Running to my Roots-Part One

Tags

adoption, birthfather, cultural heritage, finding family, Italian heritage, Italy, recovery, running

In Italy, I traveled through miles of my birth family’s history…

As an adult adoptee looking back, one of my regrets was not growing up with my Italian heritage. In my memoir The Goodbye Baby: Adoptee Diaries, I lamented this “deprivation.” However, I DID at last meet my Italian-American birthfather just a few years before he passed away. I was able to travel with him to Abruzzo, where he was born.
When organizing my office last week, I came across this account, written in 2007 but never before published. As you, my readers, will see, I was heavily into running at the time. In retrospect, I realize how special that father-daughter journey it was, what a privilege that I got this glimpse of my heritage. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed re-living the experience…

Growing up adopted, relived through diary entires

I was an adopted child, five years old when my new parents took over. I met my biological father many years later. Together we visited the town in Italy where he was born, and there I spent an unforgettable week getting to know cousins and doing a lot of running. Giovanni Cecchini began life in the tiny village of San Martino Sulla Maruccina. It’s on the east side of the Italian boot, 17 miles from the Adriatic Sea. Even though I had been adopted by a loving mom and dad and my young life improved dramatically, I longed for many years to find out more about my heritage. Shortly before Giovanni’s death, that wish came true.
Giovanni left the old country at age two. He’d returned to his home village every year since World War II. I spent most of my life without knowing him. Our reunion did not bring the communication I’d hoped for. My father, in ill health, was taciturn and grouchy. Despite this disappointment, I was able to get in touch with my roots. And I discovered the joys of running in Italy.
Being with long-lost Italian cousins, hiking through the fields, hills and olive groves that had belonged to my ancestors, enjoying the scenic beauty of San Martino, with snowcapped mountains to the west and the sea to the east were magical. Best of all, however, was running in my newly-discovered native homeland.
Nikes on my feet, I explored the streets and pathways of tiny San Martino (population 800) as well as nearby countryside. No doubt I was an odd sight. I like to think of myself as the first American to have jogged through the village for the sake of simply running. If the citizens of San Martino were running, it would be to catch a stray sheep, goat or child.
For one thing, the villagers are elderly. The young leave for Pescara or Chieti or Guardiagrele to attend school or take jobs. Furthermore, why would people need to run? The San Martino way of life incorporates vigorous outdoor activities: harvesting olives, gathering firewood, tending animals, plowing fields. My spoken Italian was not versatile enough to know what the natives thought of my running through their streets every day.
But run for the sport of it I did, and for the sheer beauty of the landscape. Running was not only a way to enjoy the incredibly beautiful countryside but also to work off the delicious pasta consumed during three-hour lunches.
San Martino-ans are not into lycra and singlets, so early each morning I donned pedal pushers and an oversized t-shirt borrowed from my teenage sons. I decided it was better to look like a nerd than a shameless exhibitionist. Shortly after the roosters’ last crowing, I left my Aunt Guisipina’s house and jogged up a narrow cobblestone road to the main street of San Martino. Sweeping their porches, small elderly ladies in black stared at me, first in disbelief, then with amusement. After a day or so, they began greeting me with a friendly “Buon Giorno.”

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

Looking at the world through adoption-colored glasses.

November is National Adoption Month, so I’m publishing another adoption-themed post from the past. The trip to Italy was life-changing, life affirming, and inspirational. Join me, Elaine Pinkerton, on alternate Mondays for adoptee perspectives.

Feedback is invited. Click at the top right to leave your comments.

An Earth Day March for Science

Tags

adoptee, Earth Day, Peaceful Demonstrating, Rally, running, Science, Walking

Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.                                        ~Arundhati Roy

When my hometown of Santa Fe, New Mexico hosted footraces throughout the spring and summer, I never missed one. Along with friends ( we were what some might call “run-a-holics”) I ran five and ten kilometer distances. Before a knee injury put a stop to my running, I completed nine marathons and took an hour off my finishing time. Many happy memories.

Every April around Earth Day, there was a footrace. The Plaza, in the heart of downtown, would fill with runners, their friends and families. We participants, warding off the early morning chill, would line up. The elite speedsters were at the front;  the middle-of-the-roaders (like me) were in the middle; walkers and joggers were at the back. A shot from the starting gun and we’d take off. The Old Santa Fe Trail Run, a popular ten-kilometer, wound uphill from the Plaza, around the museum hill complex and then back to the Plaza. A tough but scenic course.

