Washed to the Sea

I don’t know if it's the way for everyone as they get older, but I find myself going back over bits and pieces of my childhood looking for clues as to how and why I became the person I am. Yesterday, a piece of my adolescence died in the form of Mary Travers of Peter, Paul and Mary fame.

My parents belonged to a record club in the mid sixties when I was growing up. You remember records, don’t you? They were those 12-inch diameter black vinyl discs that you had to flip over in order to listen to all the songs. My mother and father’s tastes must have been quite eclectic, or perhaps they forgot to send in the little postcard denying the current selection of the month, because there were a wide variety of different musical tastes represented in their collection. Bobby Vinton, The Association, Englebert Humperdinck, Blood Sweat and Tears, Ray Charles, Joni Mitchell, The Everly Brothers, The Seekers, and The Tijuana Brass were some of the artists whose albums graced our record case. Eclectic, yes? 

But the album that I was most entranced with, and listened to over and over again was Peter, Paul and Mary’s 1963 album, In the Wind. On the album, the song Hush-A-Bye would become a staple among the lullabies that I would sing to my own children years later (along with PP & M’s Album 1700 entries, Leavin’ on a Jet Plane, No Other Name and I’m in Love with a Big Blue Frog). It was, however, Bob Dylan’s song, Blowin in the Wind that captured most of my attention. 

The antiwar song sung with a crystal brilliant clarity by Mary Travers became a favorite, a song to memorize and sing. Its quiet protest message penetrated the selfish layer of an adolescent brain, and became a part of my own mantra, my own raised social consciousness, my own antiwar sentiments. Sentiments I wished I had been more vocal about six years ago.

It’s funny how a series of little things turn into your life. Not those wild huge moments, though there certainly have been those, but small moments like tiny drops of liquid that build until you have enough to make a wave - crashing then receding back into the sea. Mary Travers’ recession began yesterday. For those, like me, who loved her voice, her songs, her clear elegant protests, we hold onto the wave that her music inspired.

© 17 September 2009, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Happy Birthday, Mikey Boy!

Ah, Michael, you are the child who is so unlike me. Sometimes I have looked at you in awe, wondering how it is that I have produced such a child. By the age of two, it was obvious that you had outstripped me in mechanical genius, when you took it upon yourself to replace a dead battery in the toy train engine, that had finally, blessedly gone silent after weeks of constant use. You opened up the battery compartment of the toy, took out the old battery, went to the drawer where we kept batteries, pulled out the right size battery, put it in the correct way, closed up the battery compartment, and went toddling away with that pleased smile I’ve come to know so well and the train engine running, pressed noisily up to your ear. I watched the whole thing in shock. I, a woman who barely knew what a straight edge screwdriver was, had produced this child.

I remember one particularly trying day, when I had gotten out late from class. I had to pick your brother up at day care, you at preschool and your sister at elementary school. Nothing was going right. We were finally on our way, racing across town to get to the elementary school when we were stopped at a railroad crossing waiting for an approaching train. You had been begging me to turn the radio on, which I finally had done. Now, you were tugging at my sleeve asking me to turn the radio off. 

 “But, Mikey,” I said with all the exasperation I was feeling, “you just asked me to turn it on!” 

“Mommy, just listen.” 

 So, I turned off the radio, and did just that. Wrapped in the cocoon of our car, you and I sat listening in companionable silence to the clickety clack of the train. You with that silly precious grin pasted all over your face, and me suddenly engulfed by your pure sense of joy. 

There are so many little slices of the world that I would have missed, my son, had you not been there to show me. Today is your birthday, Michael. I celebrate it not only for you, but for what having you has brought to my life. Happy Birthday, Mikey Boy!

Love, Momma

© 10 May 2009, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Me – The Poster Child for ole Abe Maslow’s Theories

I have been anxious the last six months as I realized that my job, like that of millions of others, was in serious jeopardy. As the economy shriveled up like a stale French fry wedged in the seat cushion of a sixteen year old’s jalopy, my anxiety arose in direct and opposite proportion. I believe I may have lamented in previous posts, that I alas, do not have in my repertoire, the normal feminine ingrained ability to handle several things at the same time, especially when I am under stress. (A notable genetic mutation, I’m sure.) My point is, that during the last six months I have found it difficult to concentrate on enjoyable or challenging pursuits such as writing and genealogy.

