Happy Father's Day

A few years ago, I found a poem entitled, “Fathers and Daughters” by an unknown poet. It seems a fitting tribute to the bond shared between a father and his daughter. In part the poem reads, “In his eyes, she will always be his little princess, the light of his life. In her eyes he will always be the brave knight who slayed the monsters in her closet, her hero, her protector.” No little boy grows up praying to become the father of daughters. It’s not really the kind of life ambition that has a high priority. Yet somehow, once that bundle of pink is placed into his arms, the boy turned man, grows into the role. The pinnacle moment for that role is when he walks his daughter down that long bridal aisle, handing his precious baby over to another. My father has made that walk three times – in 1972, 1974 and 1999. I don’t know what Dad said to my sisters as he guided them to the strains of The Wedding March, but with me, his eldest daughter, he was making little jokes and comments. People mistook this for radiance on my part, but it was just a case of my dad totally cracking me up – as usual.

 

I count myself lucky to have my father as my dad. A father is the yardstick by which all other men are measured. In my Dad’s case, he has set the bar very high. Happy Father’s Day, Dad. With love, Your Eldest Daughter

© 15 June 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

An Anniversary

On June 9, 1952, my mother and father were married in Woodville, Mississippi. Neither family nor friends were present for the ceremony. Sadly, there were also no pictures to document this important event. My father, whose unit had been activated in August 1951, was stationed at a nearby army base in Louisiana. Because they didn’t know when or if Dad’s unit would ship out for Korea, the young couple decided it was a good time to marry. So my mother, with the knowledge and approval of both of their families, traveled to Louisiana to meet my father. The two slipped over into Mississippi, a state with friendlier age of consent laws, and eloped. The picture below was taken a month later when they were part of another couple’s wedding. It is the closest thing we have to a wedding picture.

 

There is my mother with that winning smile and my father handsome in his army uniform. Both so very young and so unaware how soon they would be parted. Two months later my dad was aboard a ship leaving for Korea, and my mother was on her way back to Fremont to live with her sister. A lucky break for dad occurred when he was one of three men aboard the ship chosen for reassignment to a base in Japan. He remained stationed there as a supply sergeant until the end of the war. 

In August 1953, Dad came home. His ship, which docked in San Francisco, was the first ship to arrive in the United States at the close of the war. He flew back to Ohio where his wife and four-month-old daughter (me) eagerly awaited his return. Four children, seven grandchildren, and two great grandchildren later, they celebrate their fifty-sixth anniversary.

Congratulations, Mom and Dad!

© 10 June 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Walking on Humpback Bridge

Last week, my husband and I traveled to Southern Ohio. My father’s paternal lines, former Virginians and Pennsylvanians, for a time made their homes in Ohio’s Appalachian region during the nineteenth century. Within that region lies the least populated of Ohio’s 88 counties, Vinton County. Vinton County is made up of forests, rolling hills, country roads, and small villages. In the spring it is a beautiful place to visit. Its southern most township is Wilkesville, which is home to a small village of the same name. It is here, in this township and village of the same name, that my Smathers, Cope, Thacker and Marcum families made the connections needed that would eventually produce me. The township is also the location of an unexpected treasure, a covered bridge. 

Vinton County boasts five covered bridges within its borders. One of these, nestled on a forgotten stretch of township road in Wilkesville Township is the Ponn Bridge. The bridge, which crosses Raccoon Creek, was built in 1874 by Martin E. McGrath and Lyman Wells. It has three spans, and is a combination of Burr Arch, King Post and Whipple truss designs. It is believed to be the only bridge of this kind still in existence in North America. The Ponn Bridge, or the Humpback Bridge as it is also known, replaced another bridge that had been built in 1870. The older bridge, The Barnes Mill Bridge, caught fire a month after it had been completed. The Humpback was not completed until four years later at a cost of $1898. The bridge, no longer open to local traffic, is unfortunately a magnet for graffiti artists, as you can see clearly in the photos below.

 

I tell you, there is something magical about walking through an old covered bridge that you know your great grandparents, as well as their parents and their grandparents would have also walked upon. I know – totally sentimental and sappy. But I loved every step taken, and my trip was all the more rewarding because of it.

 

Until Next Time – Happy Ancestral Digging!

© 25 May 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Pension File Stories: The Mystery of the Missing Bible

Last month, in my first installment of pension file stories, I introduced you to my great great grandparents, Louisa Ish Smathers and Henry Smathers. Their story was a sobering account of life in the aftermath of war. But not all information found in a soldier's pension file requires such somber thought. Sometimes you come across a piece of family history that will cause a smile.

Take the case of the missing family Bible. Henry had several brothers who served with Union forces. Two of those brothers, Reuben and Franklin, served, like Henry, in Company E 53rd Infantry Regiment Ohio. Henry enlisted November 21, 1861, followed by Reuben on January 6, 1862, with Franklin enlisting on February 29, 1864. According to their military records, the brothers were 23, 20, and 18, respectively, on their dates of enlistment. 

Congress passed one of several pension acts in 1907, specifically the Act of February 6, 1907, setting the monthly pension payments for veterans of both the Civil War and the Mexican-American War based on the age of the veteran. At age 62, provided the veteran met the other requirements of this act, he would be entitled to $12 a month, while at 70 the amount increased to $15 and at age 75, the amount topped out at $20 a month. 

On April 1, 1909, Reuben applied for an increase in monthly pension, claiming that he had turned 70 earlier that year in February. One problem — he had stated his age at enlistment as 20 years old in January of 1862. A February birthday would mean that he would have been born in 1841 and therefore was only 68 years old in 1909. According to the pension papers, Reuben's testimony was:

He was born in (the) Month of February in year 1839, and the way I fix the date of my birth is that I voted my first time for Abraham Lincoln for President of the United States in the fall of 1860. There was a family record of my birth but it has long since been lost, and I know of no public record of my birth. Was baptized when quite a small child but am not able to give a record of it as it has been so long ago. It seems that the Officers made a mistake in my age when I enlisted in the Army and I thought it not necessary to ever have it corrected, and can only make affidavit that I am positive I am over 70 years of age. 

The pension board was not content with Reuben's testimony and on April 27, 1909, his brother, Lawson Smathers appeared in neighboring Athens County and testified to Reuben's age. The following statement is found in Reuben's pension file derived from Lawson's (whom the record listed as Losen Smathers) statement. 

