In the Rearview Mirror: 2018

Today I’m thinking back over the highlights of 2018. The year included lots of music and lots of travel.

WARNING: Long post. You may want to grab a cuppa or adult beverage before reading.

MUSIC:

At the end of last year, after experiencing some health scares, I asked Dr. Yun to replace me as the collaborative pianist for the April opera performance. She graciously complied, although neither of us loved her having to do that. I made very little music from January to September. Then, while sitting with Nancy Cline at a Music at Noon performance, she showed me two texts she had gotten from musical theatre students who couldn't find an accompanist for the fall semester. Nancy was going through a lot of stress in her personal life, so I told her I would take on these two students for the rest of the semester. I had played for Mia and Daniel during the fall semester of 2017, so was already familiar with their excellent work ethics and knew I'd have fun working with them. Then about three weeks later, I received a late night text from one of the opera/classical students, saying her accompanist had been "ghosting" her and asking if I'd accompany her. I assented, but told her she had to find someone else for the spring semester. And just like that [snaps finger] I was out of retirement and occupying a lot of piano benches.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I l*o*v*e musical theatre (MT). So I was very excited to switch from opera to MT and to have the opportunity to work with Dr. Maria Fenty Denison, who leads the voice program for the theatre department at YSU. Maria and I have been having a wonderful time in her studio, and she has very generously thrown some amazing opportunities my way.

I was honored to accompany the auditionees for the Spring 2019 production of Sondheim's "Into the Woods." I will be the rehearsal accompanist for this show, and will be in the pit for the performances. (Friday and Saturday evenings, Sunday matinee of Palm Sunday weekend; Thursday, Friday, and Saturday evenings of Easter weekend - put it on your calendars.) I also was the collaborative pianist for two performances by MTTroup - a group of about a dozen MT students - performing some great old holiday songs at the new Doubletree Hotel in downtown Youngstown during their cocktail hour, and a Music at Noon performance at the Butler Institute of American Art. This work with MTTroup will be ongoing as we reach out to the community to spread the word about the excellence of the YSU musical theatre program.

(Here's the video of the Music at Noon performance: https://youtu.be/Epg69RdcZYc) I will continue accompanying Mia and Daniel for the spring semester, including Mia's Senior Showcase. And I've taken on Jessica (another senior) and Aislinn, so at four students and a show, I've declared my dance card to be full.

Finishing off December (surely you know about musicians and December!), I stepped up to help Jamie Shiell at Christ Episcopal Church in Warren, where Tyler is the tenor soloist, in Jamie's production of Lessons & Carols. I also helped out in his Christmas Eve services and accompanied Tyler in two solos, one of the YSU students in a solo, and played harpsichord in an organ/harpsichord duet of a suite of Christmas carols. I ended the year subbing as the pianist at St. John Lutheran in Champion, a delightful small church where I'm happy to help when their regular organist needs a day off.

That's a lot of music for being retired! 😄

TRAVEL:

Again, if you know me well, you know I love to travel. In January, Jas and I, along with our travel companions Mike and Marilyn, and our beach buddies Maggie, Carol, and Jeanne, again spent a week at El Dorado Maroma south of Cancun on the Riviera Maya. If you're ever thinking about vacationing at an all-inclusive resort, I highly recommend the El Dorado brand. They focus on the cuisine, and it's all wonderful. We'll be heading to another El Dorado resort a few miles away from Maroma in mid-February, 2019.

I didn’t graduate from the high school near Orlando that I attended, but if I had, it would have been in the class of 1967.5. In 2017, I attended the 50th reunion of the class of ‘67; in 2018, I attended the 50th reunion of the class of ‘68. It was great fun to see some classmates I hadn’t seen in 65 years!