 Two weeks ago, my anxiety reached its off key crescendo, when I finally got the word, that our client, whose account I have worked on for over five years, had fired us, leaving yours truly, without work. Now you would think that the six months of anticipation of this very event would have been enough to cushion the blow, and that the shoe finally dropping would be somewhat of a relief, but you would be wrong. The first week I sat staring blankly at the walls. I vaguely remember visions of “bag lady living” dancing through my head, and I’m sure there was some masochistic inventory taking, but mostly there was catatonic staring. 

 Before anyone sends over the cuckoo squad, I did eventually move past that stage, and into a more action-oriented phase, which after a few days of researching my options, made me twice as depressed. Let me just say, it sucks to be out of a job no matter what your age, but if you happen to be over a certain age, it sucks doubly. If you doubt me, go ahead and look up the statistics. Or better yet, if you want to really fall into a pit of depression, go ahead and read the advice on getting another job, if you happen to be over the age of, let's say, fifty. Whatever you do, don’t admit how old you really are or how much experience you really have, because employers DON’T WANT IT, according to the so called experts. As I said, it sucks. (Whatever happened to people honoring the wisdom that comes with age? Don’t answer – it’s a rhetorical question.) 

 Fortunately, after two weeks of limbo, the boss called with some project work that should keep me busy until the beginning of September. (I’m putting a note on my calendar to get the worry beads out come the first of August.) It’s not the same as having my own client, but I’m not complaining. I also did some research on a couple of companies that I think our company should take on as clients, and my boss has already made preliminary contact with one of these companies. (And bless my boss, she was excited as I was at the potential.)

 So, I’m not sure what this means for my writing and my genealogy research. As Maslow’s theory pointed out, if a person’s lower needs aren’t met, they can’t move on to the higher need of self-actualization. The point of this post is to inform any readers who are still hanging around, what was going on in here in TerryWorld, and the reason behind my continued absence. I also wanted to ask each of you to show a little patience, a little kindness and some respect for your fellow man. It’s a tough world out there, people, and we need to understand that for some, it isn’t business as usual. You don’t have to be the solution for someone else’s problems, but you sure as heck don’t have to be the source of new problems either. 

 Until Next Time …

  Note: For anyone who didn’t have to suffer through Psych 101 (or Marketing 101), you can read more about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, here. The pyramid graphic should give you the gist of it.

© 19 April 2009, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Genealogy, the economy and me

For the last year and a half, my drug of choice has been genealogy, double stacked with a heavy dose of blogging. Every odd slivered moment that I could scrape together, was blithely spent on getting that next “high.” The ability to peek into what was happening in the world of other geneabloggers, people who felt and wrote about genealogy, like me, was a heavenly respite from a world where people rolled their eyes the minute the subject of anything deader than their nightly dinner came up in conversation.Ah, the pure joy of finding such a world. 

 But about the time that Facebook became the new nerve central for the genealogical blogging world, I realized that I had taken a wonderful hobby, and managed to make it into a blind obsession. So realizing this new step would take me, now a mainlining Internet junkie, to a new level of addiction, I wisely abstained. 

 Then those sly dogs at Blogger, who must have seen the signs of waning addiction, figured out a way to ramp up my need for a fix by creating the innocuous gadget “Followers.” My whole day would hang on the number of followers that my blog had. If someone added themselves to my following, I was in heaven. If someone deleted themselves from the group, I was in despair. Why or why had they left me? Up and down, like a kid on a runaway roller coaster, my emotions hinged on the “love” that readers gave me. (And it was such great love!) But something happens to you when you start assigning your own self worth based on the views of others. You get a little nutty - okay, maybe a lot nutty. Realizing all of this, I started backing off. 

 And then, the unthinkable, the economy collapsed, making my little obsession seem like, a trivial self-indulgence. I watched all around as family and friends lost jobs or were laid off. In my own case, wages were frozen, bonuses evaporated (if only I had been an AIG gangster), and I now I faced the week-to-week terror of hearing, “I’m sorry but your services are no longer required.” 

 A brown bag and an index card that said, “Just breathe,” sat at the ready as I checked my ever-shrinking retirement portfolio. (It’s become so small that I don’t think portfolio is the proper term – maybe pofo?) And God bless the ever present cable news, which by now had become my new preoccupation. The media continually told me, lest I forget, how bad things were. 

