Almost Wordless Wednesday - I knew he loved me when ...

He agreed to wear a matching pink tie for our wedding ceremony.

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

Who Knew

Me - sitting in our living room with my fingers laced, covering my eyes, tiny spaces between each finger open just wide enough so I can see parts of the screen as I am watching the movie “Untraceable.”

My husband shaking his head, “Why did you get this movie, if you knew you wouldn’t be able to watch it?”

“I like Diane Lane,” I say behind the curtain of fingers. 

“Yeah, me too. I hear she told Josh Brolin she’d kick him to the curb, if he didn’t stop drinking.”

Fingers now dropped, I am staring at my spouse, as three rapid-fire thoughts fly through my brain. 

This is the kind of conversation I miss having with female co-workers. And - Who are you and what have you done with my husband. And – Really, she said that to Josh Brolin? 

All of which must have played across my face because then, the perfect man looked at me, shrugged and said simply, “AOL.” Well, okay then. After 19 years of marriage, my husband can still surprise me.

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

A holiday meltdown

I'm on a short countdown for the family's Christmas Eve party that hubby and I are hosting this year. The number of people attending has shot up and down like an old-time applause meter, so that I no longer have any idea of how many dozens of buns I need to get, or how many bingo prizes should be wrapped and ready to go. 

We have lost running water to our house twice since Sunday, and the last gift that was supposed to be coming this week for our youngest granddaughter is now not going to be shipped until January, necessitating a last-minute replacement! Oh, and I haven't wrapped one present or put up the Christmas tree yet. And I think I am coming down with a cold. Atchoo! 

My husband, sensing my imminent meltdown, came home from work tonight and tossed a bag of Dove dark chocolate on the counter saying, “I thought you might need this.”

Heck yeah, I need it, along with a Valium chaser. I have this vision of people pulling up to a darkened house on Christmas Eve with a sign on the door reading, “The hostess and party have gone the way of the Dodo.” 

All right, now that the public foot stamping is out of the way I have a couple of miscellaneous items to share with you. 

38TH EDITION OF THE CARNIVAL OF GENEALOGY 

 First, the 38th edition of the Carnival of Genealogy is up and posted at Jasia's Creative Gene Web site. (I confess I cheated and was avidly reading most of the postings as they went up on each person's Web site.) The subject was New Year's Eve 1999. Of the 14 genealogy bloggers who submitted entries, only one turns out to be a true partier, which was our hostess, Jasia. I may have had the worst New Year's Eve night, but Bill West's (West in New England) post tells of a pretty lousy year. Then there's Terry Thornton's (Hill Country of Monroe County, Mississippi) remembrance of Y2K. Apparently, his concern over the millennium bug translated into a case of Spam among other things. 

For some enjoyable reading go to Creative Gene, and find the links to all 14 posts. BTW, what were YOU doing New Year's Eve 1999? 

A CHOIR OF GENEAANGELS 

Check this out. The Footnote Maven has made a collage of her genealogy blogging colleagues in the guise of angels and posted it online. Being singularly uncreative myself, I am in awe of her finished product. I feel definitely privileged, if not a bit miscast, to be included as one of her angels. Thanks Footnote Maven! 

And finally, since this will be my last posting before Christmas, I wanted to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas. May you and yours have the happiest of holidays. 

Until Next Time — Happy Ancestral Digging! 

Note this post first published online, December 20, 2007 at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

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

New Year’s Eve ... 1999

The theme for the next Carnival of Genealogy is the New Millennium. Jasia asked, “Where were you when the year 2000 came around?” 

My memories of New Year's Eve 1999 are a series of disjointed flashbacks, which I can't quite weave together correctly. The whole year before the millennium, the bank that I worked at had been worried about the so called “millennium bug.” You remember, when the clock struck midnight, there was a fear that programs in older computers would not recognize the rollover from 99 to 00 and would fail to operate. Our software vendors assured us that all problems had been corrected, but there was still that little nagging doubt about what would occur. 