My half-sister and I had planned to travel to California for her granddaughter's wedding in March, but Debbie got very sick the day before we were to leave, so those plans were cancelled. And rather than do more traveling, in October she and I have started attending a theatre or concert performance once a month. We saw "Hello, Dolly" and "Les Miserables" at Playhouse Square in Cleveland, and attended the Cleveland Orchestra and Chorus Christmas concert at Severance Hall. After not knowing about each other for 65 years, we're taking advantage of our geographic proximity to get lots of sister time on the books.

In May I went on a Bali Fiber Tour with nine other women and two guides. We spent one weeks each based in Sanur and Ubud, traveling out from there to do lots of fabric-centric activities. If you're a fiberholic, as I am, visit the Bali Fiber Tour page on FB or google "Bali Fiber Tour." Barb Alexander has been leading these tours for a number of years, and it is a wonderful experience. Here's my travelogue, if you're interested: http://jancrews.com/travel/bali-2018/

Several weeks after returning from Bali, Jas and Mike and Marilyn and I went on a GoAhead tour of Ireland, starting and ending in Dublin and traveling around the south and west coast up to Galway. Since Jas and I visited the island in 2011, I took the Ancestry DNA test and learned I'm part Irish, so this trip was especially meaningful to me. I would go back anytime, and I would take advantage of GoAhead's great staff and planning. Here's that travelogue: http://jancrews.com/travel/ireland-2018/

Four days after returning from Ireland, I left for Japan. This was another fiber-related trip and included lots of interesting activities and side trips, along with the opportunity to meet lots of interesting likeminded people. http://jancrews.com/travel/japan-2018/

In September, Jas and I flew to Boston and drove out to Boothbay Harbor, Maine, to visit his brother, Glenn, in his annual month of working for Cabbage Island Clambakes. From Boothbay Harbor, we drove around the coast all the way out Cape Cod to Provincetown, stopping to visit friends along the way. I love New England, and would visit at the drop of the hat, so I greatly enjoyed this getaway, which coincided with Jas's retirement after 30 years of employment with Norfolk Southern Railway. One more travelogue, if you're interested: http://jancrews.com/travel/september-in-new-england/

And my final travel was a November weekend with my elder son, Scott, at his home in Lewisville, TX. I was able to attend one of his last hockey games of the season. I also took advantage of being in Dallas to catch up with my old friend Walu. We've been friends since around 1980, and have traveled to Europe together, but hadn't spend any quality time together for about 15 years, so this was a treat. The other treat was getting to meet my search angel, Vickie Strong, face to face. This trip was a great way to finish off all my travel for 2018.

While not exactly travel, I am now living in the land of winter comfort in my house, with the addition of new modern windows - 27 of them - on the 2nd and 3rd floors of my circa 1927 home. Once these are paid off, I’ll order the 1st floor windows.

EXTREME SADNESS:

The worst part of the year was losing our beloved Maggie Hagan, Jas's cousin and our frequent travel partner. Maggie knew how to have fun like no other person I've ever met. She was the whirlwind in the center of every party she attended. While we were in Mexico, she discovered a lump in her breast. She had radiation after our return. Then a few months later she was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia. On November 6, surrounded by her large and loving family, she passed away, leaving an enormous hole in the life of every person who had ever met her. Oh, Maggie, how we loved you.

GRATITUDE:

Again this year, I am filled with gratitude that is associated with my genealogical research.

My deepest gratitude for this year (and always) goes to all my second, third, and fourth cousins who have taken Ancestry, 23andme, or FTDNA tests. Each one I have contacted and who has replied has accepted me with an open heart.

Included in this gratitude pool is genealogical researcher Vickie Jordan Strong, who is my search angel. (Yes, that’s a thing.) Vickie has been holding my hand across the miles as my paternal family tree grows and expands with every new farm family we find. We have found lots of men who are NOT my father. Maybe someday we’ll find THE guy, but along the road, my life is richer for all the people who have touched my life. An adoptee grows up with lots of holes in her soul. My holes are slowing being filled with each contact with Vickie and my cousins.

I wish you all health and happiness in the New Year.