I would listen on my lunch hour, at supper time, and before I went to bed. It was like watching a train wreck. You knew better than to watch, but you were still irresistibly drawn to the spectacle. I did then, what I always do when things get rough; I became a turtle, pulling into my shell. I didn’t want to read, I didn’t want to write, I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted to mope. (Have I mentioned I need long periods of reflection time to figure things out?) And then, I don’t know, the sun came out the other morning, and I looked at the tiny daffodil shoots popping up through the ground, and I said “enough, already.” It’s time for action. It’s time to do something. It’s time to breathe. 

 So I’m looking for some balance - a little bit of writing, a little bit of genealogy, a little bit of exercise. I want to spend some time with family, some time cleaning out my office, some time figuring out how to work smarter, some time to plant flowers and maybe even some time to read a book. And that my friends, is what I intend to do.

 If I am MIA from blogging and the geneablogging world for stretches of time, I hope you’ll understand. I leave you with two quotes for this week’s positive thinking. The first by Thomas Merton, who said, “Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony.” And this one by Frank Herbert, “There’s no secret to balance. You just have to feel the waves” Here’s hoping that each of you can “feel the waves” and find your own balance.

© 19 March 2009, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Happy Birthday to My Daughter

You were maybe twenty months old, and we had started using a time out chair when you continued to get into something you had been told not to get into, like say, cigarette butts sitting in an ashtray. Only this was in a pre-enlightened time, when I didn’t know any better and called it “The Bad Girl Chair.” I was standing near “The Bad Girl Chair” one day, when you suddenly pushed me. I lost my balance and fell back into the chair. I quickly stood back up, and you pushed me again, and continued to push me until I, suddenly wising up, asked you, “Do you want me to sit in this chair?” 

 Head nod yes. 

 “Because I’ve been bad?” 

 Vigorous head nod yes. I sat down in amazement. Here you were, less than two, and not only did you understand the concept of “The Bad Girl Chair,” but you stood there unafraid to stare down an authority figure (me) when you thought you were justified. I knew then that the world was in big trouble, just as was said authority figure (me)! 

 You are such a paradox, my beautiful daughter. Gentle hearted, thoughtful, strong willed, competent, stubborn, insightful, considerate, tough, brave, intelligent, less than punctual and kick ass funny, when the mood strikes you. I would not change one tiny little thing about you, my love. From the first moment I saw your sweet little heart shaped face, I fell hopelessly in love with you. I don’t say it often enough, princess, but I am so glad that you are my daughter. Happy Birthday, baby girl. 

 Love, Momma

© 17 February 2009, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Not Dwelling in the Vat of Crabbiness

Okay, okay, I lied. I didn’t post my positive thinking piece as promised. But, in mulling it over, I decided that I would let Monday’s post stand. Yah, I was crabby, but in writing about my day, I relieved my stress, poked some fun at myself, and then got on with things. Life doesn’t always go the way you want it to go. Sometimes, no matter how good your intentions, things run amok. As long as you find a healthy way to deal with it, and don’t dwell too long in the vat of crabbiness, it’s okay. The positive police won’t come and lock you up. It turns out that writing is my coping mechanism. Once I wrote the post, my doom and gloom mood lifted, and I was able to laugh at how personally I was taking a series of random events. Now that may be an unconventional vision of positive thinking, but it kind of works for me. Maybe that’s progress. Until Next Time . . .

©12 February 2009, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder

Dear Internet – This is NOT my Monday Positive Thinking Post

Dear Internet, 

I am having a bad day. I do not like Mondays. It is laughable that I chose this day of the week for my positive thinking posts. Was I not begging for trouble? 

Most of the issues I am having are computer related, and while that might not sound like a big deal, it is. I make money using my computer and the Internet. And when I can’t log into a certain database in a certain East Coast city, I can’t make money. Wah! 

However, the whole tone for the day was set first thing this morning, before I knew the universe was conspiring against me. I did a dumb thing. I made myself a cup of tea, and put it into one of our mugs that we’ve had for almost seven years. As I am carrying the tea from the kitchen into the family room, I hear a telltale crack that should have been my warning that something bad was about to happen. But I am slowwitted and I keep on walking. 

Actually, I got as far as one more step, when the side and bottom blew out of the cup, spraying the contents of what moments before had been boiling water, all over me. My left foot with its long Morton’s toe, along with one of Morton’s brother toes, took a direct hit of the liquid as it obeyed the laws of gravity. Fortunately, though I am by nature a hillbilly (please no emails, I use the term lovingly) and start my mornings barefooted, this morning I had slipped on a pair of footies. Unfortunately, they are made of absorbable material and as I am jumping around in pain, it occurs to me that the biggest source of pain is this now soaked footie, which I immediately rip off.

