My Mantra for today:

My friends' happiness is paramount. Their pursual of thier bliss is joyfull and wonderous to behold. Even when it takes them away.

Speaking of away.... I am getting ready to catch that train to Seattle! I love those four gently rocking hours of reading time.

And the destination itsself is pretty damn sweet, too!

Adopted Dune Coons cannot have passports.

On February 19th, 1972, my parents went to court with my sister and me to finalize our adoptions.

The judge informed them that they would receive, in the mail, some paperwork and a bill for $500.00 for each child in adoption fees.

The bill never came.

All through my growing up, my father, the tree from which this fruit fell not far, would caution us: "You know, you could be repossessed at ANY MOMENT!!"

Yeah.... Thirty five years later, the repo-man cometh.

Apparently, one of the pieces of paperwork that never showed was an embossed amended copy of my birth record. Now mind you, I have had an official copy of my amended birth record since I was adopted at age two. But it's not embossed.

In 1986, I was able to obtain a passport with the copy I have, but now that we live in Nine-elevenistan (oooh!! I coined a term!!), the meager thirty five year old document I have is no longer good enough. As a amatter of fact, I have been informed it does not even prove that I am a citizen. I guess that means I could, in theory, be deported to Iran. Oh goody. I've always wanted to wear a burka.

I imediately called my scoff-law of a father and complained: "THIS is what happens when you shoplift children, Dad!!"

His response? "Please, I have paid for you plenty."

He also got on the phone (probably with some Republican crony of his in the California State Legislature) and is getting the issue resolved.

Which is good, since I hear they don't like my kind in Iran.

However, no Bahamas trip for me at the end of March.

I am *SO* declaring Fatwa on my folks.