It was the first day of census, and all through the land
each pollster was ready ... a black book in hand.
He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride,
his book and some quills were tucked close by his side.
A long winding ride down a road barely there,
toward the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the air.
The woman was tired, with lines on her face
and wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place.
She gave him some water ... as they sat at the table
and she answered his questions ... the best she was able.
He asked her of children. Yes, she had quite a few --
the oldest was twenty, the youngest not two.
She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red;
his sister, she whispered, was napping in bed.
She noted each person who lived there with pride,
and she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside.
He noted the sex, the color, the age...
the marks from the quill soon filled up the page.
At the number of children, she nodded her head
and he saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead.
The places of birth she "never forgot"
was it Kansas? or Utah? or Oregon ... or not?
They came from Scotland, of that she was clear,
but she wasn't quite sure just how long they'd been here.
They spoke of employment, of schooling and such,
they could read some ... and write some ... though really not much.
When the questions were answered, his job there was done
so he mounted his horse and he rode toward the sun.
We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear,
"May God bless you all for another ten years."
Now picture a time warp ... it's now you and me
as we search for the people on our family tree.
We squint at the census and scroll down so slow
as we search for that entry from long, long ago.
Could they only imagine on that long ago day
that the entries they made would effect us this way?
If they knew would they wonder at the yearning we feel
and the searching that makes them so increasingly real.
We can hear if we listen the words they impart
through their blood in our veins
and their voice in our heart.
~ Unknown author ~
There's a hole inside of me,
It appeared some time ago;
The day my mother passed away...
Tell me, why'd she have to go?
I've tried to fill the hole up
With other family,
And I want to keep her memory alive.
So I started her family tree.
My search has brought me many kin
Who've helped to fill that hole;
But I realize now, there'll always be
An emptiness in my soul.
I guess that's just the way it is
With people and their mothers...
A special bond exists with them
That can't be matched by others.
How many times had I heard her say
"Someday I won't be here..."?
I thought I'd always have her though,
Now all I have is tears.
I know she's with HER mother now,
That's not what makes me sad;
It's that I never asked about our past,
Now, too late, I want to know so bad.
So please God, when you see my mom,
Give her all my love.
And tell ALL my kin that I'll see them again
When I join them up above.
~ Author Unknown ~
If you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row,
Would you be proud of all of them,
Or don't you really know?
Some strange discoveries are made
When climbing family trees;
And some of them, you know,
Do not particularly please.
If you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row,
There might be some of them, perhaps,
You wouldn't care to know.
But there's another question
Which requires a different view...
If you could "meet" your ancestors,
Would they be proud of you?
~ Author Unknown ~
Alas, my elusive kinsmen
You've led me quite a chase
I thought I'd found your courthouse
But the English burned the place.
You always kept your bags packed
Although you had no fame, and
Just for the fun of it
Twice you changed your name.
You never owed any man, or
At least I found no bills
In spite of eleven offspring
You never left a will.
They say our name's from Scotland
Came state side on a ship
Either they lost the passenger list
Or granddad gave them the slip.
I'm the only one that's looking
Another searcher I can't find
I play (maybe that's his fathers name?)
As I go out of my mind.
They said you had a headstone
In a shady plot
I've been there twenty times, and
Can't even find the lot.
You never wrote a letter
Your Bible we can't find
It's probably in some attic
Out of sight and out of mind.
You first married a..........Smith
And just to set the tone
The other four were Sarah's
And every one a Jones.
You cost me two fortunes
One of which I did not have
My wife, my house and Fido
God, how I miss that golden lab.
But somewhere you slipped up, Ole boy
Somewhere you left a track
And If I don't find you this year
Well..........Next year I'll be back
~ Author Unknown ~
Your tombstone stands among the rest,
Neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out
On polished, marbled stone.
It reaches out to all who care
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
So many years ago
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so.
I wonder if you lived and loved.
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot,
And come to visit you?
~ Author Unknown ~
I started out calmly, tracing my tree,
To see if I could find the makings of me.
And all that I had was Great-Grandfather's name,
Not knowing his wife or from where he came.
I chased him across a long line of states,
And came up with pages and pages of dates.
When all put together, it made me forlorn,
Proved poor Great-Grandpa had never been born!
One day I was sure the truth I had found,
Determined to turn this whole thing upside down.
I looked up the record of one Uncle John,
But then found the old man to be younger than his son.
Then when my hopes were fast growing dim,
I came across records that must have been him.
The facts I collected made me quite sad,
Dear old Great-Grandfather was never a Dad!
It seems that someone is pulling my leg.
I am not at all sure I wasn't hatched from an egg.
After hundreds of dollars I've spent on my tree,
I can't help but wonder if I'm really "ME!"
~ Author Unknown ~
How Do You Live Your Dash
I read of one who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on the tombstone
From beginning….to the end.
He noted that first came the date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the little dash between those years.
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on this earth
And now all those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own;
The cars, the house….the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard…
Are there things that you’d like changed?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real,
And always try to understand
How other people feel.
And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile.
Remember that this special dash
Only lasts a little while.
~ Author Unknown ~
The Eviction
In early morning twilight, raw and chill,
Damp vapours brooding on the barren hill,
Through miles of mire in steady grave array
Threescore well-arm'd police pursue their way;
Each tall and bearded man a rifle swings,
And under each greatcoat a bayonet clings:
The Sheriff on his sturdy cob astride
Talks with the chief, who marches by their side,
And, creeping on behind them, Paudeen Dhu
Pretends his needful duty much to rue.
Six big-boned labourers, clad in common freize,
Walk in the midst, the Sheriff's staunch allies;
Six crowbar men, from distant county brought, -
Orange, and glorying in their work, 'tis thought,
But wrongly,- churls of Catholics are they,
And merely hired at half a crown a day.
The hamlet clustering on its hill is
seen,
A score of petty homesteads, dark and mean;
Poor always, not despairing until now;
Long used, as well as poverty knows how,
With life's oppressive trifles to contend.
This day will bring its history to an end.
Moveless and grim against the cottage walls
Lean a few silent men: but someone calls
Far off; and then a child 'without a stitch'
Runs out of doors, flies back with piercing screech,
And soon from house to house is heard the cry
Of female sorrow, swelling loud and high,
Which makes the men blaspheme between their teeth.
Meanwhile, o'er fence and watery field beneath,
The little army moves through drizzling rain;
A 'Crowbar' leads the Sheriff's nag; the lane
Is enter'd, and their plashing tramp draws near,
One instant, outcry holds its breath to hear
"Halt!" - at the doors they form in double line,
And ranks of polish'd rifles wetly shine.
The Sheriff's painful duty must be done;
He begs for quiet-and the work's begun.
The strong stand ready; now appear the rest,
Girl, matron, grandsire, baby on the breast,
And Rosy's thin face on a pallet borne;
A motley concourse, feeble and forlorn.
One old man, tears upon his wrinkled cheek,
Stands trembling on a threshold, tries to speak,
But, in defect of any word for this,
Mutely upon the doorpost prints a kiss,
Then passes out for ever. Through the crowd
The children run bewilder'd, wailing loud;
Where needed most, the men combine their aid;
And, last of all, is Oona forth convey'd,
Reclined in her accustom'd strawen chair,
Her aged eyelids closed, her thick white hair
Escaping from her cap; she feels the chill,
Looks round and murmurs, then again is still.
~ William Allingham, 1824-1889 ~
Index
English is a
crazy language
FOUR ALL WHO REED AND
RIGHT
We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes;
but the plural of ox became oxen not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice;
yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.
If the plural of man is always called men,
why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
If I spoke of my foot and show you my feet,
and I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?
Then one may be that, and three would be those,
yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
and the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
but though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him, but imagine the feminine,
she, shis and shim.
Screwy pronunciations can mess up your mind! For example ... If you have a
rough cough, climbing can be tough when going through the bough on a tree!
Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant nor
ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
English muffins weren't invented in England.
We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that:
quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is
neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship
by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?
How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a
wise guy are opposites?
You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can
burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and
in which an alarm goes off by going on.
So having had a look at this crazy language of ours, is
it any wonder some of our ancestors had problems learning English? Does it
make us more appreciative and understanding of certain types of records we
find, including old letters? If you're interested in spelling challenges, read
"Cinses Taykur Kneeded" (the next entry on this page)
AUTHOR UNKNOWN or is it KNOTKNOWN?
CINSES TAYKUR KNEEDED
Air cowntys groan purty fass in resint yers an now in 1869 hits a hard an time
consoomin job fur one feller to cownt all thez peepl.
Tha fedal govmint wants us tew cownt all peepl whut has cum to tha frunteers of
Txsis so they kan no whur evrabody is an peepl fer yers to com kan fin who an
whur thur an sesters livd an we kned sumbodee whut kan rit reel gud an kan spel
purty gud is kunsiderd a ass set to tha job. an hit wud be a hep ifn yew had a
gud mul to rid fer hit is a fer pece to walk a foot tew dew this mpotunt
okeepayshun.
not just enny body kan dew this here job. Hit tks sum body with a edakashun wich
a gud meny peepl dont got rownd heer.
ifn yew tak this mpotunt job fer tha Yewnited Stats uv Amuracus govmint, yew kin
cawnt thim peepl sowth uv town an ile cawnt thim in tha northe part of tha
cowntee.
now theys a hole bunch ov thim Jermuns hav setld down in tha sowth ind of this
cawnty whut kant hrdlee talk amuracun her kan they spel wurth nuthin so yew wil
hav to do tha bes yew kan with thim.
Don't wury bout thim narweeguns down there, they all say they name is yohansun
enyhow, yew jest kowntum an put sum ledders afrunt uv yohansen an sum nummber
tween 1 an a hunert as they haint meny ovem liv much pas a hunert enyhow.
bee reel keerful an git evarbode fer sum day sum body may wunt tew fin thur four
bares an this wil bee tha plaze tew finum.
Sined: jHon Dayvushun
Cheef Cinses Taykur
Bayhar Cowntee txsis
A Genealogical Codicil to My Last Will and Testament:
To my spouse, children, guardian, administrator and/or executor: Upon my demise it is requested that you DO NOT dispose of any or all of my genealogical records, both those prepared personally by me and those records prepared by others which may be in my possession, including but not limited to books, files, notebooks or computer programs for a period of two years.
During this time period, please attempt to identify one or more persons who would be willing to take custody of the said materials and the responsibility of maintaining and continuing the family histories. [If you know whom within your family or friends are likely candidates to accept these materials, please add the following at this point: "I suggest that the persons contacted regarding the assumption of the custody of these items include but not be limited to" and then list the names of those individuals at this point, with their addresses and telephone numbers if known] In the event you do not find anyone to accept these materials, please contact the various genealogical organizations that I have been a member of and determine if they will accept some parts or all of my genealogical materials. [List of organizations, addresses and phone numbers at bottom; include local chapters, with their addresses, phone numbers and contact persons if available as well as state- national contact information and addresses]
Please remember that my genealogical endeavors consumed a great deal of time, travel, and money. Therefore it is my desire that the products of these endeavors be allowed to continue in a manner that will make them available to others in the future.
Signature ___________________________
Date ___________
Witness ____________________________
Date ___________
Witness ____________________________
Date ___________
Please feel free to copy the above codicil and include in
your own personal papers.
Kind Regards,
Pat Ryan
One
evening, a grandson was talking to his grandmother about current events.
The
grandson asked his grandmother what she thought about the shootings at schools,
the computer age, and just things in general.
The
Grandma replied, "Well, let me think a minute, I was born before television,
penicillin, polio shots, frozen foods, Xerox, contact lenses, Frisbees and the
pill.
There
were no credit cards, laser beams or ballpoint pens. Man had not invented
pantyhose, air conditioners, dishwashers, clothes dryers, and the clothes were
hung out to dry in the fresh air and man had yet to walk on the moon.
Your
Grandfather and I got married first and then lived together. Every
We were before gay-rights, computer dating, dual careers, day-care centers, and group therapy. The Ten Commandments, good judgment, and common sense governed our lives.
We were
taught to know the difference between right and wrong and to stand up and take
responsibility for our actions.
Serving
your country was a privilege; living in this country was a bigger privilege.
We
thought fast food was what people ate during Lent. Having a meaningful
relationship meant getting along with your cousins.
Draft
dodgers were people who closed their front doors when the evening
We never
heard of FM radios, tape decks, CDs, electric typewriters, yogurt, or guys
wearing earrings. We listened to the Big Bands, Jack Benny, and the President's
speeches on our radios. And I don't ever remember any kid blowing his brains out
listening to Tommy Dorsey.
If you
saw anything with 'Made in
The term
'making out' referred to how you did on your school exam. Pizza Hut, McDonald's,
and instant coffee were unheard of. We had 5&10-cent stores where you could
actually buy things for 5 and 10 cents. Ice-cream cones, phone calls, rides on a
streetcar, and a Pepsi were all a nickel.
And if
you didn't want to splurge, you could spend your nickel on enough stamps to mail
one letter and two postcards. You could buy a new Chevy Coupe for $600, but who
could afford one? Too bad because, gas was 11 cents a gallon.
In my
day, "grass" was mowed, "coke" was a cold drink, "pot" was something your mother
cooked in, and "rock music" was your grandmother's lullaby.
"Aids"
were helpers in the Principal's office, "chip" meant a piece of wood, "hardware"
was found in a hardware store and software" wasn't even a word.
And we
were the last generation to actually believe that a lady needed a husband to
have a baby. No wonder people call us "old and confused" and say there is a
generation gap.
And how
old do you think grandma is???
Grandma is 59, (born 1946)