He is a Brother of the above named Reuben Smathers, of Co. E. 53rd, Ohio Volunteers Infantry. And that he is the youngest of the Smathers Family and that the family record was left in his care and that his children got hold of it through some means and destroyed the records. And that his brother Reuben Smathers was born in the month of February 1839 in Clarion County, Penn. 

In truth, Reuben probably was not certain himself of his actual age. In the 1850 census, his age is listed as 10. The 1860 census has him as 21. The 1870 census finds him at 28. In the 1880 census, he is listed at 39. The 1900 census shows him at 54 and in his final appearance in a census, he is listed as 71 in 1910. It's interesting to see that he aged 16 years in the 10 years between 1900 and 1910. 

Franklin Smathers, the younger brother, also makes a statement about the family Bible in his application dated October 30, 1915. He states that there is no public or family record that proves his date of birth, which Franklin states was January 20, 1846. 

Affiant further alleges that his brother, Lawson at one time put a sum of money in the family Bible and during the night season the house was burglarized and the said family Bible together with the money was taken and never recovered.

Same brother, same record, different story. Maybe family Bibles were hot commodities for thieves at the turn of the century, but my hunch is that if the Bible had indeed ever existed, the first version of the missing Bible would probably have been closer to the truth. 

Though my goal in poring over page after page of pension file papers is that of finding some vital statistic to add to the family tree, these well-mined anecdotal nuggets are the true reward. They fuel the imagination and add to the “color” of my family portrait. For each unexpected find, I am always delighted and grateful. 

Until Next Time - Happy Ancestral Digging! 

1. Reuben Smathers (Pvt., Co. E, 53rd Ohio Inf., Civil War) pension no. 414111, certificate no. 509149, Case Files of Approved Pension Applications, 1863-1934, Civil War and Later pension files, Dept of Veteran Affairs National Archives, Washington D.C. 

2. Franklin Smathers (Pvt., Co. E, 53rd Ohio Inf., Civil War) pension no. 896663, certificate no. 676404, Case Files of Approved Pension Applications, 1864-1934; Civil War and Later pension Files; Dept of Veteran Affairs National Archives, Washington, D.C. 

3. 1850 US Federal Census, State of Pennsylvania, Clarion County, Madison Township, v 1319, Head of Household, Jacob Smathers, online digital image, Ancestry.com.

4. 1860 US Federal Census, State of Ohio, Vinton County, Clinton Township, v 498, Head of Household, Jacob Smathers, online digital image, Ancestry.com. 

5. 1870 US Federal Census, State of Ohio, Jackson County, Milton Township, v 238, Head of Household, Reuben Smathers, online digital image, Ancestry.com.

6. 1880 US Federal Census, State of Ohio, Jackson County, Milton Township, v 284, Head of Household, Reuben Smathers, online digital image, Ancestry.com. 

7. 1900 US Federal Census, State of Ohio, Jackson County, Madison Township, v 90, Head of Household, Reuben, Smathers, online digital image, Ancestry.com. 

8. 1910 US Federal Census, State of Ohio, Jackson County, Madison Township, v113, Head of Household, Ruben (sic) Smathers, online digital image, Ancestry.com. 

Note this post first published online, April 22, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 22 April 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

My Toxic Effect

I toss my laptop over to my husband to read my “This Little Piggy” post to get his reaction. I watch as he reads it and see him smirk approvingly several times. 

“Is it okay?” I ask. 

 “Yup.” 

“You think it's funny, right?” 

 “Yup,” he says as he walks out of our living room into the kitchen. 

“You don't think it's too weird, um, talking about my feet do you?” 

Silence. Dead silence. I get up, run out to the kitchen, and catch him deep in thought. 

Finally, “Well, I think it's funny, but then I've been living with your sense of humor for a while.”

Holy cow, my humor is so warped that I've killed my favorite love's sense of what is and isn't funny. Be afraid, dear reader, be very afraid. 

Note this post first published online, April 15, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 15 April 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

This Little Piggy

Okay, anybody who has just eaten or is about to eat, back away from your computer right now. Don’t look left. Don’t look right. Trust me, you’ll thank me later. 

Now for those less squeamish, let’s talk toes. Yep, those ugly little piggies belong to yours truly. Normally, I try to shield you, dear reader, from the uglier aspects of my life. You can place the blame for this squarely on the shoulders of Lisa Alzo of The Accidental Genealogist or Jasia over at Creative Gene , or for that matter, the blame can be placed on my dad whose toes I've inherited. 

Lisa suggested the topic for this edition of the Carnival of Genealogy. “What traits run in your family? Which of them did you inherit? “And Jasia was all like, well sure, that sounds good. So let’s just take a little peek at my toes. (Haven’t been able to take your eyes off them, have you?) 

If you look closely, you can see that the second toe is longer than the big toe. My father’s toes have the same arrangement. When I was little, he said a longer second toe was a sign of intelligence. I believed him. In fact, in times when I have doubted all of my abilities, I’ve clung to the thought that at least I had the intelligence thing going for me. After all, I had that longer second toe to prove it. 

Turns out Dad fibbed. While this is one of the myths surrounding a lanky second toe, the toe itself is actually a deformity. That’s right I have a DEFORMED TOE. It even has a name, Morton’s Toe. There’s also a website, http://www.foot.com/info/cond_mortons_toe.jsp, which talks about the definition of Morton’s Toe, what problems it causes, and the treatment of said toe. 

I was happy to know that there are no sharp objects like surgical knives involved in treatment. The website suggests that those suffering from the affliction wear “footwear with a high and wide toe box” and notes that often, wearing a shoe a half size larger will “accommodate the longer second toe.” Hah! No wonder my shoe size was always bigger than my friends. It also explains why I preferred cutting my bare feet on sharp stones to putting on shoes as a child. 

Without the Carnival of Genealogy, I would never have explored this aspect of my being. I now know that I am deformed and probably as dumb as a box of rocks. Thanks COG, thanks a lot.

Until Next Time …

Note this post first published online, April 14, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 14  April 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Happy Birthday, Little Sis!

Today is my little sis’s birthday. The story goes that shortly after they brought her home from the hospital; I came perilously close to sticking my fingers in her eyes. I am told that I had a rather evil look on my face and my parents could read the complete disdain that was registering in my two-year-old brain without any need for words. For the record, my fingers never connected with anything more than air. 

My hunch is that my parents or someone else had probably fed me the line about having a wonderful new playmate. Let me tell you, that mewling, mother-stealing creature wasn’t my idea of a perfect playmate and all the “oh, look at the cute baby” comments in the world wouldn’t change my mind.