Unintended Gifts from Beyond

Note: This was first written as a Facebook Note on March 20, 2017

I spent last weekend in Orlando for my 50th high school reunion, packing every empty minute with visits to old friends in my hometown. I’ve been trying to figure out how to memorialize one very special meeting, and have decided to put it in a Facebook note.

The backstory:

I am adopted. I grew up feeling I didn’t fit in anywhere. I was always curious about my birthmother. With the help of a search organization in Dallas, I found her when I was 33. I called her home number. When she answered the phone, I ask, “Is this Gertrude Hodgkins Verburg?” When she said yes, I said I had been born June 22, 1950, had been doing genealogical research, and that my birth records indicated she might be my mother. (One always offers an out.) On the other end of the phone line there was a long pause, then she said, “I can’t talk to you right now,” and hung up the phone. There was another exchange several months later, with her acquiescence, at the end of which she requested that I never contact her again. I didn’t.

I was certain I was the only child she had ever had. She was almost 38 when I was born, late for pregnancy in 1950. She had spent the last few months of her pregnancy in Orlando, returning to her native Gloucester, Massachusetts, after my birth. A few years later, she and her brother moved permanently to Orlando. She married for the first and only time in 1956. And it was pretty clear from her actions and words that she had never told her husband about her pregnancy. Much later I was to learn that she had spent every Sunday morning of her life in Orlando in the nursery at her church, holding, rocking, caring for the babies.

In March, 2016, through the courtesy of the Ancestry genealogical website, I found a half-sister. My mother had not only had a baby girl and given her up for adoption in 1950, she had also had a baby girl and given her up for adoption in 1935! We were both shocked to find each other and thrilled out of our minds to find someone we were really related to. The icing on the cake was our similarities and shared interests.

My sister, Debbie, had searched for her mother much later than I did. Gertrude had died in April of 1998, and Debbie found her three weeks after her passing. Debbie had engaged a search agency to find her, and learned that Gertrude was a member of Grace Covenant Presbyterian Church in Orlando. She contacted the minister there and learned more about Gertrude’s life. Shortly thereafter, Debbie and her elder daughter flew to Orlando to meet Pastor Bob Eckard. He spoke warmly of our mother, told Debbie of her work in the church nursery, and introduced Debbie to a Mr. and Mrs. Nordman, with whom Gertrude had been close friends. The Nordmans were completely surprised by Debbie’s existence. Not only had Gertrude kept her secret from her husband for 40+ years, she had kept it from her closest friend.

Now to today:

I am on the Ancestry site several days a week as I search for my elusive birth father. I have taken the Ancestry DNA test (as has Debbie) and frequently correspond with distant cousins who are connected to me by our DNA. A couple of weeks ago I received a note from a “cousin” mentioning Gertrude and her husband, Gerrit. I started sorting through possibilities in my mind and decided to see if I could contact Mrs. Nordman. While searching, I learned that Mr. Nordman had died in 2011 and Mrs. Nordman in late 2016, just a few months ago. From her obituary, I learned they had five children, and through further searching, learned that the youngest, Nancy, still lived in the family home.

I contacted her and she shared with me some memories of Debbie’s and my mother. She told me that a few days before her death, her mother had said she wanted to get in touch with Gertrude’s daughter, but couldn’t remember her name. When she said that to me, I immediately teared up, assuming Gertrude had shared my existence with Mrs. Nordman. But when I called Debbie to tell her of this conversation, she reminded me that she had met the Nordmans, and that they had not known of her before meeting her, nor of me.

Mrs. Nordman wanted to get in touch with Debbie, but couldn’t remember her name.

I assumed it was just a desire to again tell Debbie how special Gertrude had been to her.

During our conversation, I told Nancy I’d like to see the church and visit the nursery where my mother had spent so much time and that had been named for and dedicated to her upon her death. She suggested I come attend church with her on the Sunday I would be in Orlando, and I quickly agreed.

