The Child Has No Property

Well, when all is said and done-all is said and done.

And very little, at that.

Today arrived the pack of papers I have been-avoiding-dreading-guilty about-longing for

for the past 50 plus years.

The adoption papers.

With the house clean out in progress and Mum as barmy as the Mad Hatter most days it seemed time to put my anxiety aside and delve into the truth of the matter.

There was a decent stack, all typed (on a bad typewriter-government, eh?) on onion skin paper with a variety of seals, strings, rusted paper clips and stamps.....the kind of stamps you lick....and waiting for me to know the facts.

What I came away with was hardly reason to be so apprehensive lo' these many years.

Written in German, but with translation papers throughout, they mostly said:

Blah-blah-bladhy-blah First Party-blahdy-bloo-Second Party.....

date-date-date.......sign here.......german-german-german........

and so forth.

No givesey-backseys.

(Let the Buyer Beware!)  ;)

But here's the crux:

I am illegitimate.

(Such a word.  Happy Faerie Mash-up would have been more suitable, don't you think?)

My original name has been changed.  Not just my last name.

(Considering Foxmorton is yet another name change...and then there's Violet and Hatty and BeBe....and...well......

clearly I started the name change game early.  A rose by any other name, eh?)

The child owns no property.

(Clearly they failed to take into account those several acres of gnome woodlands. 

 I hold the deed, it's just invisible is all.  And the pirate booty goes without saying.)

I now know my birth mother's full name.

(Which is kind of scary as she doesn't know mine.  Almost like an invasion of privacy if I were to bandy it about.....which I won't. Remember, this was never about finding my parents.  Simply a burning desire to know my ancestry.  Germany.....castles.....explains much about me.

Which brings us to Nature vs. Nurture...but we can save that for another time.)

Her first name is beautiful...I think.  I'm not sure how to pronounce it.

(None of my real names were hers.  My stomach did the biggest flip upon seeing her name in 

print for the first time.)

I have no father. 

(Nor was there any mention or place on the papers to fill in a father.  But, we all know that

River Pirates consorting with faeries generally don't leave a name.....)

I know my birth mothers partial address at the time of my birth-though no mention of her birth date.

(I would have liked to know how old she was.  Do I have siblings?  I really want to know if I have siblings.)

I know her occupation at the time of her birth.

(Maid.  Which makes for a good Cinderella story I suppose.)

I have no mental defects.

(Bwah-hahahahahah!  We Germans are a funny lot!  Slipped that one right by them, eh?)

And that is all I know.

Funny.

All this time I believed these papers to hold the 

Secret to Foxmorton's Universe.

And they didn't.

And that's ok.

I grew up only knowing that both my parents were German.  My father went to great lengths to be sure some discharged officer from Boise wasn't going to knock on the door when I was 7 and create a ruckus.

(Apparently he figured it would be an inconvenient weekend trip all the way from Germany.)

And now?  Well, now I know a little more.

I'll need to think on this awhile.

This feeling of finally turning a page in my story.

And then I'll let you know what I though.

If anything.

My sincere thanks for sharing this moment with me.

xoxo

love-

~Fox

I'm Not Crazy...My Mother Had Me Tested......

Since yesterday was such a wretched day of trying to sort out my Mother's long life, with her still in it, 

it made me laugh long and hard when I stumbled upon this certificate!

For those of you who are fans of the sitcom BIG BANG THEORY

(and I am a HUGE fan!  brilliant, by the way!)

you'll REALLY appreciate the joke!

So, for those of you who might have suspected......

"I'm not crazy.    My Mother had me tested."

See?  It says so right here!  :)

(Though, little did they know, they had a Bedlamite in the making!)

Find something to laugh out loud about today!

It's good for the Soul!

The French "Appel" Pie Adventure

My Mum...in her 80's......

Gee....I wonder where I get my love of garb?   ;)

Nature vs. Nurture.  Hmm.