To be on the safe side, Al and I had set aside a little extra cash, just in case. We went ahead and made our plans for our quiet celebration. You know the usual — a couple of good movies, some finger food, and maybe a little Mike's Hard Lemonade. Yeah, I know, pretty boring but that's how we roll. 

What we hadn't counted on was another vicious little bug that was roaming around Northwest Ohio at the time — the flu bug. Now there are all kinds of flu bugs, stomach, intestinal, or the kind where you swear an elephant has parked on your chest, and you're sure if you cough one more time they will have to tape your ribs. Well, this virus had it all, the works, it was after all, the Millennium Bug. And the little devil was headin' straight at Al and me. 

In the entire 18 years that we have been married, we have never both been sick at the same time. Usually one will come down with something first, and because we like to share, we pass it along to the other partner. This works out well, because the not sick person can wait hand and foot on the sick person. I, of course, prefer to be left for dead when I am ill, with an occasional, “could you get me the ginger ale before I die of dehydration?” Really, I'm no trouble at all.

Al, on the other hand, runs around saying, “feel my forehead, am I hot?” or “I've never been this sick before!” cough, cough. Implying that he wins some kind of medal for being the sickest a person could be without dying. Yeah right, buddy, that's an Olympic event I want to win.

As I said, we had never both been sick at the same time except for once — New Year's Eve 1999. And here is where things get a little fuzzy as I try to reassemble events. I remember, I started feeling achy and queasy when we went to pick up the sauerkraut balls. By the time we got home, I had the chills and the shakes. Somehow there were dirty dishes that needed washed, and Al, who was looking pretty pale himself, felt we should just wash them up and be done with it. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed, so I suggested that we just throw all the dirty dishes and pans straight into the trash. For a second, I thought my practical pragmatic husband would go for what I felt was a great solution, but no, he basically said to suck it up and let's get 'em done. If the muscles in my face hadn't ached as much as every other muscle in my body I would have given him my evil death ray stare, guaranteed to melt mere mortals to putty. But I couldn't even muster a grimace, so I went along with his plan and we washed and dried the stupid dishes.

Sometime after that, a car skidded and hit a pole a couple of miles down the road from where we live, and knocked out the power. Toledo Edison was quoted the next day, as saying that all the power had been restored in two hours — NOT! We were without power for eight hours and we piled on every blanket in the house we could find. 

At one point, Al decided that he should go start our generator, because we were already sick, and freezing to death is not a recognized cure for the flu. Our bedroom is next to the garage so I could hear him out there saying a not very nice word that my husband normally would not utter, and then I would hear a low moan. This went on for several minutes until he came back in the house, crawled under the pile of blankets and mumbled, “I can't get it started.” He was just too weak. My response? Moan, cough, cough, moan. 

In reconstructing this with my husband, we think this must have occurred the day before New Year's Eve because I can remember toddling out to the living room on New Year's Eve and Al telling me that the New Year had come and gone with no Y2K problem rearing its ugly head. Al, at some point had relocated to the living room sofa, because my moaning, shivering, and retching were not helping him to sleep and vice versa. I remember going back to bed and that's the last thing I remember until New Year's Day night.

By then the worst of the stomach/intestinal issues were over and I was left with coughing and that achy feeling. I know I missed a number of days of work with this flu, but everything else is rather vague. I do remember thinking that this did not bode well for my next 1000 years. And truth be told, some not-so-nice things have happened to me in the intervening eight years, but there have also been a lot of good things that have happened.

Three more beautiful grandchildren have been added to our family. My parents moved back from Florida to Ohio, and now live just a hop skip and a jump away. I finally kept my promise to myself to get my bachelor's degree, cum laude thank you very much. My youngest sister, who thought she would never be a momma, gave birth to a handsome little fellow who has his mommy's eyes. I found a job that pays decent enough for me to work part time, and I get to spend the extra time with one of my favorite grandchildren I've watched my three children grow into confident, compassionate adults that more times than not, knock my socks off with the people that they have become. And not the least, I've spent the last eight years with my best friend and love, my husband. 