We met in the church vestibule at 10:30 Sunday morning. She was holding a sign that said, “Welcome, Jan.” Then she introduced me to her eldest sister. We sat down and I noticed the quilts all arranged along the railings at the front of the church. They have a quilt guild that makes bright child-size quilts to donate to the children’s hospitals in Orlando, and Sunday was “quilt blessing day.” What a treat! As we were waiting for the service to begin, Nancy leaned over and pointed out a gentleman sitting on the back row of the choir. “That’s Pastor Eckard. I’ve arranged for us to have lunch together.” I had to stifle a sob. I had known he was no longer at the church, but assumed he had moved on to another church. I was wrong. He retired and he and his wife still live in Orlando and attend Grace Covenant. He knew my mother for over 30 years!
I enjoyed the service very much. The Presbyterian hymns are similar to the Adventist hymns on which I grew up. Same tunes, same words. The version of the Lord’s Prayer they say has the words “debts” rather than “trespasses.” All familiar. All comfortable. When the service was over, Nancy and I walked up to the front to get a closer look at the quilts. After Pastor Eckard took off his choir robe and put his music away, he joined us and we walked to the other building to see the nursery. Next to the door, a brass plaque was affixed to the wall, engraved with the words, “Gertrude Verburg Nursery.” We walked into the bright and cheery room, and talked about Gertrude’s Sundays there. The woman who had been working there that day had also known Gertrude. She talked about how, later in life when she couldn’t get around very well, they bought a comfortable rocker for her to sit in. Upon arrival, she’d settle in and they’d bring a baby to her to rock.

She gave away two daughters because she was unable to care for them, then spent several hours every week for the rest of her life holding and talking to babies. My eyes fill with tears of regret and tears of respect every time I remember that fact.
After visiting the nursery, Pastor and Mrs. Eckard, Nancy Nordman, and I left to drive to a nearby Italian restaurant for lunch. After we sat down, Nancy said, “I have something for you in the car.” She ran out and came back in carrying two recyclable grocery bags. Nancy said that Gertrude had left some things with Mrs. Nordman when she and Gerrit moved into a retirement home and then, ultimately, to a nursing home.

The first bag contained a large and very heavy silver chest, loaded with sterling silver flatware. Nancy’s mother’s handwritten note inside stated that if Gerrit ever needed money, these were to be sold and the money used for his support.
In the other bag was a plastic shoe storage box filled with various plastic bags, envelopes, and bank envelopes. One envelope contained an exquisite antique necklace and matching earrings. Another held about 20 bills from various foreign countries. I assume her husband collected these during his career in the United States Navy. A couple more envelopes held coins. A small leather box held a large pocket watch. There were several more pocket watches and two beautiful gold bangle bracelets. Plastic bags held two lockets, one with a curl of very fine hair. (My sister's? Mine? Our mother's?) Then Nancy pulled out one last envelope and had me hold my hands together, palms up, as she poured about twenty rings into my hands!!!!!

I slipped several onto my fingers, and they fit my large piano hands perfectly. Several are engraved. One plain wedding band has a 1909 date in it. Unbelievable!!!

Nancy told me she had been praying for me that morning before church, and had felt that these items that had been passed down in Gertrude’s family would help Debbie and me assuage our grief at having grown up without our mother and without each other.

I expressed my overwhelming gratitude to Nancy (and ultimately, her mother, as this was - of course - why she wanted to find Debbie before her death) for having thought of us and given us this very kind and generous gift.
We left the restaurant, I retrieved my car, and before setting out on the next leg of my afternoon journey, I pulled over in a parking lot to call Debbie and tell her this incredible story.

After arriving back at my hotel, I pulled the rings out on the bed, looking through them, touching them, touching my mother whom I had never known. I found one delicate ring and slipped it onto my finger. Now I carry her with me every day.

In the Rearview Mirror: 2017

Today I’m thinking back over the highlights of the year. The year included lots of music and lots of travel.