Ah, 'twas a bittersweet weekend this past.

My Mum, who will be 101 this coming June 5, had to recently move to a care facility.
We'll call it that.  It pains me to write the NH word.

The Goddess knows, we tried, against all odds to keep her with the family, but some things just aren't meant to be and one comes to realize that facility care offers a host of things that no human on earth can provide in a home setting.  Kudos to my daughter for holding out until the bitter end and medical care made it necessary to move her.  There is no way in the world I would have lasted a day.

So, with that said, there comes a host of other, even more daunting tasks.  The tasks of cleaning out her home.

There's naught for it and it must be done.  No other way around it.
But, if she were passed then I might feel differently.  It's a bloody knife in my heart as I go about the tasks that I promised her I would never do until after she was gone.

Crappy daughter, I.

There are many (many!) days ahead of sorting and deciding but I made a bit of a start this weekend.
I thought that I'd share a few of the more treasured things I found and remembered fondly.

***********

I have no idea what the pin on the left actually is but I do know that I shall wear it proudly upon my pirate hat!  The wee knife to the right is also on the piratey side!

I can sew the wee knife to my pirate garb and always be ready for a sandwich!  ;)

Going out on a limb, due to the look and age, but will say that this was my grandfather's pipe!

Remember......Mum is 100............   

I love these!  I played with them sooooo many times when I was small.

Who knew.......Mum was the original Steampunk Girl!   ;)

I adore cameos in any and all forms!  

And the wee mag glass will go nicely with my Vic garb!

Ok.  THIS is wild!  Clearly my Mum was corresponding to someone in Paris!

This begins in English and is a recipe for "French Appel Pie" 

The next two pages are meticulous instructions in flawless handwriting-in French-

for the pie!  It closes with sending more the "next time I write."

I'm actually rather excited to see if I find any more from this person!

A "French Appel Pie" Adventure!

Vintage beaded purse.  I was real good up until I opened it and smelled the inside.

It smelled the way my Mum smelled when I was little............

The Dog is mine....but the derby was my grandfathers!

It's sooooo old!  Fragile.  And I adore it!

The sales tag inside is handwritten and reads:  3052 Blk $2.00 51/4

The sewn in leather tag reads:  Bains, Oswego NY

There's so much more to do.

Torn betwixt wanting to honor everything and knowing that decisions will have to be made.

And....facing the 'lock box' wherein all my adoption information lies............

which is what, essentially, this blog is all about.........

But, I shall smile, because to do otherwise would be a failure to celebrate my Mums

long and wonderful life.........

Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me......

it's appreciated knowing that you are all out there to urge me forward....share a smile.....or break my fall.......

or perhaps peel a few *appels* with me along the way..........

Let the French *Appel* Pie Adventure start!

(with a humble nod to Maurice Sendak...who loved an adventure!)

(Right after this nap..........)    ;)

addendum:  My bloggie friend, Jinksy, just sent me a link to the bird's foot broach!
Amazing!
Thanks, Jinksy!
Bird's Foot Broach

BITS OF ME....

Something I have been meaning to post after a lovely afternoon of browsing in

 the ether of my world a month or so ago.   These are bits of the paperwork that my Mom sent to me when I applied for my passport to visit some Third World island or another owned by the

cruise line on an Hawaiian cruise.

I was taken aback to discover name change documents.  Can't describe the feeling in my stomach .

But, for those of you who know me you know that I have always been called by one different name or another.....so I guess this doesn't surprise me much.  But, still.......       :)

( * I have, in most case, made it a point to crop out actual (documented) birth dates and other identifying info.  Should the day come that I were to be contacted I would not want that information to be compromised.  I hope you understand.)

According to my father, this is our German housekeeper who called me Sugarfoot.

*************

Note from my Mom enclosed with papers.

My adoption papers still sit in the family lock box.  Over the years I have repeatedly declined to take possession of them.  I can't imagine what info they contain.