However, the creature did turn into a sweet tempered baby, much more of a laid-back person than yours truly, and she became my very first BFF. It helped that her laid-back nature let me boss her around in the way only a big sister can, and whether it was paper dolls, Barbies or the game, “Colored eggs”, I usually set the agenda for our play. 

As our world expanded to include other children, my little sister often took a back seat to my own budding socialization skills. Often, my mother would make me take little sis with me when I went to a friend’s house to play. Very often, the friend would be our neighbor, Debbie. Debbie was a whole year older than I and she went to Catholic school. 

Now there is a definite pecking order to childhood play and being older and therefore more experienced gave Deb the natural advantage, especially when we played school, and especially when we played school in her basement. Those nuns must have been tough at Deb’s school, because she was a tough teacher with her make believe students, little sis and I. In fact, on one occasion she gave my sister a big fat “F” on one of her papers.

I’m not sure if my sister knew exactly what an F was, but she knew it was bad. Proving that she was not nearly as laid-back as she appeared, she took immediate umbrage and marched her little feet all the way up Deb’s basement steps. We probably had a look of “what’s her problem” written all over our faces, but her problem became our problem when my sister ran smack dab into Deb’s father, George.

I don’t know how the conversation went, but a few minutes later both Deb and I were called on the carpet and instructed that we were never, and he meant NEVER allowed to give my sister an “F” again. George had taken a shine to my little sister, and he would check in and make sure we were following his instructions – you might say, to the letter. 

My sister learned how to read when I did. I would come home and teach her the words that I had learned that day. She was like a sponge, soaking up every new word I threw at her. I would shuffle flash cards at her, and she would always get them right, without any hesitation. I knew when she sounded out the word ‘vegetable” in one of the “Flicka, Ricka and Dicka” books that I was enamored with that summer that the pupil had out mastered the teacher. She was only four. 

When we moved out of our old neighborhood, we were sad that we left behind all of our old friends. But that sadness was tempered with the knowledge that each of us still had our oldest playmate, we still had each other. 

My sister and I have very different personalities. She is pragmatic, while I’m often in the clouds. She loves to be out with people, while I yearn for time to myself. She is the conservative and I am the liberal. Yet for all of our differences we have an unbreakable bond. She is the keeper of my childhood memories, and I the keeper of hers. We have a history of shared secrets and the knowledge of shared dreams. She is my sister, my very first best friend, and the one who has known me longest. I love her dearly. Today is her birthday. Happy birthday little sis – I hope all your wishes come true. 

Love, 

Your bossy big sister 

Note: Originally Published on News-Messenger Website, April 9, 2008

© 9 April 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

An Amputation in Georgia - Henry's Story

In my previous entry, I wrote about Louisa Ish Smathers. In order to get the complete picture, I thought a post about her husband Henry would be appropriate. 

Actually, the best clue about Henry's past comes from the pension records of his brother, Franklin Smathers. Franklin was a younger brother of Henry who enlisted in the same company and regiment as did Henry and another brother, Ruben Smathers. They were part of Company E., Ohio 53rd Infantry Regiment.

It was stated in Franklin's pension papers: 

That during the summer of 1850 and to 1858 he lived in Clarion, Clarion County PA. That during the summer of 1860 he lived in Jackson, Jackson County, Ohio, and up to about the year 1888. That during the above time he lived with his father and mother up to the time his mother died which was about the year 1856. That afterwards he lived with his father until he enlisted. That his fathers (sic) name was Jacob Smathers. That his mothers (sic) name was Polly Smathers. That his brothers (sic) names were David, Isaac, William, Jacob, John, Henry, Ruben and Lawson. 

The family was actually found instead of Jackson County, Ohio in neighboring Vinton County in 1860. Jacob had moved to Ohio with six of his children - John, Henry, Ruben, Franklin, Melinda and Lawson.

At the outbreak of the war, John went back to Pennsylvania and enlisted. Henry enlisted November 27, 1861, at the age of 23. His company muster roll for May and June 1862 states “Deserted from Camp Shiloa (sic) May 5, 1862.” However, a special muster roll taken on August 18, 1862, notes, “Sent to General Hospital at Cincinnati May 5, 1862.” He appears to have been there on detached duty as Provost Guard until Aug. 31 of that year.

Henry elected to reenlist on January 23, 1864. His vitals are given: 

WHERE BORN: Clarion County, PA 

AGE: 24 (Note that he only aged 1 year since he initially enlisted in Nov of 1861.) 

EYES: Brown 

HAIR: Brown 

COMPLEXION: Dark 

HEIGHT: 6 Ft. 

OCCUPATION: Laborer 

For details of Henry's wounds, I quote the letter of his company commander, William W. Gilbert.

I, Wm W. Gilbert, on honor, certify that Henry Smathers is a Private in my company and that on the 23rd day of June 1864 He received a Gun Shot Wound in the left Knee point which caused the amputation of his leg above the Knee point. I was a 1st Lieut. Commanding the Co(mpany) at that time and was ordered with My Co(mpany) on the Skirmish Line near the foot of Kinesaw (sic) Mountain at which place Henry Smathers Received the wound while in the line of his duty by assisting to build a Skirmish Pit. I was right by his Side when he was hit and Saw him fall and had him carried off of the field. 

Henry would die 23 years, 7 months and 15 days after he fell at Kennesaw Mountain. In Vinton County, Henry's death record would give the cause of death as gangrene. 

In my previous post, you get an idea of the hardship Henry faced. You have to wonder why Louisa chose to marry a man who obviously would find it difficult to support a family because of his wounds. His occupation on his death certificate is listed as “cripple.” 

Henry's wounding in Georgia began a chain of events that would keep a dark cloud over the family tree for several generations. But it is those very chain events that created me. For each of us who walk this earth today, the right set of circumstances in EVERY ONE of our ancestor's lives had to occur to create the next set of right circumstances, so that in the end, the right two people, your parents, would meet and create you. One missed joy or one missed sorrow, and someone else would be living, breathing, existing instead of you. What a gift then, each day really is.

Until Next Time! 

1. Franklin Smathers (Pvt., Co. E, 53rd Ohio Inf., Civil War) pension no. 896663, certificate no. 676404, Case Files of Approved Pension Applications, 1864-1934; Civil War and Later pension Files; Dept of Veteran Affairs National Archives, Washington, D.C. 

2. Henry Smathers (Pvt., Co. E., 53rd Ohio Inf.., Civil War) pension no. 77724, certificate no. 51080, Case Files of Approved Pension Applications, 1864-1934; Civil War and Later pension Files; Dept of Veteran Affairs, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 

3. Vinton County, Ohio, Death Record of Henry Cope 1888, Court of Common Pleas, Probate Division, McArthur, Ohio. 

4. Military, Compiled Service Record, Henry Smathers, Pvt., Co. E, 53rd Ohio Inf.; Civil War; Records of the Adjutant General's Office, 1780s-1917, National Archives, Washington, D.C.

Note this post first published online, March 3, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 3 March 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Pension File Stories: Louisa Ish Smathers, Disappearing Woman

“I am nearly 48 years old, a housekeeper…” These are first words that Louisa Ish Smathers gives in a deposition taken by the Special Examiner, J.W. Downtain on January 2, 1889, in Hawk, Ohio. Louisa was deposed when she applied for a Widow's Civil War Pension after the death of her husband, Henry Smathers. 

Though she was probably born sometime around 1841, the first time Louisa shows up in any public records is when she marries Henry Smathers on December 11, 1866. (Her last name is spelled Eish on the Affidavit for License.) There is no record of Louisa's existence in either the 1850 or the 1860 census. Believed to be the daughter of John Ish and Susan Bishop, the Ish siblings were apparently sent to live with other local families after John married his second wife, Susannah Dinger in 1843.

Rebecca, Peter W. and Washington Ish are all found living with separate families in German Township of Harrison County, Ohio, in the 1850 census. In all probability, Louisa is also living with another family and either was not enumerated or her last name was reported incorrectly 

That she belonged to the Ish family of Harrison County is supported by her death certificate, which lists her place of birth as Harrison County. Unfortunately, the record does not list her parents.

The only real glimpse we have of Louisa's life is from the five- page deposition. 

I am the widow of Henry Smathers, who was a pensioner under Certificate No. 51080 for loss of the left leg above the knee. I was married as Louisa Ish, to Henry Smathers in Jackson, Jackson County Ohio, December 11, 1866, by a pastor whose name I do not now remember. Neither myself or husband had been previously married. I can't give the names of any of the persons who were present at our marriage. Mr. Smathers was then on crutches, having lost his left leg, as I always understood, in Service at Kennesaw Mountain, Georgia. From the time we were married until the next March, we lived at Buckeye Furnace, Jackson County Ohio.

We know that Louisa was not literate because it is recorded that she signed her name at the end of the deposition with an X. Of her early years of marriage, Louisa says:

In March 1867, (we) commenced keeping house at Hamden Junction, Vinton Co. Ohio. While at Buckeye Furnace, he pounded ore, and wore what they called a peg leg, which was made at the Soldier's Home, Dayton. That one cut the leg so that he had to leave it off and it hurt the stump to wear it any way. He afterward secured an artificial leg in Cincinnati, at a cost of $175 - $75 of which was furnished by the Government, but he was never able to wear it on account of the stump hurting him so. It was even worst than the peg leg. 

Louisa gives detailed information of how Henry suffered because of his injury.

He complained of the stump of the leg (it was) an awful sight, and would sometimes have me come and hold it down with both hands, and frequently it would fly up out of my hands. It would swell up and get tender, but there was no breaking out or running sores. I never knew any pieces of bone to come out from it, but he often told me that before he came home from the service a piece of bone did come out and showed me the scar. He often said he would rather a person would gouge his eye than to run against the stump, and he would sit and hold both hands over it to keep any one from running against it. 

As part of the deposition, Louisa lists the names and dates of her children's births. Of this information, she says: 

I had seven children by Mr. Smathers, six of whom were living when he died, only four of whom were under 16 years at that time…. I have no family record of the dates, but I have carried them in my mind all the time. I don't think I could possibly be mistaken as to the date of the birth of any of my children. 

Probably the most telling part of the deposition is the matter of fact account that she gives of the events leading up to her husband's death. 

On the night of the 30th of January, 1888, he was taken with a chill, in bed, and shook till 20 minutes after 1 o'clock. It was not an especially cold night, and the room was awful warm. We had set up until 11 o'clock. He had been about all winter, and that day, before he took the chill, said he felt better than he had for a long time. He had taken no medicine that winter, nor the preceding fall or summer. He said he had never had but one such chill before, and that was after his leg had been amputated and before he was discharged and the Doctor, he said called it a "digestive" chill. On this occasion, I had not gone to sleep, but he had, but woke up just as the clock was striking 12 and the chill was then coming on. He told me not to give him any water, as the old gray headed Doctor in the army had told him if he ever had another, it would be the last of him. That was on Monday night, and (he) died at 5 o'clock on Tuesday morning, one week after. 

On Tuesday morning, I suppose 5 or 6 hours after the chill had tapered off, I put mustard drafts on his side, and when Dr. Ewing came he left them on, and on Wednesday when he came back, he put a fly blister on. Mr. Smathers had complained some of his side (the left) for a week before he took the last chill, but when I put the mustard draft on it, I did not notice any discoloration. He was conscious up to the time he died. I had him up at 12 o'clock on Monday night, and he talked to me as sensibly as he as he ever did, and he died at 5 o'clock, Tuesday morning, February 7, 1888. When I put the mustard drafts to his side, the pain seem to leave there and go to his head. He never could sleep on his left side, never from the time we were married. I was not present when he died, as I had laid down about an hour before. Thomas Paul and Dinck (?) Gryden, and Lizzie Gryden and Getty Booth were all present when he died. So was Thomas Duffy. I think Bill Mayso, Tom Paul, and Bob Hutchinson prepared the body for burial. I have remained the widow of Henry Smathers, and have not cohabited with any other man.

This deposition is probably the closest I will ever come to knowing Louisa Ish Smathers and what her life with Henry was like. She died September 25, 1930. I have yet to find her in the 1930 census. 

Until Next Time. . . 

1. Deposition of Claimant, 2 January 1889, Louisa A. Smathers, widow's pension application no. 368863, certificate no. 279465, service of Henry Smathers (Pvt., Co. E, 53rd, Ohio Infantry, Civil War); Case Files of Approved Pension Applications, 1861-1934;Civil War and Later Pension Files; Department of Veteran Affairs, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 

2. Jackson County, Ohio, Record of Marriages, Volume E, Page 49, Smathers-Eish 1866, Jackson County Probate Court, Jackson, Ohio. 

Note this post first published online, March 2, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 2 March 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Where were you?

The GenLady has asked the question — Where were you during each of the U.S. Censuses? 