This turned the pain down a notch, but it still hurt. So I took an ice pack wrapped in a washcloth and put it on the burn to cool it down and ease the pain. Then I sprayed burn ointment on it.

According to the Internet, I should have run the burn under cold water for about 15 minutes, not used the spray, and then wrapped in non-fuzzy material (I had some gauze that is now wrapped around the two toes.) All the other burns were superficial. I suspect this might be a partial thickness burn. 

Moral of the story - wait a few minutes before you pour boiling hot water into a cup. Then wait a minute or so more before carrying the liquid anywhere. If you hear a funny cracking sound, set the cup down immediately and step back. Learn to drink a nice cold glass of milk to wake yourself up in the morning.

So I’m cranky, I hate Mondays, and I’m setting down my Pollyanna persona that I’ve been practicing for the last few weeks, and taking a few hours to enjoy some well earned crabbiness. My quote for today (oh yes, I have one) comes from my friend Leslie, who upon reading all the aforementioned catastrophes wrote me back and said, “Sometimes you just need to bask in the vat of crabbiness.” Indeed. 

Tomorrow, I will post my regular positive thinking post. Have I mentioned I hate Mondays?

© 9 February 2009, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

My Christmas Past - My First Christmas

Merry Christmas to You and Yours!

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

My Christmas Past - My First Christmas as a MOM

Christmas Eve 1973 – This was my first Christmas as a mom. Here my ten-month-old daughter Joy and I are opening a gift. Before motherhood snagged me, I had no idea you could love a little person so deeply and with so much abandon. Motherhood opened up a new world for me, and though I entered it a little shakily and with much uncertainty, I entered it wholeheartedly. I was all of twenty.

© 24 December 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

My Christmas Past - Christmas 1968 - Or How I learned to smile again!

Terry and her siblings Christmas 1968

This was the year after the infamous "Christmas Slap" and right after my braces had been removed. I suddenly felt like smiling again.

© 18 December 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

My Christmas Past - Shoe Envy 1955

Christmas 1955 - I don't remember much about that Christmas except that I had a bad case of shoe envy. Once I spied my cousin's black patent leather shoes, I was permanently done with those "baby" white shoes of mine. I was two.

© 17 December 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Happy Birthday Moe Dog!

Because I love you and because it’s your birthday, I won’t mention the time we were seated at your sister’s sixth grade band concert, and you leaned over and said to me in a very loud stage whisper, “Mom, I forgot to put my underwear back on after my bath,” creating a laughing spasm that rippled through three rows of concert goers and making me want to slither under my seat. 

 Instead, I’ll just say - Happy 30th Birthday, kiddo! (Where did the time go?) 

© 16 December 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

 Love, Mom

8 Things You Might Not Know About Me

Well, I’ve been tagged twice for this week’s meme that is making the rounds in Geneablogger land. Since I was tagged by two of my favorite bloggers, Sheri Fenley of The Educated Genealogist and Randy Seavers of Genea-Musings, I feel duty bound to play. This time I have to give you eight things about myself that you, the reader, might not know. If you have read this blog on any kind of a regular basis, it’s probably obvious that any thought or experience that happens to pop into my brain makes its way onto this blog. Is there anything about me that you don’t already know? You might not know. . .

 1. I drink hot tea instead of coffee. (A latent English gene, perhaps?) 

 2. I not only passed my college swimming class without finishing the swim portion of the final test, but I received an A, thanks to my sister’s one size too small hot pink bikini and an appreciative student instructor. 

 3. You can count me as another member of the “I took belly dance lessons” club. Had it not been for an emergency C-section, I probably would have been become “Tara the Dancing Princess.” 

 4. I believe God created parentheses just for my benefit. (And since I don’t want his creation to go to waste, I make ample use of them in my blogging posts.) 

 5. I love all things tomato. I love tomato sandwiches, tomato sauce, stewed tomatoes, stuffed tomatoes, but I cannot stand the size and texture of cherry tomatoes in my mouth – yuck! 

 6. I can twist my tongue around so that it looks like I am turning it over. This (along with my Morton’s Toe) is a talent inherited from my dad. It is a useful trick in a room full of rowdy children. They’ll spend a good, QUIET half hour trying to duplicate the feat. 