  I had always promised that there would be time when my Mother had passed.

She is now, 100.

Clearly, she is getting the last laugh over the naysayers who told her she was too old to adopt a baby.  ;)

 

GOBLIN MARKET

Took a wee stumble on the reading path and discovered Rossetti-in particular, Goblin Market.

Hmm.   I wonder if I have a Sister out there who would save me from goblin fruit?

It certainly is an exciting prospect!

Mayhap one day I'll know.

In the meanwhile......this is a most excellent poem!

ps.  Currently reading The Land of Green Plums (see below)
and quite liking it!)



The Land of Green Plums

Thinking I'd like to give this a try.

I'll let you know.

:)

Let's Start at the Ver-ry Be-gin-ing....a Very Fine Place to Start.........

My Passport photo

Hey-ho Fellow Travelers!

Given that I have absolutely no idea as to what I'm doing, or how to progress in this endeavor, for that matter, I though that I should start at the very beginning of what I know the beginning to be to set out some of the few tangible items I recall from  my early childhood that relate to Germany.

 And, couldn't you figure it, the very first thing I remember is:  Garb! 


Yes, garb.  (If you know me and/or follow my other blogs you are laughing right now.)  Apparently, the first clothing I was to own (more or less-I'm pretty sure I left the Kinderheim with a diaper and blankie.)  (That's a joke, by the by.  Me new Mum was an avid shopper and I was quite the well dressed lass....up to, and including in years to come, the Mother-Daughter matching dresses from Sears!)  But, from my earliest memories I recall her dragging out the wicker basket of authentic German costuming and telling the story of her flying into Ireland with me, her pockets stuffed with baby bottles and, apparently, her suitcase containing some really cool costumes!

(To digress, my Mum was really into costuming.  Me.  Never herself.  My first Halloween memory is of being Little Red Riding Hood.  Oh, what I would give for that cape now!  And it went on.  Cowgirl, pirate, gypsy, movie star, Indian, Cinderella.....and more.  And costumes weren't just reserved for Halloween.  They were a part of the everyday play-box.  The wee six-shooters were the best!  Cinderella never left home without them!  And a tiny Derringer which, Mum said very primly, a lady carried in her purse.  Good to know.  Uncle Whitey was always good for a game of Bang-Bang You're Dead.  He took a bullet most convincingly.  But then, Uncle Whitey was good for absolutely anything you could dream up, up to and including lighting the wooden match when I wanted to see what happened if you set fire to the gunpowder in the Derringer caps.  But, now I'm really digressing.  And I promise to come back to Uncle Whitey.  He deserves his own blog.  And, quite possibly, sainthood.  I love.  Love.  Love my Uncle Whitey.)

But, back to garb.

To my knowledge, there do not seem to be any existing photos of me in said garb, but it has existed, nonetheless, in that same wicker basket and has dutifully moved with me to every new closet.

I'll share with you today some of what, apparently, was to be a part of my destiny for the rest of my life.  It's no secret that I much prefer the magic of dress.

During my search I turned up the following beauties.  Books my father had set aside for me.  They are now so old yet so wonderfully preserved.  Inside, a few had inscriptions which I will include here.  And, quite intriguingly,  two pressed flowers in one of the books.  Perfectly set.  The remaining detail after 50 years is amazing.  I wish them to last another 50 more.  If anyone can identify them I'd love to know what they are.  My wish is for edelweiss.  And also to know how and why them came to be there.  They have a story.....but clearly they aren't talking..........    Enjoy. 

These flowers have a secret........

 This photo always spoke to me.  It said:  Orphanage.

(Very Dickensian of me, eh?)   ;)

Such sincere thanks to my Readers for agreeing to gypsy travel with me.

~Mimi

ps.

A photo taken of edelweiss taken from the internet.

I think I may be right.  :)

TZIGANE TAROT & THEN SOME

I haven't, quite yet, decided exactly where I'm going with this Sea Gypsy blog but I thought this might be a good place to start.

If you follow my Pirate Girl blog, you know that I am adopted.  Moons and moons ago in Heidelberg, Germany.

As a child, I never gave much thought to my heritage.  But as I've grown older and my love for history has grown stronger I can't help but wonder about my blood.  Clearly my Ancestors date directly back to castle days and all that I hold dear.

I'm told I'm of German heritage.  Both parents.  Like a "Thoroughbred" by Father used to say.
(He, himself, fond of saying he was "Heinz 57.")

But my skin tans well and my hair, if left to its own devices, is near to black and I don't feel as though I look German at all.  I remember a neighbor lady constantly telling me how "dirty" I was.  She would try to wipe the dirt off my arms and legs.  It wasn't dirt...it was my skin.  I would scrub in the tub at night but I could never get clean enough to suit her.  (And yeah, I know, her problem not mine....but, when you're 7...........)

I feel such a disconnect from German culture.   (Of course, Nature vs. Nurture plays into this but that's a topic you can spend a lifetime on or at least another blog.) 

It was probably this, and my love for the Rom, that brought me to research the reign of the Third Reich as it concerned the Sinta and Roma Gypsy communities.  It was during this research that I happened upon the Dokumentations-und Kulturzentrum Deutscher Sinti und Roma, a cultural museum set up in Heidelberg, Germany to highlight the often forgotten crimes committed against the Sinta and Roma Gypsy communities in Europe during the reign of the Third Reich.

Around a half million Gypsies are thought to have been murdered, with many more tortured, imprisoned or deported.  The museum documents what happened during this period, and the histories of many involved.  It also documents the cultures of the Sinti and Roma Gypsies.

And why does this excite me so?  Ok, this is going to sound dumb as dirt......but I didn't think there were gypsies in Germany.  (Ok, so sue me.  I was sent to Catholic school.  Not a lot of talk about gypsies.  Or the Holocaust, for that matter.  And what passed for art class was torture for me. And now that I think about it, Jesus was a gypsie, but they didn't like to talk about it.   But I digress.)

Anyway, I was excited to find this museum exists not only in Germany but in Heidelberg, Germany.
I'd dearly love to visit one day.

And so, I'm left with my odd creativity-which sticks out in my family like a white elephant in a chicken coop.
My wanderlust, which has always rendered me incapable of living what, my family at any rate, would believe to be a normal life.  (read:  the superior normal life)  And the (sometimes evil) thing inside me that begs to know who I really am.  And who out there really belongs to me.  My blood.  The red stuff that I bleed.

I think it's an honest request.

And funny, I actually came here just to post a poem that has been tugging at my soul for quite a while now.

And this came out.

I started by saying I don't know exactly what I want to do with this Sea Gypsy blog (originally I had one of my adult stories I thought to post here in installments) but now that I've taken the time to write all this......maybe I do.  Maybe I'll use it to find out who I am.  Blogging:  Much cheaper than therapy, eh?  ;)

I hope you'll come with me.  I'm probably going to need a few hands to hold.

love-
~Mimi

The poem I found that started it all:

My Brothers
They had eyes dark as night, my brothers
As if cut in black diamond.

They had moon-woven hair, my brothers,
Glistening blue in endless mist.

And teeth, like wolves' teeth, my brothers,
Joyous teeth clenched tight on their hungers.

The voice they had, borne it was from the stars
Fascinating and misunderstood.

The hands they had, fearsome hands, my brothers,
And the world was drunk at their fingertips.

Gone are they on all the paths, my brothers,
They were warm like fire and fresh like the wind.

Let me touch your hair your brow your lips,
Scrutinize the palms of your hands.

I'm only searching for my brothers everywhere around,
To live is to know how to love.

Gone they are on all the paths, my brothers,
But in every mirror I find them again!

~Tchalai
(taken from the preface to the Tzigane Tarot-tarot of the Rom)