Karen's Journey

I was raised in a Protestant tradition, and never had to give anything up for Lent. Then I married into a Catholic family, but ever the rabble-rouser, I opted to find ways to add to the betterment of the world rather than giving up something as mundane as chocolate. OK, that's probably an oxymoron. One year I wrote a letter each day to some newspaper or government official, advocating for one cause or another. Another year I made it a point to compliment someone each day. One year I did give up meat -- permanently. Lent was the excuse to make it look legitimate in the eyes of the family critics. Last year my big effort was to touch my blog in some way each day, since I'd been finding it so difficult to find time to blog. Some days I actually wrote a post; other days I simply added a video, but I found some way to try to make it more attractive and interesting and less stale. Last year a friend gave up Facebook. That gave me a thought. How about if I spend 40 days using Fa

I should be taking down the Christmas tree. Yes, seriously. We've swung past Valentine's Day and are on our way to St. Patty's, but our tree still stands in the opening between the living room and the dining room. I was going to work on it today, but got enmeshed in the project of moving one step-daughter's clothes out of a dresser she won't be using any more, and moving in clothes for T that are still too big for him, thus clearing out our own bedroom a bit. The clothes were piled so high they were stacked rather precariously and kept falling over onto the floor. So now they are out of my room, and stored for next fall. And at this late hour, why bother trying to take down the tree? I won't finish it before it's time to make dinner and then it's all downhill from there. So instead I sit in front of my computer wondering where my Huntington Beach photos got to -- will have to give that old Compaq another peek -- and poking around on my blog. To date,

Striking my best "you do as I say" pose in my manager's uniform, circa mid 80's. Something that T did last night brought me back to my McDonald's days. Yes, that's right. I spent five years working first as a regular employee, then as an assistant manager, and then for the last two years as the store manager. I fell into it, having graduated from college in 1981 during Ronald Reagan's recession, when interest rates were up in the 14% range and no one was hiring English majors. I was scheduled to be maid of honor in two weddings and I needed cash, so I took the Mickey D's job. It was actually a GREAT experience. Every candidate running for any office should have had a stint at McDonald's. They teach quite a work ethic. "If you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean." In other words, if you're on the clock, you're doing something for the company. And the lessons this child of the suburbs learned. I worked with a

I have to go spend some time playing with my child after sitting at the computer paying bills and going through several week's worth of mail and kindergarten papers for the past three hours. As the attachment therapist says, "You can't attach from another room." So despite all the words running through my head -- enough for a month's worth of postings at least -- this will have to be a quick one. A photo that lowers my cortisol levels whenever I need a little stress relief. Hopefully it does the same for you! Long Beach, Rockport, Mass. on an August afternoon. Wish I could step into this photo.

Always a hot topic within the adoption community is what information -- and how much -- to share with people who ask questions about our adoption plans and decisions. For some reason, S and I seem to be in the minority in terms of being on the receiving end of people questioning why we chose to adopt. Perhaps it's as simple as doing the math counting the gray hairs on my head. And, there was a significant gathering of friends to celebrate my 50th birthday, seven months before we announced our happy "we've adopted news." So I guess it's fairly obvious. It wasn't happening the normal way at my age, although  I could have opted for some type of assisted reproduction -- embryo adoption, surrogate pregnancy, or the like. One question we get that we don't mind answering too much is "Why did you choose Ethiopia?" That doesn't seem too over-the-top personal -- although I suspect people who choose China or Russia or the Ukraine or domestic adopt