 7. I played the violin in school, which is how my pal Karen and I first became friends. (She usually sat first chair and I sat second. Once, when the music instructor was trying to teach her a lesson, he switched our places right before a recital that had a solo for the first violin. I was scared to death. My generous friend talked me through it and it turned out fine – but I was happy to have her resume the duties of first chair.) 

 8. I believed my mother EVERY time she told me that taking Pepto-Bismol would make my stomach ache feel better. She lied! 

 Now the actual rules for this meme are: 

 1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.

 2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.

 3. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their name.

 4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged and to read your blog. 

 Since, I was one of the last to come to this party, I’m guessing that most of the geneablogger crowd that has wanted to play, has played. So, any blogger reading this post, please consider yourself tagged. Ah, that goes for you non-geneablogger types, too!

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

November - I Weep

I hate November. I always have. The days are short and overcast. Even the thought of the annual Thanksgiving feast is not enough to cheer me. As a child, I can’t tell you the number of times my family sat feasting on the luscious bird with all of its trimmings, while I lay moaning in my bed, bedroom door closed, completely nauseated by the smells that managed to filter their way into my sickroom. Having the flu seemed, at times, like an annual November ritual. Something you could count on in the same way you could count on my mom grinding up the cranberries the night before the holiday. So you can have your Thanksgiving and the entire month. I still hate November.


It seems only fitting, then, that November would house one of my worst memories, one of those before and after moments that people call “defining.” In the scale of things, it was just a small moment. I’ve come to realize if you scratch below anyone’s surface, you will find similar moments. I’m not special. God did not single me out, but at twenty-four, with a limited worldview, it felt as if he had.


In my mind, I see a little blond girl, smiling and running towards me with arms outstretched. I smile back.  I reach for her, picking her up and kissing her warm forehead. It is a cherished fantasy, decades old. It’s all I have of her, my youngest daughter, Heather, the fantasy.


When Heather was born, she had massive birth defects. That is what I tell people, when I talk about it. It sounds much better than the truth. That as a seven-month preemie, she weighed over ten pounds. That her little body was so bloated with fluid it had crushed her fragile bones, and made it impossible for her to come down the birth canal.


The fact that she managed to survive for twenty minutes after her caesarean birth, might qualify as a small miracle, on a day when miracles were in short supply. I am haunted with the idea that she was waiting for me, and in one final insult, I let her down, not coming out of the anesthetic fog until after she had died.


Funny, when they told me she was a girl, for a brief moment there was pleasure.  I hadn’t known until that instant how much I was hoping for a girl. In that instant, I forgot that a short time earlier I had begged the doctor to give me some small piece of hope as they put me under the anesthesia. His response had been a negating shake of his head.

How much of my grief-inspired insanity do I share? How much can you hear? Do you want to know that because I never held her or kissed her little cheek, or even saw her ravaged body that the ache of it can still make me weak?


Do you want to know that for months afterwards, every time I got into my car it somehow ended up in the hospital parking lot? Even I couldn’t understand the compulsion, until finally, one day, it dawned on me that the hospital was the last place Heather had been alive for me. The baby that had kicked inside me whenever I stopped rocking in my chair had disappeared. My mind and body were still looking for her.


Do you want to know that it would take five years, but eventually the event would highlight the growing cracks in my marriage, making a divorce the final footnote of the tragedy?


I wanted the world to stop. I didn’t care about someone looking for a new house. I didn’t care if they lost their job, or their plumbing stopped working. I wanted to shout, “My daughter has died! Nothing else matters!” But of course, as everyone knows, everything else does matter, and eventually, even I had to pick up the pieces and move on.


I hope that in your gravest moments of crisis you will find the same support and compassion I found in the cadre of women who nurtured and sustained me through mine. My mother, my sisters - Marcia and Lee, and my sister-in-law Nancy had the difficult task of withstanding all the vitriol and angst that I could muster. Over and over again, they let me cry, and rage and once done, let me regurgitate again all the bile that filled my soul. They must have wondered at times if I would ever stop, and eventually I did, when the well of bile finally ran dry. I don’t know how these women weathered my storm, but thank God, they did.


And so there was before, and then there was after. One day I was me, and then I was another me - not necessarily a better me, or even a worse me, just a different me. That is how life is.


Most of the time, it is behind me, though never lurking too far below my surface. With decades of practice, I can talk about it clinically, dispassionately without the slightest wave of disturbance. Except in November, when the sky is overcast and the calendar stares at me in defiance. Then I weep.