So the moral of the story is, well heck, make up your own moral for the story. Yeah, the millennium and how I spent it — a real heartwarming tale. 

Until Next Time … 

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

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

T'is the Season to Freak Out

Well, it's December again. And as usual, I am in a tizzy wondering how everything that needs to be done will get done. In the middle of my annual freak out, there stands my husband, cool calm and collected. Assuring me that everything will work out, that the presents will all end up bought and wrapped, the house cleaned, decorated and ready for visitors, the Christmas Eve food decided on, bought and prepared, and that this all will happen without me having a heart attack or ending up in the loony bin.

My husband is such an optimist. He stays stoically calm, if a bit impatient when I reject suggestion after suggestion for a gift for our 8-month-old grandson. I stand in the toy aisle, making him dump every box upside down to see where each toy is made. Made in China they all read.

"Terry,” he says, “they are all made in China. Face it; you are going to have to buy something made in China.” 

“But he's a baby. They put everything into their mouth. I'm not getting a baby anything made in China!”

So on we march, me determined, and Al mentally calculating how many of these shopping trips we will have to make before I succumb to the inevitable. My stubborn refusal is threatening to derail the hardcore shopping that we had intended, needed to get done. My husband, in an effort to derail what I'm sure he sees as an oncoming temper tantrum and to assuage his own growling stomach, suggests we stop shopping and eat. 

The warm lobster bisque, the thirst quenching raspberry lemonade and the quiet talk about anything NOT having to do with Christmas, revive me. I decide when we get home I will shop online for something made in the USA for the youngest member of the family. I call both of my sons, and tell them I am in a store parking lot, ready to do Christmas shopping and that they had better tell me right this minute what to buy. Surprisingly, both sons have suggestions that they give me without too much coaxing, and without one threat of dire consequences passing my lips.

Al and I even come up with a good idea for a gift for my parents, and suddenly all is right with the world. We get some of the needed shopping done, pat ourselves on the back, and I go home, get online and find an actual toy made in the USA, not out of stock, that if I order today will be here 10 days before Christmas. Oh, sweet success! 

Now, if I can just resist the temptation to look on the bottom of the crock-pot I bought for one of the boys to see where it was made, I can count this a perfect shopping day. 

Until Next Time — Happy Ancestral Digging! 

Note: This post is my way of letting you know that due to my annual freak out, my posts this month will be sporadic. T'is the Season! 

Note this post first published online at Desktop Genealogist Blog, December 3, 2007, at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

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

A Little Husbandly Concern

My husband has known for a month or longer that this Sunday I will be meeting with Internet Cousins and showing them some cemeteries in Seneca County. Yesterday, he decided that he m-a-y-b-e should express concern about me meeting up with four total strangers who could or could not, for all he knows, have nefarious (nefarious is my word of the week) reasons for driving from Michigan and Indiana to see a few graves. This little bit of concern didn't originate from his own brain. It took my daughter, who TRULY loves me, to poke the thought into his head. Even at that, his grilling me about the upcoming Sunday events didn't transpire until a full 24 hours later.

“Have you ever met these people?” my suddenly concerned spouse asked. 

 “Nope.” 

 “But they're related to you, right?” he said, being comforted somehow by some tenacious familial link. (Hello, honey, you've met my relatives. Do you really think they are the barometer of SANE?)