WARNING: Long post. You may want to grab a cuppa or adult beverage before reading.

MUSIC:

• Tyler and I co-MD’d the “Sondheim in Love” revue at the Youngstown Playhouse. I always love sharing gigs with my younger son - what an honor!

• I played for rehearsals of YSU’s production of “The Impressario” and assisted from the pit for the April performances, which included the incredible Ian LeRoy, conducting from the keyboard, and another opportunity to work with Dr. Steve Gage, whom I love dearly. Make a note of Ian’s name. With his brand new Master’s degree from YSU, he will go far. I fully expect to watch him in a Broadway pit a few years down the road - if that’s the route he chooses to follow.

• This fall I was able to wear my “helper” hat (which I love doing), covering students for one accompanist who was out on medical leave for six weeks, taking her classical voice students through several performances and the National Assn of Teachers of Singing Ohio auditions and Dr. Yun’s studio recital. (I breathed a very large sigh of relief for both Nancy and myself when her treatments were completed and she was back on the piano bench!)

• As soon as Nancy was back, I was asked by two Musical Theatre voice teachers to accompany several of their students for several weeks to get them through their juries (the equivalent of a final exam for applied music students). During this time, another accompanist had emergency surgery and couldn’t play, so I shepherded two of his students through the end of the semester. I adore musical theatre, so - although stressful because of the quantity of music I had to learn and the time pressures - I had a blast learning this music and working with these talented students.

• My “opera kids” staged two great Opera Scenes performances before Thanksgiving. I learned some beautiful music from operas I had never heard before, and loved working with these talented singers. The love these students have showered on me each time we’re together, in class or performance, I will never forget. I love these students (who are just a few years older than my grandchildren) as if they were my own.

• Dr. Misook Yun has my undying love and devotion for emailing me during the summer of 2015 to ask if I might like to accompany her opera program at YSU. That was a life-changing email!!

• My musical year ended by playing background music for a private Christmas party. This is the first party I’ve played in ten years!! Much gratitude to Paul Shanabarger, of the Men’s Garden Club, for hearing me play at the Youngstown Playhouse and envisioning me at their party. He’s already asked me to play for them again in 2018. ❤️

TRAVEL:

• Semester break vacation with five friends to El Dorado Maroma, south of Cancun. This was Jas’s and my first experience with an all-inclusive resort and we’re sold! We’re heading back after the New Year to enjoy the great Karisma experience again.

• In March, we found my maternal half-sister’s paternal half-sister, Marge. I carved the weekend off my spring break and flew to Gloucester, MA, to meet her and to do some genealogical research.

• In late March, I flew to Orlando and attended my 50th high school reunion and was able to spend a little time with my eldest brother. I enjoyed catching up with old friends and renewing acquaintances.

• In early June, my sister and I met in Gloucester - her first visit to the town where our mother spent the first 42 years of her life and where our family tree was planted in 1623. Debbie and her elder daughter, son, and DIL were able to meet Debbie’s sister. After the offspring headed back to Kingston, MA, Debbie and I stayed a few more days,exploring Cape Ann and getting to know Marge.

• In late June, I flew to Albuquerque and spent a couple of days in Santa Fe before heading up to Taos to attend another of Diane Ericson’s “Design Outside the Lines” sewing and creativity workshops. The guest teacher was Valerie Goodwin, an architect and quilter. As always, I left DOL with new perspectives and techniques for my sewing and fiber activities. And a wonderful new friend, Portland sewist Tina Daily. Tina and I will be traveling to Bali together in 2018.

• A few days after returning from Taos, I drove my grandchildren to Interlochen for their second year at Interlochen Arts Camp. While there, I took a three-day Shibori workshop, coming home with more ideas and inspiration. I also spent time with my DIL, who teaches at Interlochen every summer, and with her darling mother and daughter. The highlight of the visit was a drive up to Leland, MI, and dinner at Fishtown.

• Jas and I visited the PacNW in August, spending time with friends in Seattle, Portland, Bend, and Ashland. Before flying out at the end of the week, I was able to meet - for the first time in my life - a relative on my paternal side. Kathy is one of six 2nd cousins that have been identified through Ancestry DNA tests. She lives in a golf community north of Medford, OR. We share our great-grandparents, Nathaniel James Simpson Kelley and Sarah Zanzaline “Sally” Thornton, who lived in middle Tennessee. What an honor!

• The first weekend of December, I took a spur-of-the-moment trip to Orlando to attend an annual party given by and for people who attended Orlando Church School in the 60s. I reconnected with dear friends whom I’ve known all my life, and again was able to spend some precious time with my brother and sister-in-law. In truest southern fashion, I spent the weekend being introduced to new friends as “Jerry’s little sister.”

GRATITUDE:

My deepest gratitude for this year (and always) goes to all my second, third, and fourth cousins who have taken Ancestry, 23andme, or FTDNA tests. Each one I have contacted and who has replied has accepted me with an open heart.

Included in this gratitude pool is genealogical researcher Vickie Jordan Strong, who is my search angel. (Yes, that’s a thing.) Vickie has been holding my hand across the miles as my paternal family tree grows and expands with every new farm family we find. We have found lots of men who are NOT my father. Maybe someday we’ll find THE guy, but along the road, my life is richer for all the people who have touched my life. An adoptee grows up with lots of holes in her soul. My holes are slowing being filled with each contact with Vickie and my cousins.

I wish you all health and happiness in the New Year.

It All Comes Around

I had the most incredible full-circle dream last night and woke feeling all was right with the world.

I've written many times about how wonderful my adoptive father was, how valued he made me feel. I've written a little less often about my adoptive mother. She was a wonderful person, she was just very frequently and very regularly not wonderful to me. My brothers don't see or understand that. No one who knew her as a friend or acquaintance saw that about her. One of Mother's sisters understood what was happening to me at home, how my little adopted self was be turned outside-in, converted into a lost child, but she felt powerless to stop the conversion. And Daddy, as wonderful as he was, worked so many hours establishing and then maintaining his thriving medical practice that he wasn't home enough to realize what was happening to me and to possibly put a stop to it.

I loved and identified with my father. And the cousin I liked the most was one of Daddy's younger brothers' sons, who was closest in age to me. We didn't see each other often, but I felt we "clicked" whenever we were together. I identified with him as I did with Daddy.

In last night's dream, I got a new job. I didn't really understand what my function, my role, was in this company. I worked in an office, a large open space with about fifteen desks and workers placed erratically in a willy-nilly maze within this large space. Our tasks were involved with computers and editing, the two fields in which I was immersed for most of my career. But I felt out of place, as I just couldn't understand what I was supposed to be doing or why I had been hired—out of the blue with no interview. (For many years, I would be contacted by people who had heard of me to come work with them. I was frequently "in the right place at the right time" when it came to jobs. And yet I never was able to escape the feeling of not fitting in.)

So at this new job, I continued to feel I didn't fit in. And then one day, when I was closest to feeling I needed to quit this job because of not fitting in, I realized who the head of the company was. It was my cousin Ronnie. Ron. Suddenly I realized that Ron had somehow heard what my most recent boss had said—that I was the best editor he had worked with in his long academic career. I recognized that this company was not quite thriving and Ron had been looking for someone to help him pull the company back from its doldrums to reach its former glory and potential greatness.

I was wanted. I mattered. I fit in.

Rather than feeling defeated and wanting to quit, I felt valued and motivated. I picked up the company's catalog of publications and started to read about all the books at its core. And my eyes latched onto one book with a nautical title. When I picked it up, I realized it was a history of Gloucester, Massachusetts. My soul's home. The town where all my DNA had come into being. I had the most stunning "aha" moment.

And woke up.

And felt centered. A sense of belonging. A sense that I mattered. That ever-elusive sense of fitting in.

Whatever it is that is not quite working out in my life is going to work out.

Ah, inner peace.

---

Photo of two Common Terns on the beach in Gloucester, MA. © Kim Smith.

Photo credit: Kim Smith, Gloucester, MA. See more of Kim's stunning work at Kim Smith Designs and on the Good Morning Gloucester website.

Define: Non-Binary

I'm an old programmer. I know from binary. I taught my sons how to count in binary, and they still know and use that theory thirty years later. But a year ago I had never heard the term "non-binary."

In case you are also unfamiliar with the term, here's what wikipedia says: "Those with non-binary genders can feel that they: Have an androgynous (both masculine and feminine) gender identity, such as androgyne. Have an identity between male and female, such as intergender. Have a neutral or non-existant gender identity, such as agender or neutrois."

My eldest grandchild identifies as female. When she was born (identified as male), we bonded fast and strong. I always said [he] held my heart in [his] hands. Now he is a she, and it has been very difficult for me to switch to saying she instead of he, and to see her experiment with makeup and finding dresses that make her feel pretty has made me sad. I wake up at two o'clock in the morning and lie in bed for two hours worrying about her future. Will she ever find someone with whom to share her life? Will she be able to get a good enough job to be able to support herself—and her family, should she have one?

But it is just not about me. It's about her. The very, very, very worst thing that could happen in my life would be for her to feel not-accepted and to become so depressed that she would feel the need or desire to kill herself. Without her in my life, whether in pants or a dress, I could not live.

So I am determined to be supportive. And she notices.

Just as her father thanked me for all the sacrifices I made for him when he was in the boarding school where he wanted to be, my granddaughter thanks me for all I do for her. She notices.

It helps when I read articles that indicate the world wasn't always binary. And because this reading has helped me, I'm sharing a couple of articles here with you today. If you're confused or skeptical, I hope you can find a little understanding in these pieces.

I have spent much of my life desiring to (and feeling like I didn't) "fit in" to the world around me. I didn't want my children or grandchildren to have to have those same feelings as they were growing up. But isn't it far more important for someone to feel they fit in inside themselves than to feel they fit in with judgmental, unloving, unkind people around them?

I could learn a lesson here.

---

Still so much to learn. My grandchild tells me, "I'm not non binary. Binary genders are male and female and I identify as female, so technically I'm still binary." I thought I understood correctly that it meant not traditionally male or female. Must study some more.

Two peas in a pod.

Two strawberries in a bowl. Two hearts, shared.

Two weeks have passed since Debbie and I got to spend the first two days of our life together, together. Nothing has changed. Nothing except, after many years as "only children", related to no one of our generation or preceding, we now have each other. We laugh, we joke, we share our hopes, dreams and fears. Honestly, if I had gone to the Sister Store and placed my order for a sister who understood me and loved me despite my foibles, I couldn't have gotten anyone as nice as she, as perfectly suited for the task as she.

And our lives go on. We talk about planning another trip to get together. And we go on with our daily routines. We text several times each day, sharing the goings-on of our lives. We occasionally talk on the phone. But we're both busy with activities—and life. So texting works the best.

I continue my research on Ancestry. My current objective is to find a cousin or two of our mother's generation or our own. But I'm not finding much success. I'm finding VERY interesting people. Our Sayward ancestors, about whom I was reading yesterday in "North America, Family Histories, 1500-2000," produced, I read, many teachers who migrated westward and were highly regarded in their cities. How cool! I read about many, many babies who died within days or months of birth and I think about the sadness that permeated those families. I read about my male ancestors who were deep sea fishermen by trade and lost their lives trying to provide for their families. My heart aches trying to imagine the anguish of waiting and hoping for someone to come home.

So my research is no different than it was before I found Debbie. The difference now is I have someone with whom to share my amazement. I have someone who cares about me and about my life, as I care about her and hers.

In a word, I am rich. My life is richer for having this person with whom I share genes and traits. With whom I share life.