© 13 November 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Some Final Thoughts on This Election Day

I just read a piece in the New York Times which said that the election with the largest voter turnout happened 100 years ago, on November 3, 1908 when 66% of the registered voters showed up at the polls and elected Ohioan, William Howard Taft, the Republican candidate, as President. Of course, women could not vote in that election. 

Today will be the 23rd time that women of the United States will have voted in a Presidential Election. November 2, 1920 was the first election in which women could exercise their right to vote. This was a mere 72 years after the birth of the women’s suffrage movement took place in Seneca Falls, New York at the first women's rights convention. Most of the women at that convention would not live to see their dreams of women’s suffrage realized.

As much as I am pulling for my candidate to win, I think the most important factor in today's election is the sanctity of the process – that no eligible voter’s vote be denied, nor left uncounted. There are mountains of lawyers ready to pounce in my home state of Ohio with charges of voter fraud already floating like bits of pollen in the air. I have heard that there are legions of lawyers representing both political parties stationed in other swing states ready to do battle. Perhaps it is naïve to believe that the integrity of the process matters more than the outcome of the election. But it is this belief that is at the core of what it means to be an American – one person, one vote. Is it too much to hope that those who would lead and their supporters remember this concept as this election season comes to a close?

© 4 November 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Ouch!

Karma is a ... well, you know. I made a funny ha, ha about not wanting to drive to Michigan this week, and I may have said something along the lines that Michigan drivers were maniacs. I should have known that saying something like that, even in jest, would come back to bite me. Predictably, it did.

No, I didn’t get into any accident, at least not an automobile accident. But owing to the fact that I did not inherit either parent’s physical prowess, I managed to get into another kind of accident.

Yesterday, klutzy me ended up kissing Michigan pavement, hard. I managed to land on one of my hands, and to cut to the chase, I have a couple of swollen fingers that even now are screaming at me to STOP THE DARN TYPING. (One is a handsome shade of purple, thank you.) 

So not being a suck it up kinda girl, I’m just posting and typing enough to tell you, that until the fingers stop complaining, my wrist stops hurting and my shoulder no longer needs the heating pad, you aren’t going to hear a peep out of me.

I also want to say that I have learned my lesson about taking pot shots at the innocent citizens of another state, even in jest, even when technically true. No sir, not me, you won’t catch me saying anything bad about another state. Which probably means I’m going to have to stuff a sock in my mouth the weekend of November 22nd. Ouch!

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

One INTERESTING Week

No, I haven’t died, nor have I fallen off the edge of the earth. (Well, duh, the earth is round and has no edges but I digress.)

I’ve just had an INTERESTING week. First, I have been fighting off some kind of flu bug. I think the drive-in person at McDonald’s who told us she wasn’t feeling well as she handed us our coffee and tea, may have had something to do with that. No, I get you, that’s not especially interesting but I just wanted to point out that you can have an INTERESTING week and still feel sick. 

I also had my hair colored (no more gray) because I have to go to a work conference on Tuesday and Wednesday up into (shudder) Michigan. (No offense to the Michiganders who read this, but you people drive like maniacs!) And no, getting your hair colored isn’t especially interesting either but I wanted to prove what a real trooper I am – I mean feeling sick, getting my hair colored, and STILL managing to have an INTERESTING week. 

The first thing that happened was that I was invited to join a new group called The Association of Graveyard Rabbits. This is a group of individuals “promoting the historical importance of cemeteries, grave markers, and the family history to be learned from a study of burial customs, burying grounds, and tombstones. As a group we pledge to promote the study of cemeteries, promote the preservation of cemeteries, and promote the transcription of genealogical/historical information written in cemeteries”. 

I am honored to have been asked to join, but one of the things required is to start a NEW blog. So as soon as I am done writing this post, that is the next thing on my “to do” list. When the new site is up and running, I will post a link to it. 

The next thing that happened this week was that my German friend, Siegfried, proved what a brilliant man he really is. A few months back I had written a series of posts about the land of my great grandparents, Pomerania. Siegfried found the posts and me, and we began a correspondence. Siegfried decided that he would send me some videos after he had put some English captions on them, so I could “see” the homeland. I was grateful, excited and impatient to see them. I’m still hopeful that one day the postman will put them in my mailbox, but for now, they seem to have taken a rather long detour. 

Now let me explain. Siegfried and I are not related, but his family and my family came from the same area in Stolp all those many years ago. For him to have gone this extra mile for an UNRELATED stranger, well what superlatives would be appropriate to describe such a wonderful selfless gesture? As it turns out, there is another person in Ohio that Siegfried has helped. Her name is Shirley. (Hi Shirley! I hope the chicken soup helped.) Siegfried, Shirley and I are convinced that Shirley and I are very distant cousins. 

Siegfried, who is no quitter, found another way to get the videos to both Shirley and I. He found a storage website that can be viewed in both German and English. He broke up the videos and uploaded them to the website, where Shirley and I could access them and download them. Each chunk of video took about three hours to download. For some reason while the download process was ongoing, it didn’t like me doing ANYTHING else with my computer. There were four videos, some with as few as two parts, some with as many as six parts. You do the math.

So, for the entire week, I have been computerless as I downloaded each portion. While there were some snafu’s – I still can’t view the very last video, and I had to get online to help figure out how to put the various pieces back together, I have to say it was pretty exciting being involved with such a project. I also have to say that Siegfried has been an amazing captain of the project, and Shirley has been a great deal of help – especially since I consider myself a technological imbecile in many respects. I could never find a better team to undertake something as all consuming as this turned out to be.

So a public thank you to my friend Siegfried. I’ve used the adjectives brilliant and amazing, but they pale in comparison to what you have done for me. Thank you very much for your persistence and kindness, and yes brilliance

As for Shirley, I couldn’t have found a better partner to share in our mutual excitement of what we experienced this week. It was time consuming, sometimes frustrating, but it was a major BLAST. We did it! 

The final interesting thing that happened was a message board query that I had done about four years ago, finally paid dividends. I had been looking for information about my great grandfather’s cousin, Abram Perry Baker and one of his sons Dudley Vernon Baker. Well, a descendent of Dudley’s found me. (This is the very reason I hesitate to change any of my email addresses – you just never know!)

While I have been supplying them with parts of their family history and some cool documentation, they in turn have solved a couple of mysteries that have been plaguing me for about four years. I now know why Dudley went to Honduras, and why his uncle Rufus went there. I even know now that Dudley’s cousins Edward and Albert were also there. It feels a lot like an itch in the center of my back that I could never quite reach has finally been scratched. Relief! Euphoria! Hot Darn!

So you can see, this has indeed been one interesting week. None of this would have happened without the Internet. I know that I am preaching to the choir, but if you know any holdouts to the idea of using the Internet to further their genealogical interests, then tell them this – You know a lady, who at 55 is a technological imbecile, but still reaches out willingly to embrace the Internet and all its mysteries. You can also tell them she is loving every minute of it. Today is a day for happy dancing!

Until Next Time – Happy Ancestral Digging!

© 26 October 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Fly Killer

I’ve created a killer, a fly killer, that is. A few weeks ago, in the natural course of an energetic four-year running in and out, a quick thinking fly managed to breach our inner sanctum. Quick thinking yes, but maybe not so quick moving. After my own thwarted attempts at swatting the little pest, the grandson begged me to let him try. 

So I handed over the white fly swatter. And what do ya know? Deadeye managed to do in a few well-aimed swats, what Grandma had not. He killed that darn fly. 

 “I’m really quick, right Maw?” 

 “Yes, you are.” 

 “You couldn’t get him, could you Maw?”

 “Nope, I could not.” 

 “We don’t like flies, do we Maw?”

 “No, we do not.” 

 “Hey, are you goin’ to tell PaPa Al, that I’m quick?” 

 “Yes, I am.” 

 A few weeks later, when one of the deceased fly’s buddies made it in through the opened screen door, the grandson was not pleased when I managed to shoo the fly back outside. 

 “But, I wanted to kill him,” grumped the peanut gallery. 

 My explanation of a win-win philosophy was lost on a four-year old who thought I was just mucking up his chance at another fly victory. Later, as we played outside, the little guy got his chance when a hapless fly landed on one of our outside toys. Deadeye, took aim, and swatted the fly with his BARE hands, and put another notch in his fly killing belt. After a brief discussion about why it was good policy to wash one’s hands after such a heroic act, I made one of my usual breezy pronouncements. 

 “Hey, I’m going to have to start calling you Fly Killer. Yep, I’m going to call you, Fly Killer Snyder.” 

 Silence, as the two of us walked the length of the stone driveway.

 Then, “Its okay, Maw. You can call me Fly Killer if you want.” 

 A few more steps, a quick kick of the stones, and then my buddy looked straight up at me and said, 

“I kinda like that name.” 

 Glad to oblige, kiddo. Glad to oblige.

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

The Gentle Ferocity of Love

The elderly couple came tentatively into the waiting room of the doctor’s office where I sat. Both were white haired. Both were frail looking, though she, the more frail of the two, leaned a bit unsteadily into the arm of her mate. He fussed with getting her seated and letting the receptionist know that they were there. I saw the look of concern etched so clearly on his face, as he continued to fuss around her until she took his hand into her own and patted it softly. I watched the look that passed between the two of them, feeling as if I had somehow invaded their privacy yet unable to pull my gaze away, drawn in by the gentle ferocity of love that passed between them. I saw that same look this past Saturday, with a younger cast of characters, as I witnessed the marriage of my eldest stepson and his new bride. Though this time the look included the exuberant dash of youthful joy, it was, nonetheless. the same gentle ferocity of love that I had viewed so many years ago in that doctor’s office. It was beautiful and breathtaking to behold. Erin, my new daughter, had her heart set on being married beneath the trees on her grandmother’s farm.

 

The weather, which had been withholding rain for weeks, suddenly decided that this weekend it was time to let loose. It rained on Friday and it rained on Saturday. A call from my stepson, told us that they were moving the ceremony to the reception hall, but because Erin still hoped to say her vows on the farm, the wedding party and a few close friends were going to meet there. Sure enough, the rain stopped. Erin and Matt were married just as they had wanted to be - on her grandmother’s farm.

 

I don’t know what kind of journey awaits them. I hope that life is kind to them. I hope that when their hair is white and their gate is slow, their love is still beautiful and breathtaking to behold.

 

© 16 September 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

One Year and 199 Posts Later

One year and 199 posts ago, I wrote my first blog post. It was scary. And it was exciting. I had no idea what I was getting into, but I plunged ahead wholeheartedly. As I wrote on the blog’s two-month anniversary, “It probably will come as no surprise to anyone that I was not exactly blog literate when I undertook this task. I had an idea, a chance to pitch it, and finally the thumbs up to try it.”

 As I did then, I will again thank all of you who have stopped by to read a post or two. Your support has meant a great deal to me. I have discovered a few things in the year that I have been blogging. 

 1. I discovered that I probably should have paid more attention in English class. 

 2. I discovered that a girl, who could never keep a diary for more than two weeks, could indeed blog for a whole year. 

 3. I discovered that spell check is a girl’s best friend. 

 4. I discovered that spell check isn’t idiot proof (me being the aforesaid idiot.) 

 5. I discovered that geneabloggers, though diverse and unique, are of one voice in their mission to support and encourage other geneabloggers. I can’t think of another group where ego is so checked at the door. These people genuinely celebrate each other’s success. 

 6. I discovered that writing apparently has some healthful benefits. Since November, I have been off my high blood pressure medication. While the doctor is sure I have taken his advice to meditate (yeah right), I think whining aloud is the ticket to better health. 

 7. I discovered that I’m not as smart as I think I am. I could have saved myself that very public discovery by just listening to my family. They have been giving me that same message for years. 

 8. I discovered that I have my own voice, however warped it may be. 

 9. I discovered that some of my writing is not written for you, dear reader. Nor is it written for me. Rather it is written for those who are yet to be. I often think of a time 25 years or maybe 50 years from now, when a relative or a descendent discovers my words, and feels the same excitement that I feel when I read the words of my ancestors. (Note to self: Eighty-six the post with the picture of my foot. Don’t want the great grandchildren to worry about mental instability running through their gene pool.) 

 10. In writing posts about my own family’s history, I discovered that each of our lives is just a brief flicker on a long, flowing timeline. This is it folks, This is your one shot to get it right, to find the joy, and to give yourself permission when you fail, to get up the next morning and take your shot at getting it right all over again. 

 11. And finally, I discovered me. And while that only has relevance to those nearest and dearest, for me it has been an interesting journey. 

 I have no idea where I go from here. I know that for now, you can find me slicing and dicing pieces of my life and my family’s history like some mad chef - serving it up for your reading pleasure here at the Desktop Genealogist Unplugged Blog. 

 Until Next Time – Happy Ancestral Digging!

© 4 September 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder