Two steps forward, one step back

Or maybe it's the other way around. Either way, yesterday was not quite what I had hoped.

I headed down to Portland to the giant public library there to look up some obituaries and old phone directories, hoping to verify some of the information I got from the search angels.

On the way there, I just happened to accidentally drive past the address that may - or may not - be the address of my biological mother. It wasn't really out of my way. No, really, it wasn't. It was only a few blocks away from the library, and I totally could have just gone that way by chance.

Okay, well, I didn't just go there by chance. I looked it up on Mapquest and drove by there on purpose. When I saw the house, with its big iron numbers on the front, my heart started beating a little bit faster. I drove by slowly. Very very slowly (sorry, Pepsi delivery truck behind me). And for a minute, I fantasized about just knocking on the door. Of course I didn't do it (can you imagine the headline: Adoptee Stalker Causes Bio Mother to Have a Stroke - and this state is so small, and so little happens here, this would completely be a front page deal.)

I know what you're all going to think, and you're right. I may be a little bit crazy. I just couldn't resist. My birth mother might live there. I think the fact that I recognize that this is a tad stalker-ish is an important step in the road to my recovery. Well, isn't admitting you have a problem the first step? Is there even a 12-step program for stalkers?

Anyway, I digress. (I've always wanted to say that.)

I went to the library. It is a lot bigger than the library that I normally use. And the people at the desk? Not as helpful. The librarian at my library (Hi Mike!) knows my name, and remembers all the authors I like, and saves out anything new by them so I get to be first! The eleven hundred people working at this library couldn't care less if I exist.

I found my way to the research section, got a lesson in microfiche from someone who was forced to assist me, and got to work. You know, it seems to me that a world that can put a man on the moon and invent velcro could figure out a better way to store old newspapers than putting them on a teeny tiny film strip which can only be read by a ginormous clunky machine designed mostly to make anyone using it go blind.

So, after a thousand hours, I found what I was looking for. Sort of. Unfortunately, the information I found doesn't exactly match the info I got from the search angels. So, now what do I do?

I think my plan is going to be this: I'm going to take the 22 tons of paper I have accumulated during this search, including all the stuff the searchers sent me, and take it over to Hallie's house. We'll spread it all out, and make charts and diagrams (I LOVE charts and diagrams - does anybody remember Alice's Restaurant, with the 8x10 glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one?) and figure this thing out. Hallie, as you may already know, is an EXPERT at this. And she loves company. I'm sure she won't mind. Who else wants to come?