Fast forward a few decades to Earth Day 2017. The Plaza again filled with people, dressed not for a race but a hike. We had gathered for the Santa Fe March for Science. The mood was positive but there was an edge: a message to those in charge. Basically, it was to stop politicizing science and to support scientific pursuits.

Photos courtesy of Donna and Bob

Carrying a variety of signs and banners, the crowd of 3,000 snaked around the Plaza and ended up at the State Capital Building. Less than a mile. Local and area politicians spoke, people listened, bobbed their signs in the air, eventually drifted away. The morning was filled with camaraderie, and it felt positive to be making a statement.

That said, I missed the halcyon days of footraces. Looking back, it seemed a kinder, gentler time. What can one do, however, but adopt the now? It’s what we have.

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

Join Elaine every other Monday for reflections on adoption and life. Her new suspense novel, All the Wrong Places, can be ordered: http://www.pocolpress.com or from Amazon.

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Announcing the NEW Santa Fe on Foot

Tags

adoptee, Bicycling, Booksigning, Drawings, freedom, Guidebook, History, Maps, New Edition, Photos, running, Walking

One of the most rewarding aspects of facing adoptee issues and vowing to leave them behind is newfound freedom. I now feel liberated, free to write about themes other than “adoption recovery.” Walking and nature are two priorities in my life; Santa Fe on Foot is about both. It’s been thirty years in the making. My first guidebook to walking, running and bicycling was created fifteen years after I moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico. This is the fourth edition.

A do-it-yourself guidebook

 

 

And here, dear reader, is a preview.

THE FIRST EDITION of Santa Fe on Foot was written in the 1980s to introduce people to the joys of walking, running, and bicycling in a fascinating city. Four editions later, the original routes still offer visitors and residents alike a unique view of Santa Fe’s culture and natural setting. Because the city has grown from 50,000 to nearly 70,000,  and also because walking opportunities are now far greater than before, the NEW Santa Fe on Foot emphasizes walking. However, running and bicycling are extremely popular in our city. You’ll find resources for pursuing those activities as well.
Santa Fe has seen the addition of the Dale Ball Trails in the north and northeast sides of town. Recently developed in the northwest area is La Tierra Trails system. A spacious walking trail adjacent to Santa Fe River goes from the city’s Railyard area, through Bicentennial Park to Frenchy’s Field. Rancho Viejo and other residential areas now include green regions with miles of walking trails.
In all parts of Santa Fe, invitations to outdoor walking abound. You’ll find marked paths, new stonework, xeriscaped gardens, historic markers, and interpretive signs. Santa Fe, despite being a high desert region, boasts some ten community gardens. Tended by citizen gardeners in spring and summer, the gardens yield enough so that patrons can donate excess produce to the local food depots. Ways of enjoying Santa Fe’s outdoors are ever expanding.
Walking, humankind’s oldest exercise, is good for people. Recent studies show that it is not only excellent for heart, lungs, bones and circulation; walking is also good for the brain. Add to walking’s physical and mental benefits the goal of seeing Santa Fe with a fresh look and you have a combination that doubly rewards. Whether you have lived in Santa Fe for years or are passing through for a few days, until you have toured the city on foot, you’ve never really seen it.

If you live in Santa Fe, New Mexico, please join me for the official launch, scheduled for Sunday, October 23, 3 p.m., at Collected Works Bookstore, 202 Galisteo.

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

Elaine Pinkerton has lived in Santa Fe since 1967. Join her for blog posts on alternate Mondays and follow her on Twitter: @TheGoodbyeBaby

Running to my Roots, Part One

Tags

birthfather, cultural heritage, finding family, Italy, recovery, running

In Italy, I traveled through miles of my birth family’s history…

As an adult adoptee looking back, one of my regrets was not growing up with my Italian heritage. In my recent memoir The Goodbye Baby: A Diary about Adoption, I lamented this “deprivation.” However, I DID meet my Italian-American birthfather just a few years before he passed away. I was able to travel with him to Abruzzo, where he was born.
When organizing my office last week, I came across this account, written in 2007 but never before published. As you, my readers, will see, I was heavily into running at the time. In retrospect, I realize what a special journey it was, what a privilege that I got this glimpse of my heritage. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed re-living the experience…

