our own reasons, had challenges and I think we stuck together because of it. I used to dread walking to the bus in the morning to go to school but I was always galloping to the bus at the end of the day as it would drop me off at the barn so I could go ride.

Mona was my riding trainer growing up and very much a second mom to me. She was always giving me things to do around the farm so I could get some free riding time. By my mid teen years I was there every day mucking stalls, getting kids up on their mounts for lessons, cleaning tack, and rationing out grain for the night time feed. Smelling the hay and grain, the companionship of the horses, and being around other kids that were there for the same reasons was an absolute staple in my life. When we had a fire at our house in Darien Mona let me stay at her house and she gave me lots of jobs to do to help her out. The trade off was I got to ride all kinds of different race horses that had just come off the track and were retraining for new disciplines. It was fascinating to me just how different each and every horse was in temperament and personality. I learned a lot from working with animals on how to work with people. Mona came from Sweden and naturally I learned some very choice phrases in Swedish. I couldn't seem to grasp Latin or Spanish in school, but I could say you mother fu**ing rat in Swedish no problem. It was mostly said after Mona ended up buying a horse on a hand shake deal from a shady local dealer. She'd go test ride the horse and it was sound and perfect. 3 days after it was at our barn it would be dead lame, ears pinned and crib and weave like some demon serpent coming off of amphetamines. One of my fondest memories was when she told me to drive her daughter to work. I had no idea why I was to drive her to work, but when she handed me the keys and said do it, I did it. I was 15 years old and that was the first time I had driven a car, let along a Dodge Ram. Call that the quickest driver's ed.

So what does this have to do with being adopted? No idea, but I look back on those years now and realize how much fun that was back then. I was blessed to have such good friends and good influences in my life (minus the driving without a license and the Swedish cursing). I wouldn't have had those if I had not been put up for adoption.

Oh and one of the best lessons I learned in life.. When you get bucked off, dragged, trampled and kicked; you get the hell back up and continue on. Remember Chumba Wumba didn't say a whole hell of a lot in their one hit wonder but what they did say made sense (now you'll have those lyrics in your head for the rest of the night).

Dust yourself off and carry on. And don't take life too seriously, no one gets out alive. This is a picture of some of my friends this past year doing the Tough Mudder with me. Speaking of serious, I put a serious amount of time into making that Wonder Woman costume. It made a lot of people smile. We all made it around the 10+ mile British forces course on Mt. Snow with the help of hydration packs, energy gels, bananas and at the end; a beer and Jose Cuervo. I believe I may have tarnished Wonder Woman's reputation walking around with a beer in one hand and a flask in the other. Oh well. I still have yet to hear from Linda Carter on that one.

Again, experiences brought oh from being adopted: Priceless.

I know I'm rambling. I'm working an overtime and it's 2 am.

In the beginning

We're always evolving, changing, growing. What if you had a part of your foundation of your life that was unknown. That you felt that part may play a part in your "formatting"? That you can't understand certain things that you are drawn to, or why you are the way you are about other things.

I grew up a very privileged life. My family had always told me I was adopted so that I would be comfortable with that. It was always told to me that I was "chosen" and "wanted". I lived in a large house in Darien, CT, had horses growing up, and was allowed to let the equestrian passion carry into my every day life from the time I was 8 years ago up until now. But there's just some things I didn't (and still don't) get. How does a girl who grew up in a very white collar environment, have every monetary advantage ever asked for given to her, go to the best private schools, end up living in a renovated barn in a bedroom community of MA. Growing up I lived in 4000+ square feet of spoiled exaggerated and quietly exploited wealth. Why do I chose to life the way i live now?. How is it horses are such a large part of my life when none of my family growing up shared that passion?

And where the hell did motorcycles come from? SERIOUSLY! Where I grew up it was beamers, porches, ferraris, and mercedes. NOT MOTORCYCLES. Unless you were Paul Newman (who lived nearby).When I was 8, my neighbor, Mr. Lane, had a Goldwing and took me out for a ride down Hollow Tree Ridge Road and Cherry Lane in Darien. I had my pony club riding helmet on and I fell in love instantly with the wind in my hair. I realize now that I am a high adrenaline junkie. Love galloping and jumping horses, climbing trees, riding bikes and mixed martial arts.