U.S. CENSUS 1960 

I turned 7 years old on the official day of the census in 1960. I don't know what possessed the government to make April Fool's Day the official census day, but with me, it was just a matter of being late, as usual. You might say I “fooled around” until 18 minutes after midnight before deciding to make my first appearance into the world. My birthday and the official census have been linked ever since. My family lived in Fremont, Ohio, which is where you will find me each and every census. It was just my sister and I along with our parents. 

I was a first-grader at Hayes School. The first grade happened to be the year, and I might point out, the only year, that I threw up in front of the entire class. I had warned my teacher that I couldn't drink that whole bottle of milk, and I guess I proved my point. All of you did want to hear my throwing up story, right? Oh, and first grade was the year of my first mutual kiss, behind the bushes on the corner of June and Whittlesey streets. I'm not counting the kiss I was given by a certain someone in kindergarten, as we lay on our nap rugs, because 

1. I was HORRIFIED and 

2. Some little goodie two shoes tried to tell the teacher about it and I was DOUBLE HORRIFIED that I might actually get into trouble for something that wasn't my fault, unless of course, my being irresistible was considered a fault. 

You will be relieved to know that my promiscuity peaked along with my popularity in first grade. 

U.S. CENSUS 1970 

I turned 17, and of course, I knew everything. And I mean everything. I loved my parents but they were “square.” My siblings, two more had been added, were annoying. In that junior year of high school, my plan involved going to college to become an elementary school teacher and/or maybe saving the world. Important stuff to be sure, but my main goal in life that year was to have sleek, long straight hair ala Cher. 

I tried letting my hair dry naturally (as opposed to sitting under a bonnet dryer), rolling my hair into one huge jumbo roller on the top of my head, and ironing my hair — with an iron and an ironing board. If you think laying your head on an ironing board and ironing your hair yourself is easy, I suggest you try it. Thank goodness, it didn't work, or back surgery would have probably figured big in any future plans.

The summer of that year, I had my first non-babysitting job. I worked as a carhop at the A&W Root Beer stand. I got off to a rocky start when I spilled Black Cow down the side of one hapless customer's car. After that, things went well and I made good tips, on top of the whopping $.75 an hour that the job paid. I managed to save over $200 that summer, which my dad made sure, was deposited into the Credit Union — fiscal irresponsibility being akin to a deadly sin in my family. 

U.S. CENSUS 1980 

The 1980 census found me turning 27, married, with three children aged, 7, 3 and 1. A stay-at-home mother, those years are one long blur. I enjoyed being a mom, but the days went by too fast, and there were never enough hours in a day. I looked longingly at women who went to work and had an identity outside of mom. I didn't realize that they still had to take care of sick kids, buy groceries, run errands, wash clothes, pay bills and try to figure out how to stretch a dollar, IN ADDITION, to holding down a job and keeping another whole group of people happy. The grass is always greener, right?

U.S. CENSUS 1990 

In the 1990 census, we received the long form to fill out. I was really ticked at the time, because it was a pain to fill it all out. Al and I had been married less than a year, and all six of our children were living with us at the time. Between the two of us, we had six children, 5 boys and 1 girl, aged 10 to 17. We never had a table big enough to seat all of us at the same time, and in fact, the very first meal we had together was predictably noisy and chaotic. 

I had just doled out the last of the spaghetti, when the youngest one ran in the back door announcing, “I'm here!” Al and I looked at each other horrified. In all the confusion, neither one of us had realized that one of our little chickadees was missing. Oh yeah, we were going to be GREAT at this blended family thing! We still shake our head at those years with the whole crew. We always say

1. You have to truly love and like your partner to survive the stresses of a blended family. And, 

2. WHAT WERE WE THINKING? 

U.S. CENSUS 2000 

By this census, I was 47 years old and living in the country, half way between Fremont and Clyde, just my favorite fellow and me. I drove 45 minutes one way to work every day, and I would amuse myself by calculating how many weeks of my life I was spending on the road in a year. Ah, good times! 

I was working at a bank and my friend, a loan officer who shall remain nameless and shameless, pulled me into a corner the day of my birthday and said in a James Bond fashion, “Do you have your purse with you today?” My crazy nameless loan officer friend had me go get the purse. Then looking both ways and over her shoulders to make sure the coast was clear, she grabbed something out of her purse and shoved it into mine. I looked down, and saw what I would later learn was a Mike's Hard Lemonade. She had brought it for me as a birthday present. Mike and I have been good buddies ever since. Ah, Carole, I mean Nameless, I miss you! That's what I was doing during each census. How about you?

Until Next Time — Happy Ancestral Digging! 

Note this post first published online, February 6, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 6 February 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Of Mothers and Daughters and Dinner Parties — Part I

The 41st edition of the Carnival of Genealogy asks the question: If you could have dinner with four of your ancestors who would they be and why?

I have been blessed in my life to be surrounded by wonderful people. I would like to tell you that it's because I am such a terrific human being that my karma attracts all these great individuals. But what is it they say? Better to be lucky than good. That pretty much sums it up. 

Part of my good luck happens to be that I sit in the generational middle ground of two extremely remarkable, gifted and capable women, my mother and my daughter. My mother I have known for 55 years and my daughter for almost 35. (Sorry kiddo, I hope that wasn't any kind of state secret.) Those are a lot of good years, a lot of shared joys, sorrow and laughter, and I am at least wise enough to realize what a rare blessing I have been bestowed. 

It is for this reason that my dinners would be with two sets of mother/daughter ancestors. I chose each set precisely because they were denied the blessing I have lived. Fanny Thacker Cope died at the age of 22 of consumption. Her eldest child, Elizabeth Cope Smathers, would die of the same disease when she was 30, leaving four children under the age of 7. Lizzie, as Elizabeth was called, must have been heartsick when the coughing, and the night sweats signaled to her that she would not be there to raise her children. If anyone would know how difficult the loss of a mother was, it was Lizzie. Lizzie was all of 5 when Fanny died. 

The years between her mother's death and 1900 are blank. And I wonder, after her mother's death did she live with her father or did she live with grandparents? Did they give the little girl the love and support that she lost with the death of her mother? When her father remarried, did she and her stepmother get along? Or did she feel like the extra cog in the hub of her father's new family? There would come a day when Lizzie's fear over leaving her children would seem too large a grief to bear and that is the day I would choose to whisk her away to my little dinner party.

Fanny, who was so young herself, must have also wondered what would happen to her children, Elizabeth and John. There would be a day when she felt that life had played a cruel joke on her, and that would be the day I would bring her to join Lizzie and me for dinner.