I am rich.

Face to Face, Finally

I did Match .com dating for years. Interminable years. I can't tell you the number of awful first, and even second, dates. Just awful.

How different was the promise of Debbie's and my meeting from the promise of those dates? Not much!

But we had the knowledge of a pre-established relationship. I had seen her original birth certificate. She had seen our mother's signature relinquishing me for adoption. Even though our DNA tests suggested we might be first cousins, we knew we were sisters.

We found each other on April 5, 2016. We texted frequently and within two weeks I offered to fly out to Arizona from Northeast Ohio to meet her. We met face-to-face on May 6, 2016. We motherless daughters spent Mother's Day weekend.

[Ironically, my adoptive mother chose May 3, 2016, four weeks before her 103rd birthday, to die. Doors close, doors open.]

This visit could have gone oh-so-poorly. As I was flying out on Friday, I remembered a Match date where I drove from Tucson to El Paso to spend time with a man I had met in person once before. When I walked into his home, I saw a thick coating of dust on every surface, and an unscooped litterbox still on the floor in the dining room, even though his cat had died a year earlier. A wise woman would have turned around and walked out. I was not wise; I was lonely.

While I tried to imagine what awaited me in Kingman, I visited every dark corner of my mind. But reality trumped fear.

Debbie and her oldest child, Cindy, share a home. They live a very quiet life. They both have health issues and serve as each other's devoted caretakers. The home is immaculate. There's not a speck of dust, a clutter of anything. A harsh word is not spoken. A raised voice is never heard. Their living room sliding glass door looks out on a patio and desert-landscaped backyard with flowering plants in pots, a porch swing, and mourning doves and Gambrell's quails vying for the food and water which she supplies for them. The walls of each room are adorned with framed family photos. This is the home of a mother who has raised her children to respect and love each other.

In a word: peace.

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Here I will share with you the nutshell report I posted on Facebook while waiting for my early morning flight home from Vegas:

I know many of you are wondering, so I'll give you a brief report here: My lovely new sister, Debbie Davis, and I had a wonderful weekend together. We had lots of quiet time in her home in Kingman, AZ, trading stories and filling in the holes of 65 lost years. Her daughter, Cindy, lives with her, and younger daughter, Cathy, drive up from OC to join us for the Mother's Day weekend. We had lunch out on Saturday, with thanks to the nice young (I think) Australian man who looked at us like we were crazy but complied when we asked him to come over and take our picture. Later on, an enjoyable and educational visit to the Keepers of the Wild wildlife refuge, which required a drive along historic Route 66. Sunday morning Debbie and I drove up into the mountains south of Kingman to the Hualapi Lodge for brunch. There was not a moment of discord or disagreement. We both have dealt with the adoption syndrome of "who am I" our whole lives. Now we look at each other and shake our heads as we realize we're finally related to someone.

It was a wonderful weekend, and we're already looking forward to the next visit.

Thanks for all the wonderful comments and for following our life-changing story.

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Debbie's daughters are kind, thoughtful, and generous-of-spirit fifty-something women. Their love for and tenderness toward their mother is touching.

(Debbie's son, Bill, lives south of Boston and called on Saturday to arrange to pick up the tab for his sisters' lunch and Debbie's and my brunch on Sunday.)

This is clearly a family that loves each other.

And Debbie and I count ourselves among the truly lucky to have met each other, to have so much in common, and to find such a seamless merging of our lives.

I've been rejected, multiple times–by my birthmother at my birth; by my adoptive mother by her insistence to prove to me how unloveable and unacceptable I was; by my first husband by his (I believe) insecurity-fueled need to show me how far superior he was to me in every facet of my life; and by my birthmother again when I found her and she chose not to rock the boat of her life.

I know rejection. What I experienced from Debbie last weekend was not rejection. It was total and complete and loving acceptance. Someone was finally thrilled to know me.

I am the luckiest.