Petition for Adoption: An Open Letter to Ms. Abigail Birkenhouse

Dear Ms. Birkenhouse,

Having spent an absolutely wonderful day with you and your daughter this past Saturday, I feel compelled (and as those who know me know, once I feel even remotely compelled about anything I immediately take action on it, even when such spontaneity results in disastrous consequences albeit absorbing journal entries) to write you and make my feelings known in the only way I can, which is to boil it down to its most simplistic and simply say:

Please adopt me.

Immediately, if not sooner.

My logic behind this, while it may seem convoluted, twisted, esoteric, unfounded, and everything else you’d naturally presume to emit from a native of Berkeley, is, and I give you my word on this – absolutely sound. True, I came to this conclusion after spending just one afternoon with you strolling the aisles of an antique show, spending inordinate amounts of time debating the purchase of brooches and rings and commenting on the durability of furniture made in the day when wood was wood not particleboard (read: all those old brown paper lunch bags we threw aside as kids, peanut butter on wheat bread scrunched inside, recycled endlessly and now held together with cheap staples and covered in 2 thread count fabric) and books had actual storylines and Cosmopolitan Magazine contained actual articles, articles on travel, interviews with authors, scientific musings about new medicines and not just article upon article about how to achieve orgasm with a feather duster, true, this may not seem enough time or experience together to have come to this conclusion, but trust me: It is.

You are, quite frankly, one of the most delightful women I have ever met in my life. Sitting with you at the concession stand while your daughter disappeared into the ruckus of soon-to-be-closing booths frantically hacking out last minute bargains (she’s like me, I swear. If I ever purchased a Christmas tree, it was at 11pm on Christmas Eve. I know a bargain when I see one) and listening as you shared story after story of your growing up years, and actually, all the years of your life – was like a homecoming to me. It was, actually, like sitting down with my dad, every time I ever sit down with my dad. No conversation has ever started that a story didn’t come out of it, and until that absolutely delightful afternoon, I hadn’t had that experience for a while.

Now, truly, the adoption of another child is a serious matter. You may ask yourself why you should bother.

Well, in all honesty, I’m not quite convinced, at this point, that your own daughter and I weren’t separated at birth. There’s just too many similarities. Number one, she’s as articulate as the day is long and we share the same rather if not twisted, at least extremely pliable, sense of humor. Number two, we both have more furniture and belongings than will ever fit into our respective residences and yet we will be the last people on earth to ever: a):admit to that or b): part with any of it and you have only to set our respective dogs next to each other (both rescues, need I say more?) to open yourself to the possibility that even they were probably separated at birth. Number three, we’re both more than a little independent and have the audacity to absolutely enjoy our lives.

So you see?
It’s like I’m your daughter already.

So I hope you will give this serious consideration. I have not had the wonderful opportunity of sitting down with anyone with your particular brand of humor, grace, and gift of expression since, as I said, the last time I sat down with my dad, and most certainly not since my grandmother ‘passed away’ (although she would hate that term. “I didn’t pass anything,” I can hear her saying now, just knowing I wrote that. “I died, I got cremated, and I went to live at the base of the old pine tree in the Berkeley hills, just left of center of the greenhouse, next to your grandpa, in the house we built together. And frankly, I’m just fine with that.”) and that was a huge and wonderful gift to me.

It’s something to be appreciated in life, when you have the opportunity to be around people whose company you truly enjoy, and I certainly enjoyed yours. And while I understand that, given the fact that I’m already rather grown and really don’t require adoption, this whole idea might not be feasible for you, I completely understand.

However, should you ever want to go antiquing again, or estate sale-ing, or consignment store hopping, I’m in.

With sincere thanks for a most wonderful day,
Madeleine Beringer