Growing up adopted, remembered in diaries

I was an adopted child, five years old when my new parents took over. I met my biological father many years later. Together we visited the town in Italy where he was born, and there I spent an unforgettable week getting to know cousins and doing a lot of running. Giovanni Cecchini began life in the tiny village of San Martino Sulla Maruccina. It’s on the east side of the Italian boot, 17 miles from the Adriatic Sea. Even though I had been adopted by a loving mom and dad and my young life improved dramatically, I longed for many years to find out more about my heritage. Shortly before Giovanni’s death, that wish came true.
Giovanni left the old country at age two. He’d returned to his home village every year since World War II. I spent most of my life without knowing him. Our reunion did not bring the communication I’d hoped for. My father, in ill health, was taciturn and grouchy. Despite this disappointment, I was able to get in touch with my roots. And I discovered the joys of running in Italy.
Being with long-lost Italian cousins, hiking through the fields, hills and olive groves that had belonged to my ancestors, enjoying the scenic beauty of San Martino, with snowcapped mountains to the west and the sea to the east were magical. Best of all, however, was running in my newly-discovered native homeland.
Nikes on my feet, I explored the streets and pathways of tiny San Martino (population 800) as well as nearby countryside. No doubt I was an odd sight. I like to think of myself as the first American to have jogged through the village for the sake of simply running. If the citizens of San Martino were running, it would be to catch a stray sheep, goat or child.
For one thing, the villagers are elderly. The young leave for Pescara or Chieti or Guardiagrele to attend school or take jobs. Furthermore, why would people need to run? The San Martino way of life incorporates vigorous outdoor activities: harvesting olives, gathering firewood, tending animals, plowing fields. My spoken Italian was not versatile enough to know what the natives thought of my running through their streets every day.
But run for the sport of it I did, and for the sheer beauty of the landscape. Running was not only a way to enjoy the incredibly beautiful countryside but also to work off the delicious pasta consumed during three-hour lunches.
San Martino-ans are not into lycra and singlets, so early each morning I donned pedal pushers and an oversized t-shirt borrowed from my teenage sons. I decided it was better to look like a nerd than a shameless exhibitionist. Shortly after the roosters’ last crowing, I left my Aunt Guisipina’s house and jogged up a narrow cobblestone road to the main street of San Martino. Sweeping their porches, small elderly ladies in black stared at me, first in disbelief, then with amusement. After a day or so, they began greeting me with a friendly “Buon Giorno.”

Going for a Personal Best

Tags

adoptee, adoption, adoption child, blended families, diary, discover, empower, family, friends, healing, journal, marathons, my story, running, separation, wounded, writing

Coming to terms with my adoption has been like training for and running a marathon. WALK. JOG. RUN.

A little history…In the 1970s, I discovered running. I’d never been good at sports, but this was something I could do. Running was my escape, my self-medication, my therapy. As a member of the Santa Fe Striders, I participated in 6K runs, half marathons, fun runs, turkey trots, moonlight adventure runs and full marathons.

Truth be told, I was obsessed. Completing nine marathons in three years, I bettered my finishing time with each 26-mile race. This was before I came to terms with being adopted; perhaps it was a substitute for a face-to-face with my adoption and the self-examination that loomed ahead.

The parallels are as follows. First: WALKING. Exploring my past, I started out with baby steps. Second: JOGGING. I published my diaries in the form of a memoir, The Goodbye Baby: A Diary about Adoption. Finally, RUNNING. Thanks to the Internet, I engaged with the adoption community and decided to focus my writing on adoption-related topics.

My weekly blog posts will continue to spotlight adoption, adoptees, birth and adoptive parents. A novel ARUNDATI, available in installments on my website, is about an Indian orphan who is adopted by American parents. Coming to terms with my adoption is very much like being in a marathon, except that this 26.2-mile race will never end.

Life is a journey, especially when it comes to dealing with adoption. The experience of coming out with my diaries was training camp. At first I was afraid the contents would be so embarrassing that I would no longer have any friends. I thought that when people knew about what I’d grappled with all these years they would write me off as borderline strange.

The reaction has been the opposite. Even people who were not adopted or dealing with adoption have found The Goodbye Baby inspiring.

Because of a knee injury in 2006, my running days are over.  I now walk and hike instead. Though running was a long and uphill endeavor, all the hours and miles of training paid off. The end of every race brought a rewarding rush of adrenaline. The endorphins that people like to call “runner’s high” seemed to carry over into empowering me in everyday life.

Like training for a marathon, using social media to communicate with others in the adoption community has been empowering. Each week, I’ve added miles. Each posting deadline is like another road race. As in running, I’m continue to compete with myself. In writing, as in running, I am still going for a “personal best.”

Below, a verse that inspired me to reach a running goal (3-hour 35-minute marathon in 1979). I believe the words apply to life itself.

“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” – Isaiah 40:3