I don't think twice to breaking a nail while changing the oil on my bike, and I wear my bruises from MMA with pride. I show them off to my coworkers at the Norfolk Police Dept.

For my work I am an animal control officer and a special police officer. I chase rabid animals and kill them. I go to calls where people are ready to kill someone about something. I get bit by dogs, I pick up lost pets and keep them safe until their owners can come get them, and in some cases I take people's animals away because of something they did or didn't do to or for them. I protect people from animal problems and I protect animals from people problems. I'm pretty good at it apparently since I was named Animal Control Officer of the year for the State of MA. I've seen animals drown, burn, freeze to death, hit by car, hit by train, and shot. If I can offer ANY love before or during their time of pain then I've done what I can do. Deer hit by car rarely die instantly. Usually it's their legs and they try like hell to leave the area because that's their instinct. Some know that I'm going to put them out of their misery. Some are frantic. If I can pet the sweet spot on their head,right between their eyes (the most vulnerable spot on a deer), it will put them at ease. They instantly relax. It makes the next step easier on everyone. Now don't anyone try this... They can also bite you , and strike you with their front legs (even if they're broken). How did I become an animal control officer? Why? Sure the job was posted, but why did I even think to try out for it?

Something drew me to motorcycles, animals, and law enforcement. It certainly wasn't my lifestyle growing up.

Short answer: My birth mother loves sheep, and wrote an agricultural newspaper about sheep ranching, and is a youth corrections officer. My birth father was very known to law enforcement (chuckle) and LOVED motorcycles.. loved to steal them and loved to ride them (more chuckling).

I had my only son in 1998. I was going through a lot of changes in my life and having a child made me wonder if I had any health risks with me that were genetic and perhaps I should try to go find my genetic past. I placed a call to the adoption agency and they responded that with $1000 they would send me all the non identifying information about my birth family.

I received a packet in the mail. My name at birth had been "Barbara". I learned some info about my genetic material but what stood out the most was that I learned my mother was only 15 years old when she was pregnant. WOW. She has to be the strongest young lady ever to be 1, pregnant, 2, living in a time where that is not socially acceptable, 3. she was shipped off during her pregnancy to not stain the family's name, 4. give up a baby that she carried for that long and just walk away.... Just walk away... Never know what happened. And she could have easily aborted me.

I wanted to thank her. That's what this whole thing is about. And I have always wanted to do this before I turn 40.

Guess what... We found each other 12 years ago on line. We've spoken on the phone, we email back and forth. We've mailed each other pictures. I'm going to meet her on my 40th birthday this year.

This blog is going to be an emotional pilgrimage into the adopted child's mind. I will talk about what it's like to be adopted and the process of how we found each other. This blog is also intended to show my physical pilgrimage. I am embarking on a two week motorcycle journey with three friends of mine to go meet her (yes, she knows we're coming!). We'll be riding the highways, several hundred miles a day, taking steam ships across lake Michigan, riding through the badlands, going through Canada, visiting different national treasures along the way and seeing things that I've never seen before. I was always afraid to travel as a child. I always wanted to stay home. Silly as it was, it was because I didn't want someone to leave me behind again. I knew the people that loved me would eventually come home. I missed a lot of trips with my family to Italy, France, etc because I was just afraid. My life now is wonderful, stable, and enriched. My husband is supportive and strong. He encourages me to grow. To spread those wings, be all I can be (insert rolling eyes at sarcasm here).

We leave July 14th from Massachusetts to go to Montana.

There's so much to prepare for... 99 days away.

You'll hear about the folks I'm travelling with. They'll post along the way as well. I'm sure with embarrassing pictures of me, perhaps me sleepwalking through hotels which I am known to do. You'll probably also hear from my family members as well. I have a sibling who is adopted as well and sometimes he can explain things way better than I ever can.