The first question I would ask would be what they would wish to eat. I'm confident whatever magic wand allowed me to arrange this meeting would also allow me to fill the dinner table with any foods that would delight the two of them. Being wives of coal miners, in the late 1880s and the early part of the 20th century, there would be novelty in being pampered guests of a dinner party.

 After they had accustomed themselves to the oddness of the meeting, and after Fanny and Lizzie had a few private moments to speak, I would ask them my questions.

 FOR FANNY: 

Can you tell me a story you remember about Lizzie as a little girl? 

Tell me about your mother, Clarinda.

What do you remember about your grandparents? 

Was your grandfather Nicholas Nimrod Thacker or Nimrod Nicholas Thacker?

What was your grandmother's name? 

Tell me a story about your grandparents.

Do you know the names of the parents of your grandmother and grandfather? 

Where did they come from in Louisa County, Virginia? 

FOR LIZZY: 

When and why did your branch of the family add an extra “e” to the name Cope?

Would you tell me how you met your husband, Elmer Smathers?

Would you tell me a story about your mother? 

Can you tell me what you remember about your mother's parents?

Can you tell me the names of your father's parents?

What do you remember about your paternal grandparents?

Can you tell me a story about your son, Walter? 

I would like to ask Fanny if she knows who her father is because I believe Fanny was born on the wrong side of the blanket. But as much as I would like to ask, I won't. It would seem rude and ungracious.

Then during dessert, I would sneak in another guest. I would bring in Lucille, Lizzie's eldest daughter. Lucille was not quite 7 when Lizzie died. She would later tell of being given a locket of her mother's red hair at the funeral. This would be the only memento she would have of her mother's. And many years later when she and her sister had finally been reunited, they would decide to look for their younger brother, Walter. 

Instead of finding their brother, they would find his eldest son. Lucille would recount the story of the locket of hair to her nephew and his wife. We would talk about what became of each of their children. I would offer pictures, and tell them they had not been forgotten. I would let the three women have their private moments, and then our time would be over.

Tomorrow, I will post about my second dinner party.

Until Next Time! - Happy Ancestral Digging! 

Note this post first published online, January 30, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 30 January 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

An ‘Ah-ha!’ Moment

So, I learned a few days ago that my great-great-grandmother Fanny McCune, whom I had been unsuccessfully looking for the last seven years, actually was Fanny Marcum — which explains why I couldn't find her! 

Technically, her name was actually Francis Thacker. Her mother, Clarinda Thacker, had Fanny (or Francis) four years before her marriage to Enos Marcum. My family had discovered the McCune name from her daughter's death certificate. 

Having recently purchased “Evidence Explained,” I was being a dutiful family historian and adding my huge backlog of death certificate information to my software database. I had done about three of these, when I came to the death certificate of Lizzie Cope Smathers, Fanny's daughter. Hmm, I said to myself, looking at the record under 200% magnification, that McCune doesn't look very clear. So, I went to take a quick confirming look at the death certificate of Lizzie's brother — John Ceope. (No, that's not a typo; this family started adding an extra “e” to their name — no doubt just to confuse me.) 

John's daughter, Claudia, had been the informant and she had listed the name Fanny Marcum for the mother of John. Now, I'd like to say that this was the “AH-HA!” moment for me, but no, it wasn't. Because instead of thinking Ah Ha, I was thinking — Hmm, the granddaughter didn't realize that her grandmother's last name was McCune. So, I set aside Lizzie's death record, and went on to the next one.

 A little while later all that putting sources and citations into my database was getting a bit old, and I was itching for a reason to stop. So, on a whim, I went onto Ancestry.com and typed in “Francis Marcum,” and as I expected no viable candidates appeared in the search results. Not wanting to end my little break quite that quickly, I then typed in “Fanny Marcum” and once again, as expected, no match for my Fanny. Still not ready to face the large stack of death certificate input that lay ahead of me, I typed in “Francis Markum,” and there she was aged 16 in the 1880 census. 

Some simple searches on FamilySearch.org, a cross check to the Vinton County Web site and some more searching on Ancestry and things that hadn't made sense before now suddenly did. So about 45 minutes after I should have had my “AH HA!” moment, the light bulb finally went on. 

Funny to think that if I hadn't gotten “Evidence Explained,” hadn't been taking care of database housekeeping matters, hadn't had online access to Ohio Death Certificates, hadn't subscribed to Ancestry.com and hadn't been looking for an easy distraction, it might have taken another seven years for me to solve the riddle of Fanny McCune/Marcum. Sometimes, genealogy is just like that. 

Until Next Time — Happy Ancestral Digging! Note this post first published online, January 25, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 25 January 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Dumb Genealogical Mistakes I Have Made — Elmer/Elmore

I'm inaugurating a new type of blog post where I confess my past (or sometimes current) sins that I have made while researching my family tree. I know, nobody else has EVER made a dumb genealogical mistake. Or if they have, they are not masochistic enough to expose their sin to the whole world. Makes you wonder about my early potty training, right?

When I first started working on my family history, our family had been told that one of my paternal great-grandfathers was one Elmer Smathers. We knew that he had lived in the Jackson/Vinton/Athens county area of southern Ohio. I became extremely diligent in trying to find “our” Elmer. I was so diligent that I found two. I first found him in the 1910 census with his wife and four children listed as Elmer Smathers — his children, his wife all matched the known data. I found only one Elmer in the 1900 census, and I found the two Elmers in the 1880 census. 

El-MER Smathers was the son of Reuben Smathers and El-MORE Smathers was the son of Henry Smathers. I would later learn that the two were cousins. Because Elmer's name was spelled correctly, I concluded that the son of Reuben was “my” Elmer, the Elmer of the 1910 census. Even when I found a list indicating that this Elmer had died in February of 1910, I rationalized that the family had a reason for pretending he was still alive in the 1910 census. 

I imagined several scenarios. Maybe he had to be alive so the family could retain their mining company housing. Maybe he had simply disappeared one day and they didn't know that he had died. Maybe the census taker had interviewed a neighbor who didn't know of Elmer's death. I wove a lovely coat of improbable explanations as I stubbornly clung to my initial conclusion. 

Hey, I had invested a lot of time into Elmer being THE ONE, he wasn't going to get away that easily. It wasn't until I actually received his death certificate from the Ohio Historical Society that said El-mer was SINGLE, that I reconsidered my stubborn insistence that Reuben's Elmer was THE ONE. Even when I accepted that this was not the correct Elmer, I was insistent that Elmore could not be correct. The spelling, the spelling I kept repeating. 

If my mother, who is much wiser, hadn't written for the other Elmer's death certificate, which instead of being in the Jackson/Vinton/Athens county area as expected, was found in Lucas County of all places, I might have thrown up my arms in defeat. But my mother wrote for the death certificate, and when she finally received it, the information turned out to be for “our” Elmer. It also answered a couple of questions, and in hindsight, made perfect sense. 

The moral of the story is spelling, schmelling You can't chip away at facts to make them fit. All you can do is keep an open mind and follow where the genealogical trail leads. You can waste a whole lot of time and energy clinging to a beloved but erroneous theory. And if that isn't enough of a moral for you, try this — Momma always knows best! 

Until Next Time — Happy Ancestral Digging!

Note this post first published online, January 9, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 9 January 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplanned, Teresa L. Snyder 

Grandpa's Final Resting Place — Part Two

If you have worked on your own genealogy for any length of time, you know that tracking the females in the family create more challenges than tracking down the males. Marriage is the chief culprit here — every time a female marries, you have to start anew picking up the trail. So, trying to find my father's half sisters seemed daunting. As I tried to formulate a strategy, I decided since the sexton had given me the dates of death of grandpa's second wife and my half-uncle, I would once again request obituaries to see if I could pick up further clues. My uncle's obituary gave me the clues I needed to find one of the aunts.

Here, in the interest of protecting the privacy of both of my half-aunts, I am going to be purposely vague. I can tell you that the clue was sufficient enough for me, with some specialized help, to make a few calls to track down a phone number for the older of the two aunts. Again, each new nugget of information was passed along to my dad, and together we would decide the next step. 

As it turned out, this aunt had lived in different parts of the U.S. but at that very moment was living in Toledo and not far from where we now knew grandpa was buried. What to do? Dad and I discussed at length whether or not we should initiate contact. After all, we didn't know if dad's half sister knew that she had older half siblings. We didn't want her to think we wanted anything from her but the communication of one half sibling to another, no strings attached. It was decided that I would make contact with her, explain the situation, and give her information about my dad, along with his phone number and address. She could decide if she wanted to pursue communication with him.

On a Sunday night in November of 1995, I made the call. It took me several attempts at dialing before I finally had the courage to complete the phone call. I had a few weeks to get my head wrapped around the idea of having a half-aunt. Considering the fact that my call came without any warning to her, my newfound aunt handled the phone call extremely well. I told her who I was, and that I was calling on behalf of my father, who was interested in connecting with her. I gave her bits and pieces of dad's life, partly because I wanted to give her the sense of what a wonderful person my dad is, and partly to alleviate any concern by her that her newfound relatives had ulterior motives for the sudden communication. Then I let her know that this was the only contact we would be initiating with her, and that if she wanted to get in touch with dad, it was completely at her discretion. I gave her dad's name, phone number and address and let her know that he would be taking an extended vacation after the first of the year, and wouldn't be back until late Spring. 

I don't remember how long a period of time went by, it could have been weeks. But one evening dad came over to my house excited because he and his half sister had connected. The following year, when my parents came back to Ohio, the three of us went to meet his sister. When she opened the door, I knew instantly it was my half aunt. She reminded me of one of my dad's sisters. As a child, I adored this particular aunt, and seeing the resemblance made me feel instantly at ease with dad's “new” sister. 

We talked at length, shared stories and pictures. Her memories of her father were warm and nice, and she gave us a mental picture of grandpa that we had not been blessed with previously. The visit was wonderful. At the end, my new aunt pointed us to the cemetery and gave the three of us a general idea of where to look for grandpa's grave. We fanned out looking for the tombstone, and quite a bit of time passed before I reached down and brushed away the grass clippings form the top of one of the marker's. There, amid stray bits of grass, was my grandfather's name. 

It had taken our branch of the family 50 years, but that day we finally paid our respects to grandpa. My dad and his half sister still are in contact. They are the only two of Grandpa's twin families that are in touch.

As for my grandfather, I think that there are evil individuals and I think there are saints. My grandfather, like most of us, lived in the gray area between. He lived his life the best that he could, given the hand he was dealt. Sometimes he made mistakes and sometimes he got it just right. He chose two good, strong women to mother and raise his children, and the world is a little bit better because he did. Finding Grandpa's final resting place and meeting an unknown aunt were my “greatest genealogical finds ever” and it happened BG (before genealogy). 

Until Next Time — Happy Ancestral Digging! 

Note this post first published online, January 4, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 4 January 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplanned, Teresa L. Snyder 

Grandpa's Final Resting Place — Part One

(Note: Craig Manson of “Geneablogie” wrote a post on December 31 titled, “The Greatest Genealogical Find Ever …,” which you can read at his new blog Web site. The link for the post is http://blog.geneablogie.net/2007/12/greatest-genealogical-find-ever.html. (My real wish for 2008 would be that I could use hyperlinks like everybody else!) He challenged his readers with the question, “What is your version of the greatest genealogical find ever?” Below is part one of my answer.) 

My grandfather died of a burst appendix at the age of 36. My dad was 13 at the time, and because his parents went through a very miserable divorce, my dad hadn't seen or talked to his father for a great many years. Off and on, the subject of where grandpa was buried would come up. We knew he had been living in Toledo at the time of his death, and we had made half-hearted attempts to locate his grave without success. At the time, November 1995 — five years BG (before genealogy), I knew nothing about death certificates — as for instance, they often contain the name of the cemetery where the deceased is buried. But I did know that obituaries sometimes included burial information. 

So, I called the information line at the Toledo Lucas County Library and explained that I was searching for the obituary of my grandfather. After being transferred to the correct department, they told me they did have my grandfather's obituary and for a small fee, they would fax it to our own Birchard Public Library. When I got the call that the obituary had been faxed, I drove immediately to Birchard Library. 

Unfortunately, it did not give the name of the cemetery where grandpa was buried. Had I been more experienced, I would have realized that the name of the funeral parlor, which the obituary did provide, offered another avenue of information. However, I remembered the story that grandpa had remarried and had four children with his second wife, and that one of the children had sadly died an accidental death. I knew the approximate year, but I did not have his name. I called the Toledo Lucas County Library once again. They were reluctant at first to help me with so little information to go on, so I explained what I was trying to do, and the very nice woman on the other end of the line agreed to help me. This unknown angel found the correct obituary and once again faxed it to Birchard Public Library. 

 This time the cemetery was listed. I reasoned that there was a good probability that the boy and the father would have been buried in the same cemetery. Also included in the obituary were the names of my Dad's half brothers and sisters. In addition to the boy who was deceased, there was one more brother and two sisters. I knew these other siblings existed, but somehow seeing their names, they were suddenly real people to me. 

Another idea was beginning to take shape. What if I could find one of these half siblings? I called my Dad, telling him what I had found. I told him I would be calling the cemetery to see if they had his father listed. I also told him the names of his half siblings, just to test the waters. I didn't want to do anything my father didn't feel comfortable with, and I didn't want to get any of his hopes up, so I said nothing about my idea of possibly looking for one or more of his half siblings . He seemed interested in knowing his half siblings’ names. He repeated the names back to me to be sure he had the names correct and then gave me his blessing to call the cemetery to see if I could find his dad's grave. 

 I was ecstatic when the sexton said he indeed had my grandfather's grave listed. Success. Then I asked if there were any other individuals buried there with the same last name — he checked. In addition to the young boy I knew had died, he read off the name of my grandfather's second wife. This was sad, but not unexpected. Then he read off the name of my dad's other half brother. I can't begin to explain the sorrow that engulfed me when I heard the name of the second half brother. Though his death had occurred eight years earlier, for me his death occurred that day. How can you feel grief for someone you didn't know existed? I don't know, but my sorrow was real and so were my tears. I cried for myself. I cried for my father. And I cried for both uncles I had never known.

 I called to tell my dad what I had found. I could tell he too was affected by the news of his half brother's death. I asked my dad how he felt about me trying to find one or more of his half sisters. I told him I would keep him informed every step of the way, and that I wouldn't make any decisions on how to proceed without getting his permission. He gave me the green light to proceed, and I hung up the phone wondering what I should do next. 

 Tomorrow: Part 2 of “Grandpa's Final Resting Place.” Until Next Time — Happy Ancestral Digging! Note this post first published online, January 3, 2008, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 3 January 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

I Survived Christmas (Maybe I Should Get a T-Shirt)

Well, I'm exhausted. A month of preparing, two days’ worth of celebration and some heavy-duty clean up have left me tired with nothing to say. Yeah, I'm that worn out. 

Al caught the cold that I thought I was coming down with (thanks honey) and has told everyone within earshot of his voice that I worked him to death getting ready for our parties. On Christmas Eve, we had four generations of my side of the family and three generations of Al's. 

The next day was a smaller “party” for three of our grandchildren and their parents who could not make the previous night's celebration.

Noisy and chaotic, it turned out to be, in spite of all my fretting, a pleasurable two days spent with the people I love the most. It's at times like these I remember how lucky I am to have all the blessings that I enjoy. Isn't that what the spirit of Christmas is all about? Now, I just need someone brave enough to let my youngest sister know that we all voted to have Christmas at her house next year. Anyone? 

Until Next Time … 

Note: I will be getting back to the business of genealogy in the next few days once I (yawn) am rested up from all this heavy partying. 

PS for my brother: Did you recover from the piggyback rides you gave our grand nephews? Ibuprofen is a wonder drug. 

Note this post first published online, December 28, 2007, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 28 December 2007, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Requiescat in Pace

(Today, November 14, my daughter Heather would have been thirty.)

 

A MATTER SO SMALL

I never saw her, my daughter, my Heather

I felt her prenatal kicks;

I patted my belly

Named her Little Harry Eagleclaw

She liked my rocking chair, I think

Kicking when I would pause to stop

She died, bones crushed by the weight of her own body fluids

A mystery, they said, so sad, they said, you'll have another, they said.

I nodded, always the acquiescent essence of a good girl

Not willing to bother anyone, for a matter so small.

Until one morning, when the sun came up a little slanted

Illuminating the white hot fierceness of loss

I moaned and wailed and beat my fists upon the walls

Demanding retribution, demanding an accounting

Demanding God to show himself, to strike me dead

And when I was done, God being silent

I lay spent, alive, yet not, pieces of my soul released and gone forever

Buried with my perfect monster child, my daughter, my baby, my Heather.

Tempus animae medicus. 

Until Next Time … 

Note this post first published online, November 14, 2007, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

© 14 November 2007, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Happy Birthday

For many reasons, October 4 is a date of note in my family. The most important reason being that it is my dad's birthday. Dad is half of a dynamic duo that gave my three siblings and me the best of all childhoods. Dad and I didn't meet until I was four months old. He was serving as a supply sergeant in Japan when I was born. But he was there when all three of my younger siblings came screamin' into this world. 

He was the one who had to tell mom that the doctors didn't think they would be taking my baby brother home, probably the hardest thing he ever had to tell her. My mother, discharged from the hospital, had to leave her precious newborn behind and it fell to my father to go to the hospital every morning to see my brother and find out how he was doing. Dad did this every day until my brother finally came home.

As a kid, my dad would sometimes take me with him when he went golfing. It wasn't that I liked golf (heavens no), or the great outdoors, or even the fact that most of the time I could weasel an orange soda pop out of dad at the end of nine holes. No, what I liked about walking alongside him hole after hole was that I had my dad ALL TO MYSELF. Sometimes we walked silently and just enjoyed the day, and sometimes, poor dad was subjected to 50 million questions — I don't know how he ever concentrated on his game! 

Besides being a golf fanatic, Dad is also an avid sports fan, and a big Ohio State supporter. He was horrified to learn that his one and only granddaughter was a Michigan enthusiast. He said of her devotion to Michigan, that it was like “being at war with Russia, and she was on the side of the Russians!” Yep, he's a real Buckeye fan and 20 some years later, my daughter still supports the Maize and Blue. Russians indeed! 

My Dad called the 2000 election way before the issue of “hanging chads” was resolved. At my nephew's wedding in November of that year, my dad asked me if I had heard the news that Bush had been declared the winner in the presidential election. He said it with such earnestness that I didn't doubt him for a second. My mistake — I spent the rest of the evening talking about Bush being President Elect with everyone I entered into the most casual of conversations. It wasn't until the end of the night, that I realized my dad had pranked me. To this day, his defense is that he was just early in his forecast of what eventually happened. So what if his eldest daughter looked like an idiot. 

The truth of the matter is that in my family, we joke a lot, and consequently we laugh a lot, tell stories a lot, and are noisy a lot. A newcomer has to have a strong constitution to face one of our big family gatherings. But in spite of all that or maybe because of it, we also love a lot. That's what my father and my mother taught us. As my Dad always says, “It's the little things.” So here's to you, daddy — HAPPY 76TH BIRTHDAY! 

Until Next Time … Note this post first published online, October 4, 2007, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

©4 Oct 2007, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder