I mean, why else would straight, middle-aged me go to this?:
Lord knows that I am not the target audience.
My friend Wendy went with me. We were definitely the oldest people there by about 25 years. Two of a handful not in costume. And I’d bet a rainbow flag that I was the only heterosexual.
Not that any of this matters. It was a fun night. It was nice to get out, as my new job has consumed my life.
BUT we were there to see Big Freedia. And while I appreciate that you stepped in last minute when Freedia had a family emergency, I wasn’t really feeling your set.
I also wasn’t feeling the four bathrooms and two small bars for 500 people.*
I WAS feeling a new friend named Derek, though. Literally. He asked me to fix the garter buckle on the stockings of his sexy nurse costume. I was happy to help, and I ended up with what he proclaimed as my “new twink son.”
Oregon is an interesting place. The people are fascinating.
I’m used to eccentric people. I lived in Savannah for many years, after all.
But Oregon takes it to a new level. It seems like everyone I’ve met is some version of “different” — meaning not mainstream or like anyone I’ve ever met. (I know there is no “normal.”)
Like the lady who waxed my eyebrows while telling me about her life as an escort.
Or the collection of people I met on a recent Tuesday night.
I’m trying to build a friend network. My next-door neighbor invited me to a get-together billed as a game night.
It was not a game night — certainly not in the way I described my cards-and-wine night with neighbors in St. Louis.
Only one person — “James” — knew most of the people in the group. Most of the seven people were meeting for the first time at one woman’s house.
It was a disparate group.
The guests:
Amy: Neighbor. Identifies as gay and uses she/her pronouns.
“James,” formerly Jamie: Amy was certain the pronouns used are they/them, but James’ partner used she/her.
Charlie: James’ partner. No pronouns used. In transition, but it’s unclear which direction.
Francis: A midwife and psychic/medium who uses they/them. Also wears a turban to casual events. As one does.
Brielle: She/her. Was in a polyamorous relationship. Fell in love with a different partner. Now divorcing her husband to be monogamous with new man who lives in Chile.
K—-: I wish I could remember her actual name. It was so unusual with an unusual spelling that I couldn’t get a handle on it. I wish I could have written it down. (I’m old. I need to write things down.) Her house was the gathering point. Straight woman (she/her) with husband and kids.
Obviously, I like my neighbor. And Brielle and K—- seemed lovely. I couldn’t get a read on James.
Meanwhile, there was Charlie and Francis. I could happily live my whole life without seeing them again.
Charlie would ask someone a question, then start talking to James or Amy and not listen to the answer. Others were listening though. Then Charlie would jump back into the conversation and not know what was happening. Then ask more questions to which Charlie wouldn’t listen.
And here’s one of my exchanges with Francis:
Me: So when did you realize you were psychic?
Francis: A lot of people have asked me that question.
Extended pause.
Me: And?
Francis: My father was always very supportive.
Me: That’s great! So when did you know you had an ability others didn’t?
Francis: Well, I just had so much death in my life. I felt I could feel their energy.
Uh huh. So I call bullshit on Francis. I’m sorry, but if you had this gift, wouldn’t you be able to pinpoint the moment you knew you were differently abled? Am I wrong here?
Anyway, it was a weird night. Another adjective to use is exhausting.
Amy asked me if I had a good time. I can be diplomatic sometimes. I talked about how fun I thought Brielle and K—- were.
Amy: And the others?
Me: James seemed very quiet.
Amy: James is always quiet when Charlie is around.
Yeah, I bet.
Later, Amy told me Charlie asked if Charlie could be Amy’s roommate. That would make Charlie my neighbor too. It took every ounce of restraint not to scream “NOOOO!”
Luckily, Amy reported this week that the two of them met, and Amy’s place is not really the best option for Charlie at this time.
[Audible sigh of relief]
I’m sure Charlie and Francis are beloved by others. They don’t need me.
I’m working on other friendships.
Winery Wendy and I went to my town’s new beer fest last weekend. It replaced the annual Turkeyrama. (You know I would have loved to go to that.)
The beer fest was … underattended. I don’t think they advertised at all. Wendy and I were two of maybe 15 people hanging out in a hot-assed insurance company parking lot.
Unlike most beer fests where breweries set up their own stations, this one had two trucks with a bunch of options. Strange, but the outcome was the same: I got to try a bunch of local beer.
The music was good too. Maybe next year the organizers will actually promote the event.
Anyway, as you can tell, I’m fine: I’m meeting all sorts of people. And liking most of them.
It was weird to watch my car drive away without me.
I packed the remaining stuff for the RV and worried about space.
The next day, the epic road trip started out fine. I had to pick up the RV in Kansas City, so I hitched a ride with my brother who was headed there for a gig.
Look at me with Lodell: fresh faced and ready for adventure.
Why did I have to get it in Kansas City? Good question. Cruise America doesn’t have any locations closer to St. Louis. It was KC or Chicago. Weird, but ok.
While on the way, Gideon was updating me on the flight. Allegiant flies direct from Savannah, Georgia, to Belleville, Illinois, (close to St. Louis) seasonally. No frills, of course. It’s a sky bus.
Despite my flight tracker saying they were en route and the Allegiant app saying they were on time, they were delayed. No explanation.
According to Gideon, for a moment, it looked like they were going to board. But then, the flight was canceled. No reason given. No attempt to reschedule: Sucks to be you; we’ll give you a voucher.
The next flight out on any airline that would get them there that night was $1,319 per ticket.
Mama ain’t got that kind of cash.
Survey says: Delta for $259 the next morning.
I arranged all this while sitting on a stack of furniture pads in the RV place that doubles as a UHaul rental center.
So that was fun.
They headed home. So did I.
Despite being 30 feet long, the RV is easy to drive. It’s not cheap, though.
Yikes. That’s about 10 miles per gallon.
What I had been counting on was having help loading the beast for the trip with everything the movers didn’t take.
Thar she blows!
But that wasn’t the case. My next-door neighbors took pity on me and helped me with some of it.
I hate that you experienced a loss. I hate that you had to cancel your trip to Atlanta for Brian’s birthday celebration, and thus the stay you booked in my Airbnb. But instead of reselling the wristbands, you (amazingly) sent them to me.
I will be honest here: I had never been to a multistage music festival.
I really didn’t know what to expect, besides lots of music and people.
Lovejoy on the main stage: Peachtree.Here’s Spacey Jane at the Piedmont Stage.Illuminati Hotties at the Criminal Records Stage.
And among 40K people, what is the chance I would run into someone I know?
Very high, apparently.
Look: It’s Renee and Brian! Renee and I worked together in Atlanta.The swanky wristband had many perks.
One of the biggest perks to me was the use of air-conditioned bathrooms in an RV-type structure. No porta potty for this lady!
Another perk: Free beer and water.
You know what else was free? People watching.
Let me say that I have mad respect for people wearing whatever the hell they want to wear.
Unlike this brave girl, however, I prefer to keep my bum covered unless I’m at the beach. And even then not so much.
I enjoyed seeing a medley of concert and other kinds of T-shirts. This one was my favorite:
I also loved that parents brought their older children (12-16 or so). As someone who indoctrinated exposed her children to music early on, I approve. (My kids’ first concert was The Police.)
Jennifer and I packed in as many bands as we could.
Be Your Own PetCypress HillRickshaw Billie’s Burger PatrolJoey Valence & BraeThe Front BottomsTrash Panda
All put on a good show. And I know most people were there to see Muse, The Lumineers, Hozier and The Killers.
People love The Killers.
But I was there to see two artists:
Peaches, in all her weird envelope-pushing glory (Yes, that’s an outfit featuring many breasts)And Tenacious D
Those two made the festival worth it for me.
Though I’m not a fan of crowds, everyone was well-behaved.
We had a great time!
So thank you for your generosity.
I hope you will be able to make the trip next year. And if you do, I owe you a deep discount on your stay.
Yes, that’s a windmill. In the middle of St. Louis. With a biergarten.And taxidermy.Taxidermy aplenty.Plus a massive fireplace.And murals.And a chandelier in a really strange place upstairs.Along with a display case of sharp things.And a vanity?!?And whatever this horrifying effigy is.
Naturally, I loved it. I’ve been meaning to go, and I finally got the chance.
I’ll be back in writing action again soon, I hope.
But in the words of the late, great Rodney King, “Can’t we all get along?”
Despite the inauspicious start, I get along with both my next-door neighbors, and I’m close with about a dozen of you in our neighborhood. And some of you must like me a little as you voted me into a leadership role. I also took on the task of editing the neighborhood newspaper. Because of course I did.
As I have free rein with the paper, I want to start an advice column to help resolve minor conflicts. Like alley clippings. Neighbor friends Kathy and Marlane have agreed to help.
I think it could be fun. Also, it may raise everyone’s self awareness and tolerance.
But probably not. 😬😉
Anyway, I’m just trying to help. No need to get knickers in a twist over Christmas lights and weeds, when there is the VERY REAL problem of holiday creep.
My friend Jude sent me evidence of Valentine’s Day merch in a store on Dec. 27.
It’s been quite a journey (Here are parts 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5.)
Here are the takeaways:
Genetics are cool. Over the course of about two years, I have met more than 30 new people to whom I am blood related. Seeing myself in people other than the two I made is incredible. I see my eyes in my sister, my dimples in my brother, my laugh in my father, my inability to sit still in my mother, etc.
Love isn’t like pie. More for some doesn’t mean less for others. I can love my adopted parents and extended family with my whole heart (and do) and also love my found family.
Love is love is love. No boundaries. Some of the most wonderful messages I’ve received are from adopted cousins. Add to those messages all the heartfelt ones from friends and relations by marriage and new people tangential to the story, and you see that this has been a moving experience for more people than just myself.
The human capacity for love, understanding and acceptance is astounding. Everyone in this story (except one**) has seemed to be so happy about this late-in-life connection. I have been amazed at how excited people seem to be to add me to the family. I’m still on my best behavior of course. I don’t want anyone to regret the welcome. 😉
I am fortunate. Not every adoptee has a positive experience. And I have had it on both sides. One of my friends found her birth mother, and mom turned out to be … not a good person. Another friend found his, who said she didn’t want a relationship: “I gave you up for a reason.” Kathy is fond of saying that this could have been a Lifetime movie, but it turned out to be a Hallmark one.
Me: That’s why I was careful to explain in my letter that I’m a normal, stable person.
Alaina (my niece): That’s exactly what a crazy person would say.
The next logical step was to contact my birth father.
Folks, this was easier said than done.
Not that he was hard to find. As soon as I had his name, I put my reporter experience to work and tracked down his address.
It was more that I wasn’t sure how to make this connection. The problem? He didn’t know about me. At all.
For a variety of reasons (including the fact that they had broken up), Kathy didn’t tell him she was pregnant.
So.
Do I call him? Show up at his house? Contact another relative I found (à la Cousin Laura for Kathy)? Eeesh.
I decided to go with the snail-mail route. It had worked before, so maybe it would work again.
But how do I start THAT letter?
Y’all, I’m a writer, but that was THE HARDEST LETTER to write. How do you announce your existence to someone who helped make you? That’s a big deal.
Kathy was worried about me and my plan. She told me she wasn’t sure how he would react.
Yeah.
For TWO FULL YEARS, I agonized over what to say, how to write that damn letter.
My friend Tyler (who cuts my hair) told me, “Don’t come back unless you have an update.” She was kidding. I think.
That was in March 2022. I pulled myself together.
The good stationery and penmanship came out again.
I chose the “rip off the Band-Aid” method:
I've wanted to write this letter for a while, but I didn't know exactly what to say or how to begin. I'm still not sure this is the right way, but I have to start somewhere.
You don't know me or know about me, but I'm your daughter.
I planned for it to arrive by Father’s Day. 😬😉 The tracking indicated it took FOUR DAYS to leave the St. Louis post office. I was dying.
Then on June 23, 2022, I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. It showed up as Columbia, MD, but I didn’t have my glasses on. I thought it said, “Columbia, MO,” so I assumed it was a work call. I answered.
“This is Beth.” “Hi Beth, this is David.”
My people, I cannot express just how many emotions were vying for the top spot: happiness, surprise, nervousness, etc.
Gideon and Eddie saw my face. They were curious and concerned.
I mouthed, “My father.” Their eyes nearly sprung out of their sockets.
I went into another room so I could focus.
It was, in a word, unreal.
And clearly too much to explain in this one post. Get ready for Part 5 and 6. Thanks for joining me on this journey.
Observe and report 