“Ostensibly, two of them are.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” 

And here is where my husband gets his good husband seal of approval award. Because he knows, and I know, that the very last thing that my husband wants to do this Sunday is to go grave hopping with strangers. Strangers who, along with his wife, will be yammering about dead relatives. Good grief, NASCAR is racing Sunday, and my husband's devotion to NASCAR is about one notch above my devotion to genealogy. In other words, the man loves his NASCAR. Besides, time has not yet dulled the memory of our little Labor Day fiasco. But I also know, as does he, the moment he says the words, “Do you want me to come with you?” that he means exactly that. If I want him to be there with me on Sunday, he will do it. Which is why, sweetheart, when you make that totally inane comment, “I don't know how you can stand to live with me” I always look at you as if you were crazed. This is exactly why I can stand to live with you, bucko — that and you give a really good foot rub.

So it will be just me meeting with the Michigan and Indiana folks on Sunday. Who knows, maybe I will get an interesting post out of the deal. And my husband will get to watch his race in blissful peace and HAVE THE HOUSE TO HIMSELF. 

Until Next Time — Happy Ancestral Digging! 

P.S. — For any relatives reading this post, it goes without saying I was talking about OTHER relatives when I made that sanity crack. Note this post first published online, October 19, 2007, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

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

Cracked Up — Footnote to Yesterday's Blog

Crisis! My spouse took an immediate dislike to the title I wanted to use on yesterday's blog, “How an Internet Cousin Shattered a Brick Wall and Made Me Want to Kiss Her.” The original title was “How an Internet Cousin Shattered a Brick Wall and Made Me Want to Kiss Her on the Lips.” 

“You're not going to call it that!” my normally calm, but uber conservative spouse said with an actual look of HORROR on his face. 

“Why not?”

“Can't you just say, “hug” instead?”

“Hug? That's boring. My title makes me laugh!” 

 Masculine Groan.

So we compromised, I lopped off the last three words, and he dropped the hug suggestion. My husband cracks me up. I, apparently, DON'T crack up him. 

Until Next Time — Yadda! Yadda! Yadda! Note this post first published online, September 15, 2007, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

©15 Sept 2007, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

It's An Adventure

This past Labor Day weekend my husband, who should know better, asked me if I wanted to go for a drive. “Yeah!” “Where to?” “Terre Haute Cemetery!” I said without a second’s hesitation. A month earlier, I’d found an online listing for the cemetery. There were old graves I’d been, if you’ll pardon the pun, dying to check out. Too far, gas too expensive, frown frown, yadda yadda. So we took off for a short drive. Somehow, I managed to convince my loving spouse that a trip to “two little cemeteries” would be a great start to our drive. “It will be an adventure!” I told him. I’d use this phrase when Map Quest said to turn right instead of left on a Virginia trip. This put us on a one-lane gravel road that went on forever. It was one of those, if people thought you were trespassing, they could chop you up into little pieces and no one would ever find your body, kind of roads.

“It’s an adventure!” I had said, as the tune “Dueling Banjos” popped into my head. On this day, I used the phrase to spur my husband into climbing over a gatepost, tromp down a gravel lane and plunge into, what turned about to be, a cemetery swarming with dive-bombing bugs. Now I tend to exaggerate, but trust me, swarming is the accurate word. About 60 seconds into this foray, my husband said, “I’ll wait for you there,” pointing to the gravel road. He wisely elected to wait in the car at cemetery number two, which called for another little jaunt. 

As we left the second cemetery and started, what we thought would be a relaxing drive, the tire pressure light began to glow inside our Mercury van. Two hours later, after watching Canadian football in the store’s lobby and becoming the proud owners of a shiny new tire (a shredded tire can’t be patched evidently), our “adventure” was over. Well, not quite. As it turns out, some of those dive-bombing insects were mosquitoes. What they were doing out at high noon, I don’t know. Four days later, we were still scratching. 

I may have to retire my, “It’s an adventure!” Instead, maybe I’ll start using, “At least we’re not being chopped into little pieces and our bodies never found.” Yeah, that works. 

Until next time – Happy Ancestral Digging! Note this post first published online, September 11, 2007, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online http://www.thenews-messenger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=BLOGS02

©11 Sept 2007, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder