tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91089989913188564592024-02-29T00:30:16.909-07:00Family History In Real Life with The Barefoot GenealogistCrista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-81808689917369038822013-04-03T17:07:00.002-06:002013-04-03T17:08:07.630-06:00We Sure Have A Lot Of Dead Family<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 18px;">Three of my nephews (ages 8, 7, and 5) are visiting my sister and me for Spring Break. They wanted to go to a cemetery today because, "we've never been to one." I sent my sister a text message (because I was stuck at work and couldn't join them) with the names of their 4th great-grandparents who are buried there. I also texted a little information about where they were born and how they came to </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 18px;">be here in Utah.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkseV9XtQtCh2VROjkhQ78NYYFi0aTT3emsciGqgXj4XP1kqGak-wC9HjhrJiCc59_CxCV-1zQ9WWv8Ma9aZeeXIrj1qrNnM3MMFkAool-NT7qDP5vAJQRLdJfQPSOq6AxAAf6r-5Dz-Q/s1600/DittmorePG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkseV9XtQtCh2VROjkhQ78NYYFi0aTT3emsciGqgXj4XP1kqGak-wC9HjhrJiCc59_CxCV-1zQ9WWv8Ma9aZeeXIrj1qrNnM3MMFkAool-NT7qDP5vAJQRLdJfQPSOq6AxAAf6r-5Dz-Q/s320/DittmorePG.jpg" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Henry and Rachel Smuin Dittmore<br />
Buried in Pleasant Grove, Utah</td></tr>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 18px;"><br /><br />The kids called me from the cemetery excited to share that they had found them after a little searching. The 7 year old did the math on the tombstones to tell me how old everyone was when they died. The 8 year old noticed there were other Dittmores buried there and was reading off first names. I told them those were all children and grandchildren of Henry and Rachel, making them our aunts, uncles, and cousins. To which the 5 year old replied, "We sure have a lot of dead family." Yes we do, little man. Yes, we do. But today I'm just as excited about the living ones. I may make genealogists out of these kids yet!</span>Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-63734073993696451812013-03-15T15:56:00.000-06:002013-03-19T16:06:43.470-06:00Donald Benjamin Mulliner<i>Tomorrow I drive to Las Vegas where I will give a presentation on Ancestry.com products and services to the Jewish Genealogical Society of Southern Nevada on Sunday. Tomorrow, for the first time in 22 years of trips to and through Vegas - a trip I take several times a year - my Uncle Don won't be there.</i><br />
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Donald Benjamin Mulliner was born 10 Mar 1929 in San Bernardino, California. He was the third child and oldest son of Victor June and Mary (Heaps) Mulliner. Raised in Los Angeles during the Depression and through the years of World War One, Don was constantly surrounded by family. Both of his parents came from large, close knit families. His Mulliner grandparents - Albert King Mulliner and Sarah Amanda Willis - had 33 grandchildren. His Heaps grandparents - Benjamin Franklin Heaps and Ann Eva Dittmore - had 35 grandchildren. That's a lot of first cousins!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDpiOE_gsEb4Tt5jLwXhxNxxYT1CnHiYl4pC9cfHv11GAjP79TBOSDicL9gcTgRJ6CRmtK75AJte3WtkKd3HVZUNH_ntqlkQ4Qgol85_C89Ql3qNg7BaTTt1HFyiclZwXu8Fc2_IOKgk/s1600/CMC0389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDpiOE_gsEb4Tt5jLwXhxNxxYT1CnHiYl4pC9cfHv11GAjP79TBOSDicL9gcTgRJ6CRmtK75AJte3WtkKd3HVZUNH_ntqlkQ4Qgol85_C89Ql3qNg7BaTTt1HFyiclZwXu8Fc2_IOKgk/s400/CMC0389.jpg" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donald Benjamin Mulliner, age 15</td></tr>
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When he became an adult, Don joined the military and served his country during the Korean War. Shortly after returning he married and within six years, four children were born to the couple - the final daughter born shortly after his wife's 21st birthday. Don and his young wife struggled a lot during those years and made a series of bad choices that led to the break up of their marriage. When his ex-wife remarried, his children took their step-father's last name and from then on Don had virtually no contact with them.<br />
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This was always one of the greatest regrets of his life. Later in life, a couple of his children did reconcile with him and would send him pictures of their families. These photos were displayed in a prominent place in his home. He would often talk of his children and the grandchildren and great-grandchildren that he never had the opportunity to meet. He would talk about what a "scoundrel" he had been and tearfully explain how he believed that God was allowing him to live long enough to repent.<br />
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Later in life, Don developed a relationship with his beloved, Betty and loved her two children as his own - children who called him Dad and were a great comfort to him. Betty passed away in 2001. Her daughter, who was Don's caretaker for many years, passed away last year.<br />
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Donald Benjamin Mulliner died this morning, 15 Mar 2013, at the VA hospital in Las Vegas.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBQSr3gu-K-2vdyLeWrMtfbl0z5cxWbg9_LRPitAwmengA1xEibUGeGA5JHCkZUBy4YP-cVGvxgvftwNbM8ch1bRUXddNUZSQ94qCU0sYK2RSk9c7q3jN81PDPRwPwCWUfCum2yo_sgI/s1600/72078107-SLD-004-0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBQSr3gu-K-2vdyLeWrMtfbl0z5cxWbg9_LRPitAwmengA1xEibUGeGA5JHCkZUBy4YP-cVGvxgvftwNbM8ch1bRUXddNUZSQ94qCU0sYK2RSk9c7q3jN81PDPRwPwCWUfCum2yo_sgI/s640/72078107-SLD-004-0034.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mulliner Family circa 1955<br />Front Row: Donald Benjamin Mulliner, Victor Clyde Mulliner<br />Back Row: Gary Sidney Mulliner, Mary (Heaps) Mulliner, Doris Eva Mulliner Cowan,<br />Victor June Mulliner, Erma June Mulliner Williamson</td></tr>
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<i>Today I have spent a lot of time thinking about my Uncle Don. I'm really sad that I won't be able to visit him this weekend. I was so looking forward to seeing his big smile and his familiar shock of fading ginger hair. I was looking forward to talking with him more about his mother, a great-grandmother that I never knew. I was looking forward to sharing with him the love that so many of his family members have for him, simply because he is a part of us.</i><br />
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<i>I never knew the Uncle Don that drank and gambled and made poor life choices. I only knew the Uncle Don looked so much like his older sister - my grandmother - that I felt comfortable in his presence from my earliest memories of him because he was so clearly family. I only knew the Uncle Don that loved being around his family, laughed at my silly jokes, and teared up whenever we spoke about his parents or his children. I only knew the Uncle Don that blushed to the roots of his red hair when I teased him or when the genealogist in me tried to ask questions about his checkered past.</i><br />
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<i>That's the Uncle Don that I knew and that's the Uncle Don that I will think of and miss every time I drive to or through Las Vegas.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDRwDeDZw2BoS08SYtmvP0OkfTuTmlz9EIHwTNmMlVUwailG_RZwEVUsazjgBzoyiVPLkOWeg3mu7zXAseCszNCdGHaWptYNNZtYB1-CNJiNMGVN729_Vv2k5uxrHeKeSCz6eu5YtS18/s1600/DSC00462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDRwDeDZw2BoS08SYtmvP0OkfTuTmlz9EIHwTNmMlVUwailG_RZwEVUsazjgBzoyiVPLkOWeg3mu7zXAseCszNCdGHaWptYNNZtYB1-CNJiNMGVN729_Vv2k5uxrHeKeSCz6eu5YtS18/s400/DSC00462.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer 2008 - Don with his nephew, Steve,<br />two of Steve's children and two of Steve's grandchildren</td></tr>
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<i>If any of Don's cousins, nieces, nephews, great-nieces or great-nephews would like to share a favorite memory of Don, please do so in the comments below.</i>Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-75874045332041541182012-11-29T12:21:00.000-07:002012-11-29T12:21:28.185-07:00Surname Word CloudsA few days ago I created this fun word cloud based on surname frequency among the descendants of one of my 3rd great-grandfathers. It is a fun view of family history. And people who aren't terribly interested in genealogy are still interested in finding their own surname and seeing just how big it is in comparison to some of the others.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRwAOJTVeDBUmRgiwBg0AYk6pkUhC3MuK5jQtpz-Q6EeI_5JuhNAPRnYyJ1JiH8jBCpUc28fktmknNgYSGcTga3YanBb8SYAhCK6Mqr8jbjP4cc3PJrZBeux9-kbDKdSzdTo-jQmbDKs/s1600/MullinerWordleColor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRwAOJTVeDBUmRgiwBg0AYk6pkUhC3MuK5jQtpz-Q6EeI_5JuhNAPRnYyJ1JiH8jBCpUc28fktmknNgYSGcTga3YanBb8SYAhCK6Mqr8jbjP4cc3PJrZBeux9-kbDKdSzdTo-jQmbDKs/s640/MullinerWordleColor.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Several people have asked me how I did it, so here are the instructions.<br />
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<ol>
<li>Select an ancestor. (I chose my 3rd great-grandfather, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/SamuelMulliner" target="_blank">Samuel Mulliner</a>. He was born 203 years ago and has more than 5600 descendants (not counting spouses).)</li>
<li>Using your family history software create a list of descendants. (I used the Outline Descendant Report under Relationship Reports in <a href="http://familytreemaker.com/" target="_blank">Family Tree Maker</a>. I chose the options that did NOT include spouses and that listed the name "Surname, Given Names." I also removed the indent characters.)</li>
<li>Export your list to a CSV file and open that file in Excel (or your choice of spreadsheet program).</li>
<li>Highlight the data column and select "Text to Columns" to separate out the surnames into their own column.</li>
<li>Highlight the surname column and copy.</li>
<li>Go to Wordle.net and click CREATE.</li>
<li>Paste your surname list into the box and click GO.</li>
<li>Use the menu buttons to change the layout, font and color of your word cloud until you find one you like.</li>
<li>You can then print it. Save it to an image program or open it in full screen and do a screen capture.</li>
<li>Post it on your blog or on Facebook to share with your family.</li>
</ol>
Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-38350160983415993092011-08-30T23:28:00.001-06:002011-08-31T00:39:23.007-06:00It Takes Two<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Thirty-six years ago today two beautiful babies, well, one beautiful baby and one teeny, orange, gangly creature (who, rest assured, grew up to be a very attractive man), showed up in my life two months before they were supposed to show up. Until that point I was an only child. I was the only granddaughter. And, at least on one side of my family, I was an only grandchild, an only niece. That didn't last long. The only comfort I find in losing my reigning princess status is knowing that it took two of them to unseat me.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">I was not quite three years old at the time so my recollections of that summer are fuzzy at best. I remember my mom spending A LOT of time on bed rest. I remember that when she was up and moving all I could see was this really, big belly.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_zL9Q0JsU6d9m-h98r0KrGKhQRXsBgk6UtKeL9Mz_tsNLIiYMMazCMzGbjDpcYfyyTbjtjqdZPFhZtvwQrdIVcG3yVn-hxCrEHlysIAnTf13Wr0sCQxL7ALQQh5Z2BY7DGolmEr_0iiL/s1600/Scan0006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_zL9Q0JsU6d9m-h98r0KrGKhQRXsBgk6UtKeL9Mz_tsNLIiYMMazCMzGbjDpcYfyyTbjtjqdZPFhZtvwQrdIVcG3yVn-hxCrEHlysIAnTf13Wr0sCQxL7ALQQh5Z2BY7DGolmEr_0iiL/s320/Scan0006.jpg" width="308" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">I remember being in charge of lunch some days. Before leaving for work Dad would put yogurt and graham crackers on the bottom shelf of the fridge so I could reach them. I remember breaking my leg that summer and my mom pleading with me to get up and walk because she just couldn't carry me. She wasn't even supposed to be up. I remember Dad carting Mom and I off to my grandparents house shortly after that because he had to work and a pregnant wife on bed rest and a two year old in a cast just could not be left home alone any longer.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdN5kU1YajjdXcKEt5VvD-T7gTtT-G4wJBzSrvSQxxff8-wSUPOWD0f5sDWnxD3fBCzEp3LOXA-f7iN2d_p_kY1aQZnEquD-ZDMtUfDdNZmRtzSJRmWXKsRmVWtSqDrw9iZH2tGh5poN5Q/s1600/Scan230_0342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdN5kU1YajjdXcKEt5VvD-T7gTtT-G4wJBzSrvSQxxff8-wSUPOWD0f5sDWnxD3fBCzEp3LOXA-f7iN2d_p_kY1aQZnEquD-ZDMtUfDdNZmRtzSJRmWXKsRmVWtSqDrw9iZH2tGh5poN5Q/s320/Scan230_0342.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">That's about it.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">I don't remember my mom going in to labor. I don't remember her being in the hospital, though I am sure she was there for a while. I don't remember if I visited the new babies in the hospital, though that probably wasn't allowed back then, even if they hadn't been so premature.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIYmNI_EE3T_ykYsysl30RdeIRd8dF9_hNk73r1bIrJSzaXUSW8Br-o7-77W-Kbr2Kisyr_fgSQGOQUX1zd9MSc0UUK2Ih2dfKiaXVYHUQFhHaXuTPJkf699zm6zz_i_U5_afhMHFJ0uDP/s1600/Scan242_0354_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIYmNI_EE3T_ykYsysl30RdeIRd8dF9_hNk73r1bIrJSzaXUSW8Br-o7-77W-Kbr2Kisyr_fgSQGOQUX1zd9MSc0UUK2Ih2dfKiaXVYHUQFhHaXuTPJkf699zm6zz_i_U5_afhMHFJ0uDP/s320/Scan242_0354_edited.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">I don't even remember the day they were brought home from the hospital. Or the days and weeks that followed.</div><div><br />
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<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">I'm fairly certain my grandparents and my aunt, Rhonda (never Aunt Rhonda) and my uncle, Brad spoiled me rotten during those days and weeks. They have loved me well my whole life and I have never questioned that.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">So, while I have vague memories of life before The Twins were born, the memories since then are even more precious. They are part of me and I am part of them and we belong to each other - no matter how close or far apart we are.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">First they were "my babies."</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">Then they were The Twins.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">Now, they are my friends.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">Tree climbing. Backyard hole digging. Mud pie making. Giggling and games, fighting and making up. Tic, tac, toe and sit-n-spin. Connecting dots in church and trying so hard to keep quiet. And teacups. Always, teacups.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">For over four years you were mine. Then another came. Twenty months later another. First we were a family of three. Then five.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">Then seven. Soon fifteen.<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">Still there are games and giggling. Now there is music and laughter, teasing and tears. Skype and stairs. And, love. Lots of love. Sometimes there is so much love that all I can do as I kneel to pray each night is just say your names and feel.</div>Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-25805039542738855442011-01-28T12:17:00.000-07:002011-01-28T12:17:54.148-07:00Turning Hearts<em>(Note: I wrote this blog post about four months ago but never posted it. I'm not quite sure why not.)</em><br />
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One of my favorite things about family history is the way that it brings living family together. And let me tell you, it was a family history weekend. (I'll warn you right now - this is going to be a long post but there is a theme that runs through it all. I hope you catch the rhythm of it. And if not, I'll see if I can insert some pictures to break it up a little.)<br />
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Friday, I drove the eleven hours from my home in Utah down to San Diego. I picked my dad up at the airport and we headed to my uncle's house. Three of their grown children, one with spouse, were there in addition to my aunt and uncle. We got there around 11:00 pm and could hear them from the street when we pulled up. Several hours of fun discussions and crazy debate later, we headed to bed.<br />
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Saturday, my cousin's wedding day, I was rudely awakened by the high school marching band practicing in the field next to the house. But, it was good to be up early as more cousins and their children descended on the house for breakfast. My youngest cousin came home from a sleepover and everyone wished her a happy birthday. Following breakfast and some wedding preparations, I whisked her and her best friend off for a mani/pedi. I am the oldest cousin and she is the youngest and there are 19 years between us. We share a unique relationship. I adore her and she is growing into a great young woman. I invited her to come spend a few weeks with me next summer and hope she will take me up on the offer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_EUca6Kw-HgO2dHHW0WnP67z_UK0874yjPsbsJPgjUWGrm_VjRYzzC1RzxF61opSmtcUeG17IGiqlZHFBj_u9MOqQc7VbyaYPgHG4bQJSZylILZ2VJPXoqw-Q9oqvz6C9V-F7BFaRRM/s1600/CC0155Edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_EUca6Kw-HgO2dHHW0WnP67z_UK0874yjPsbsJPgjUWGrm_VjRYzzC1RzxF61opSmtcUeG17IGiqlZHFBj_u9MOqQc7VbyaYPgHG4bQJSZylILZ2VJPXoqw-Q9oqvz6C9V-F7BFaRRM/s320/CC0155Edited.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Becca and I about ten years ago at a family reunion.</td></tr>
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The afternoon and evening were filled with the wedding and a reception for my cousin Kasey and his bride, Aubree. I got to hang out with my dad and my aunt, Rhonda. We talked and laughed and enjoyed our time together with several of my cousins and their spouses and children. One even used the occasion to announce that she is ten weeks pregnant with her second child. When we had had as much fun as we could handle we headed from San Diego up to Los Angeles to see my grandmother.<br />
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"Ma" is 88 years old. We got to her house just after 11:00 p.m. She was waiting up for us. No early night that evening either. But, I love my grandma. I love her stories. I love her sense of humor. I love how much she loves my dad. And I love all of that more than I love sleep, apparently.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPpxOpUzgffN9f5pH79NMoCcJpNKtswAOV1e8IBCUTf2P4Q1Ub8bpEly2VgyMZ0LY2Q3FhZQXL9JNLftUtGKb3WWHYs24aHGDXxvyKsVhB1m9P2I5hsbOjbC_WOp13LoK9t5pvtS_0GM/s1600/DSC01862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPpxOpUzgffN9f5pH79NMoCcJpNKtswAOV1e8IBCUTf2P4Q1Ub8bpEly2VgyMZ0LY2Q3FhZQXL9JNLftUtGKb3WWHYs24aHGDXxvyKsVhB1m9P2I5hsbOjbC_WOp13LoK9t5pvtS_0GM/s320/DSC01862.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ma feeding bananas to my adorable niece</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Sunday morning after a client meeting in the area, I went to church in Santa Monica then realized I had some free time before meeting with another genealogy client in Bel Air. I knew that my great-grandparents built a house in Santa Monica in the 1920s. My grandfather and his sisters were raised in that house. My dad and his siblings spent a lot of time at grandma's house growing up. And even I, as a small child, visited Grandma Cowan there several times before her death in 1975. I recently inherited her photo albums, including pictures of the house while it was under construction. So, I thought it might be neat to get a few pictures of the house as it looks now.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4X66Il1xkxfXfbGSGbV3wMI2IoXSVW5juXBocw-FqrzfM6nPvqPqmIbZ2ANqC3fBd99ndtJVuRjrXDBe15jJmlSTpDC_nNzDzWQ8BQIvo9EAEUQFg85c559s4fKJZQk07p5i0GQcIy8A/s1600/192802HouseConstruction3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4X66Il1xkxfXfbGSGbV3wMI2IoXSVW5juXBocw-FqrzfM6nPvqPqmIbZ2ANqC3fBd99ndtJVuRjrXDBe15jJmlSTpDC_nNzDzWQ8BQIvo9EAEUQFg85c559s4fKJZQk07p5i0GQcIy8A/s320/192802HouseConstruction3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0l-tsAHh2NRihaS-czuE-SRuaSb36UN0FbBlx-P0WeAC-4OprPDNTF9FD3Ul6CE-VqnoHDVUpps25Ok_MY8125cfXrsaPqeKnOC8ScP4R659J75AK292A4g7GsnWznT9BDlZBbFlTN8/s1600/193005House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0l-tsAHh2NRihaS-czuE-SRuaSb36UN0FbBlx-P0WeAC-4OprPDNTF9FD3Ul6CE-VqnoHDVUpps25Ok_MY8125cfXrsaPqeKnOC8ScP4R659J75AK292A4g7GsnWznT9BDlZBbFlTN8/s320/193005House.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I didn't have the address with me but knew the major cross streets. It took a few wrong turns and slow driving up and down streets but I finally found it. I intended to just hop out, take a few pictures and be on my way. But, figured I better see if anyone was home and ask permission in case they noticed some odd woman photographing their house and became concerned.<br />
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The woman who answered the door was thrilled to meet me. I showed her the construction pictures. We found a few interior shots among my scanned photographs and compared them against the current structural elements and interior design of the home. She graciously took the time to show me around so I could see some of the restoration and remodeling work she has done. She has done a beautiful job maintaining the integrity of this gorgeous, old, 1920s bungalow home.<br />
<br />
While there I shared a couple favorite stories that have been shared in our family by my dad and his siblings about Grandma's House. This gracious woman invited me to bring my father and anyone else who might be interested to come see the house as it is now and share their memories with her. We definitely will do that the next time we are in town.<br />
<br />
It really was a delightful afternoon. I am so happy to see this home lived in and loved by someone who appreciates the history of it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QIvHUcZAQ2fQijN_PluIsxD4eMsYWKJldiVQum5Byz6l8w4nuipz-vSxKp4xbUjrJ5EIgsUJCDyq9aCBsKMgL2syclvFSYMR_HrF5v6_jEbmqXPaKmvPH6h__zo3LljLKLHhUfdzbvQ/s1600/DSC02133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QIvHUcZAQ2fQijN_PluIsxD4eMsYWKJldiVQum5Byz6l8w4nuipz-vSxKp4xbUjrJ5EIgsUJCDyq9aCBsKMgL2syclvFSYMR_HrF5v6_jEbmqXPaKmvPH6h__zo3LljLKLHhUfdzbvQ/s320/DSC02133.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The rest of the day was spent with my dad and grandma and a couple of aunts. We had our standard Taco Sunday dinner. I shared my adventures of the afternoon. We laughed over shared memories and tales from our individual lives. And, of course, my grandmother told her stories - all of which we have heard before, but none of which she shared repeatedly in the same evening. (And if you know her, you know that is a BIG deal.)<br />
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Another late night led to another groggy morning. Only Monday morning meant a long drive home. So, lots of prayers were offered that I would get home safely and lots of Mountain Dew was consumed to see that become a reality. Along the way I made a few stops, essentially turning a 10 hour drive into a 14 hour adventure.<br />
<br />
My grandmother is the oldest of five children. Two of her brothers passed away years ago. Her two remaining siblings, and one sister-in-law, all live on the I-15 route home. So, I stopped at Uncle Don's house in Las Vegas. But, he wasn't home. That always makes me sad because I enjoy seeing him so much. Next I stopped at my Aunt Karma's house in St George. But, she wasn't home either. I would have liked to have seen her but had just spent a little time with her the previous Saturday so I didn't wait around too long. My final stop was at the house of my grandmother's only sister, Erma, in Cedar City.<br />
<br />
Erma has long been like another grandmother to me. She and her husband used to travel quite a bit with my grandparents. And, since we rarely lived near my grandparents, Winn and Erm were with them on many occasions when they would come to see us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOwE9PekH08Tw5TmEgk_wQKGzCI84-qh5bIyPFcdD5TwNFH1cMVp4am5rfRREfG5sw3Ens8l3RgqnPOQlrSi8u8gkyBK2ErH1FyC9_EsUhveaqtSg5OooHICFVz7-9PB41ziywB4ewIM/s1600/CMC04060592.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOwE9PekH08Tw5TmEgk_wQKGzCI84-qh5bIyPFcdD5TwNFH1cMVp4am5rfRREfG5sw3Ens8l3RgqnPOQlrSi8u8gkyBK2ErH1FyC9_EsUhveaqtSg5OooHICFVz7-9PB41ziywB4ewIM/s320/CMC04060592.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winn and Erma with my grandparents on a trip to Oregon</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
On Saturday we received word that Erma would not live through Monday. My grandmother is unable to travel and Erma was not able to talk on the phone for more than a minute or two. So, I went as my grandma's proxy (and my father's and my aunt's) to give this beloved woman our love. Even though it was almost 9:00 at night, her home was filled with her children, many of her grandchildren, and several of her great-grandchildren. I love these cousins of mine and was so happy with the peace that filled that home as they gathered around Erma in her final days of life.<br />
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I was able to sit with her for ten or fifteen minutes, holding her hand and feeding her ice chips. I shared our love. I told her a few of my grandma's stories about the two of them growing up and she laughed, however weakly. With labored breathing she shared her excitement to see her husband and her parents again. I told her how close I have always felt to them even though her mother died long before I was born. I reminded her that I live in the town her mom was born in and how her grandparents are buried in the cemetery near my house.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTn9YLUBNQ6KrK1wpWawlMSNVOjy5VctnG6TBvgYAEzu1JVCbSrJufOG7chnth9HLjEnCE4xWOzroVNIhE5UiGVakbcjIuhpDjIfnZ20McS7q5ZjWLN4pisw-UPumMr6jO-6DFrkIymg/s1600/1928_Victor_Mary_Mulliner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTn9YLUBNQ6KrK1wpWawlMSNVOjy5VctnG6TBvgYAEzu1JVCbSrJufOG7chnth9HLjEnCE4xWOzroVNIhE5UiGVakbcjIuhpDjIfnZ20McS7q5ZjWLN4pisw-UPumMr6jO-6DFrkIymg/s1600/1928_Victor_Mary_Mulliner.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back row: Victor Mulliner and Mary Heaps Mulliner with Wally Heaps<br />
Front Row: Doris and Erma Mulliner</td></tr>
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When Erma drifted asleep, I kissed her forehead and told her how much I love her. She opened her eyes and returned the sentiment. I asked her to say hello to my grandpa for me when she gets to the other side. She said she would and I said goodbye and hummed a bar of "God Be With You 'Til We Meet Again."<br />
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I spent a little more time there at the house with these cousins. I reminded my dad's cousin, Tim, that he and his wife are the reason my parents met. Then we shared the story with the others assembled there. I met the family of a second cousin I barely know and was so impressed with his small children, up at this late hour, well-behaved and willing to share, with a room full of adults, their parts from the Primary program of the day before, including a verse of a song they sang. I inquired after those who weren't there and got caught up on all the goings on in the life of this large, busy, faith-filled family.<br />
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I left and drove the remaining three hours home, exhausted but filled with peace and joy and love. I thought a lot about my grandmother's parents and grandparents on that drive up through the mountains to the place they were born and raised - a place I now live, though a few generations removed. I have come to know and love them through the genealogy research I have done into their lives, through the stories my grandmother has shared with me my whole life, through pictures and memories and the faces of those I call family.<br />
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As I spent time with much of their posterity over the past four days, I have wondered if they are near. Are they proud of us? Do they know how much we love them and how grateful we are to them for the legacy they created for us with their own lives? We are far from perfect, individually and collectively. But, we love each other and we support each other, we challenge each other and push each other, and, I hope, we build and lift and comfort and inspire.<br />
<br />
As I moved from announcements of new life to the beginning of a new family to a farewell at death's door with loved ones this weekend, I was reminded of why I am so in love with my family - all of them, whether I know them well or not. It is where my life starts and ends. And, I am convinced, it is partly because of my involvement in family history research. My heart has been turned to my family not just of the past, but here and now as well.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEy9Jo4eb-0QYKAhB1_b71ccJiFFMv6BuweeZaqSShJbRh5Wz52jvwdVdb3FQUrEMMBljy-dIVmlXlykFujo_j8uqqsjjtz6aHut-ZmN0fY9UNgjyu9DhCZczIWlGjmhZexdSFnfnmqG0/s1600/CC0162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEy9Jo4eb-0QYKAhB1_b71ccJiFFMv6BuweeZaqSShJbRh5Wz52jvwdVdb3FQUrEMMBljy-dIVmlXlykFujo_j8uqqsjjtz6aHut-ZmN0fY9UNgjyu9DhCZczIWlGjmhZexdSFnfnmqG0/s400/CC0162.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heaps Family Reunion Summer 2000</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-81453110059333905952010-11-08T17:56:00.000-07:002010-11-08T17:56:53.053-07:00Ada Mae O'Brien WoodruffQuite often people will ask me what got me interested in genealogy research. There is a standard answer that I rattle off. But, really, there are hundreds of little things that all added up over the years to spark my interest and continue to fan the flames of my passion for family history.<br />
<br />
<br />
My parents monthly visits to the Family History Library when I was a baby where I would rest in my carrier under the microfilm reader.<br />
<br />
…...My grandmother's endless stories of people and places.<br />
<br />
………...My Nana's parade of pictures each time we visited.<br />
<br />
…………………The class I took in college.<br />
<br />
………………………...The reunions I attend each summer.<br />
<br />
…………………………………...The cousins I love getting to know.<br />
<br />
…………………………………………...The list goes on and on.<br />
<br />
Today, however, I would like to pay tribute to another reason my passion was inevitable. My great-grandmother died a few days before my grandfather's 3rd birthday so I never met her (never met him either as he died when my mom was 17). But, my mom (who carries HER great-grandmother's middle name) chose to give me MY great-grandmother's middle name.<br />
<br />
And so, I have always had a unique fascination with Ada Mae O'Brien, this woman whose name I bear.<br />
<br />
She was born 116 years ago today in the Ozark Mountains of northwest Arkansas to Eliza Louisa Frances Jones. Eliza was married three times and we aren't certain which of her last two husbands is the father of Ada Mae. Ada Mae was raised and married as an O'Brien, the third husband, and her obituary lists him as her father. Certainly, he is the only father she ever knew.<br />
<br />
Ada Mae married a farmer, Walter Edward Woodruff, when she was 22 years old and had her first son 14 months later. Four more sons followed, one every two years until 1916. The second son died shortly after birth. My grandfather was born five years later in 1921 when Ada Mae was not quite 37 years old. Within three years she died, just weeks before her 40th birthday, leaving behind five sons ranging in age from 2-16.<br />
<br />
That's really all I know of her. I wish I knew more. And that curiosity to really come to KNOW my ancestors - not just their names and the dates of their birth and death but to come to understand about their lives and the circumstances they lived in - are what keep me fascinated with family history.<br />
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Happy Birthday, Ada Mae! Your blood runs through my veins and I bear your name proudly. I hope you are pleased with what I am doing with it.Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-11161871641184331402010-06-18T13:00:00.000-06:002010-06-18T13:00:33.144-06:00Happy Birthday, Nana!Today my Nana would have been 90 years old. But, she only lived to be 83. I can't believe she's been gone for six years already.<br />
<br />
Jessie Kerr was born and raised in Arkansas as one of nine surviving children. She moved to California during the 1940s. And, when my grandfather returned from the war they set up house in Long Beach where my mom and her older sister were born and raised. My grandfather died when Nana was only 48 years old. She never remarried and she lived alone in a little house in the OC for most of the rest of her life.<br />
<br />
I remember visiting her a few times a year throughout my childhood. She didn't like a lot of noise and confusion. She was a meticulous housekeeper. She made the best lemonade you've ever tasted. And I loved to sit at her kitchen table as she brought out boxes of old family pictures and told stories of people I knew and loved and others I would never meet.<br />
<br />
My favorite memory of my Nana? There are actually two.<br />
<br />
When I was 18 years old I worked at <a href="http://disneyland.disney.go.com/" target="_blank">The Happiest Place on Earth</a>. As part of my employment I got a few free passes for the season. So one summer day my grandmother and "the aunts" (three of her sisters that she was close to) all came to spend the day with me at Disneyland. At the time, the oldest, Aunt Grayce, was 77. Aunt Bert was 75. Aunt Betty was 72. And my Nana was 70. We rented one wheelchair and they took turns fighting over who got to PUSH it. You've never seen anything so funny as four old ladies pushing an empty wheelchair and nagging at each other to "just sit in it would you?" We had a delightful day!<br />
<br />
I really wish I had a picture of that summer afternoon. But, in absence of that, here is a picture of my Nana and The Aunts with their parents on the occasion of their father's 75th birthday in 1960.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmv9qjo5OEyy_HiuTcLyH_qCeiRLIDepfSpEjKitzbSQkyMO4aYYtDvlL4QGgf1gm1YFBgkH8-k-0mT4dHUol-V4zsU6XidcyrQ5MgLNbJfAN1M9mUzeAAx7mNFrjDCcUeQURYy23JrzU/s1600/KerrGirlsParents1960.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmv9qjo5OEyy_HiuTcLyH_qCeiRLIDepfSpEjKitzbSQkyMO4aYYtDvlL4QGgf1gm1YFBgkH8-k-0mT4dHUol-V4zsU6XidcyrQ5MgLNbJfAN1M9mUzeAAx7mNFrjDCcUeQURYy23JrzU/s320/KerrGirlsParents1960.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Front Row L to R: Lenore Algerene Lawrence Kerr and Albert Jefferson Kerr;</span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Back Row L to R: Alberta Dona Kerr Stearns, Grayce Virginia Kerr Crafts, Jessie Lea Kerr Woodruff, and Betty Jean Kerr Beatty)</span></em></div><br />
My second favorite memory involved another trip to Disneyland. I was 22 years old, done with school and living in Utah. My best friend, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=lf#!/profile.php?id=714067276&ref=ts" target="_blank">Melanie Sidwell</a>, and our friend, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=lf#!/profile.php?id=1042416036&ref=ts" target="_blank">Jeff Driggs</a>, and I hopped in the car one night and drove 10 hours to spend the weekend in Southern California. While we were there we decided to take my Nana out to dinner. We met her at her house. She called my cousin, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=lf#!/gonzoslim?ref=ts" target="_blank">Greg</a>, and invited him to meet us at <a href="http://www.sizzler.com/" target="_blank">THE Sizzler</a> (as if it were the only one on the planet) and then announced that SHE would be taking US out to dinner. She drove.<br />
<br />
We pulled into the parking lot where my cousin was waiting. I made to jump out of the car to hug him and she hit the electric locks so fast my forehead almost hit the passenger side window. At which point my grandmother announced (to three adults mind you) that we would all be having the buffet dinner and she wanted to know - BEFORE we got into the restaurant - what we wanted to drink so that there was no confusion once we got inside. (Did I mention that she didn't like confusion?)<br />
<br />
I wasn't sure whether to laugh or be mortified. My two twenty-something friends in the backseat calmly, but with slightly dazed looks, gave their drink orders so I followed suit. She unlocked the car. I got out and hugged my cousin. She asked him the same question and we all filed into The Sizzler behind her. As she placed our orders, my cousin turned to me and winked and then proceeded to change his entire order. She got a little flustered then hit him with her pocketbook. We laughed all the way through dinner. And Nana forever became know to my friends as "The Sizzler Grandma."<br />
<br />
So - Happy 90th birthday, Nana! I never go to Disneyland (or to The Sizzler, for that matter) without thinking about you.Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-85140050668961212432010-03-08T18:53:00.000-07:002010-03-08T18:53:56.215-07:00There Is A Little Math Geek In All Of UsThere have been numerous postings and news articles following the <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wnet/facesofamerica/">Faces of America</a> program on PBS and most recently the <a href="http://www.nbc.com/who-do-you-think-you-are/">Who Do You Think You Are</a> series that premiered on NBC this past Friday night. So, I won't add to the all the noise other than to say that I applaud anything that brings genealogy into the mainstream.<br />
<br />
<br />
With that said, I do have to mention that a conversation going on over at Randy Seaver's <a href="http://www.geneamusings.com/2010/03/can-you-document-all-names-back-10.html">Genea-Musings</a> caught my attention today. So, I thought I'd participate in the exercise to see how I'm doing with my own genealogy research.<br />
<br />
<blockquote><em>(For those who aren't familiar with how genealogy works - you have two parents and each of them have two parents which means that each generation you go back the number of your ancestors doubles. If you work with the law of averages each generation is approximately 25 years. That means that 10 generations back is between 250 and 300 years ago. That gives you a grand total of 1,022 people responsible for your existence in just the last 300 years. What do you know about them?)</em></blockquote>Here's how I'm doing with my 10 generation chart:<br />
<br />
Generations 1-4: 15 out of 15 (100%)<br />
5th Generation: 16 out of 16 (100%)<br />
6th Generation: 30 out of 32 (93.8%)<br />
7th Generation: 44 out of 64 (68.8%) <br />
8th Generation: 68 out of 128 (53.1%) <br />
9th Generation: 80 out of 256 (31.3%) <br />
10th Generation: 75 out of 512 (14.7%)<br />
<br />
Total: 328 out of 1,023 (32.1%)<br />
<br />
I now have mathematical proof as to why I cringe every time someone says their genealogy is "all done" or that they've traced their family "back to the 1400s." I'm a <a href="http://legacyfamilyhistory.com/">professional genealogist</a> and I can only prove out 32% of the people in the past 300 years responsible for my existence. That means that 68% of my ancestry is completely unknown to me.<br />
<br />
So, even if you can carry one tiny stand of your ancestry back further than that - and I can on a couple of lines - there is always more to discover about who you are and who you come from!Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-51571943948652688502010-03-02T17:28:00.001-07:002010-03-02T17:43:33.235-07:00Favorite Photo Of A Female AncestorToday's Women's History Month blog prompt from <a href="http://www.theaccidentalgenealogist.com/2010/02/fearless-females-31-blogging-prompts-to.html" target="_blank">Lisa Alzo</a> is:<br />
<br />
<blockquote><em>Post a photo of one of your female ancestors. Who is in the photo? When was it taken? Why did you select this photo?</em></blockquote><br />
My great-grandmother, Lillian Elsa Noack, was 25 years old when she got married but then her husband immediately left to serve in World War One. For the next three years she continued living with her parents in Dallas, Texas. And though they were now married, with both of their husbands off to war, she and her younger sister, Selma, continued to travel around the United States visiting family and making new friends - a past time that led them to meet the men they married in the first place - and a trait I blame for my own wanderlust. Lillian and her husband were finally reunited after the war and welcomed their first child in the fall of 1920.<br />
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I recently inherited three very large scrapbooks my great-grandmother kept from 1915 to 1932. There are over 1700 pictures in the pages of these treasured books. So you can see how it would be hard to pick a favorite. There is one she took of her mother-in-law (my great-great-grandmother) with HER mother-in-law (my great-great-great-grandmother). I love that one. There's one of Lillian and her younger sister dressed up like men and playing dice in the dirt. Too funny! There are pictures of her with her parents and older sisters, her nieces and nephews and cousins. Pictures taken in California and Colorado, Texas and Ohio. There's even one of her standing on top of a train car with some friends.<br />
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But, as I was looking through the pictures again this morning two small, candid shots caught my eye - and my heart. One of Lillian's much older cousins named his daughter Lillian. In the late summer of 1919 the two Lillians met. And from what I can tell - they became friends.<br />
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I absolutely love being an aunt. Though I don't get to spend much time with them, I ADORE my nephews and my niece. So, while this little girl is - technically - a younger cousin and not a niece, something about these pictures captured my imagination.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWHwIvcsofi0hFfg6aatBTLStJAGpLsVDaoUrODD5PACDuZlPQ6BVi8ks3bH3-qXMkw9C14nqTHuLKtRyvMc3fsRqZjGR-_NtezR3vU3vxbZ9W2WrYp76iihNEjMRN3u_Rh6PAJaq-T0/s1600-h/TheLillians2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWHwIvcsofi0hFfg6aatBTLStJAGpLsVDaoUrODD5PACDuZlPQ6BVi8ks3bH3-qXMkw9C14nqTHuLKtRyvMc3fsRqZjGR-_NtezR3vU3vxbZ9W2WrYp76iihNEjMRN3u_Rh6PAJaq-T0/s320/TheLillians2.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeigPhyQpOuiNCQQneDLpUZSA4IhG5V17PJWnr8mgGjkvvni3JJttWIxVQFWHZWE0xJVfZmEq90qgoCyUaLyjSnWTgtxB_Fvm0xYufEXefOKuIZRYFrlcJl5EnSXKg9u8VaPhgGMiVWDQ/s1600-h/TheLillians.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeigPhyQpOuiNCQQneDLpUZSA4IhG5V17PJWnr8mgGjkvvni3JJttWIxVQFWHZWE0xJVfZmEq90qgoCyUaLyjSnWTgtxB_Fvm0xYufEXefOKuIZRYFrlcJl5EnSXKg9u8VaPhgGMiVWDQ/s320/TheLillians.JPG" /></a></div><br />
In a day and time when many women married young and had children quickly, I often wonder how my great-grandmother felt about being a little older when she got married. I wonder how she felt about her husband being off to war. Did she worry that he might never come back to her? Did she worry that if he did he might be harmed or damaged in such a way that she might never be a mother? She had siblings with children and was - if the pictures can be believed - constantly surrounded by family. Did she love being an aunt as much as I do?Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-22925549011701075512010-03-01T23:31:00.002-07:002010-03-01T23:36:40.384-07:00Women's History Month: Who Is Your Favorite Female Ancestor?Today is the first day of Women's History Month. I descend from some pretty amazing women - starting with my mother and my grandmothers and stretching back through the generations.<br />
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Lisa Alzo at <a href="http://www.theaccidentalgenealogist.com/2010/02/fearless-females-31-blogging-prompts-to.html" target="_blank">The Accidental Genealogist</a> has given us 31 blogging prompts to celebrate these women whose blood runs through our veins. I haven't read ahead through all of them yet but here is the one for today:<br />
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<blockquote><em>"Do you have a favorite female ancestor? One you are drawn to or want to learn more about?"</em></blockquote><br />
I don't know if I can pick a "favorite." But, there is one woman in my ancestry that continually captivates my attention. Carrie Inman was born in Ohio in 1861. Her father died when she was three years old and her mother died before she turned six. She was raised by her maternal grandparents in Medina County.<br />
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I have a few pictures of Carrie. She was a striking woman. She was also about six feet tall. When she was 22 years old she married a man who was two years younger and about six inches shorter. They had two sons, the younger of whom made the local newspaper for weighing over twelve pounds at his birth. Before that boy, my great-grandfather, was ten years old, Carrie's husband left her and headed out to California where he worked his way through a few more wives.<br />
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Carrie never remarried. And years later when her oldest son did the same thing to his wife and their four daughters, Carrie headed down to New Orleans (where her daughter-in-law was from) to help raise her granddaughters. She died there in 1945.<br />
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For years all we knew of Carrie was what was contained in her son's birth announcement, what scant information we found in her marriage certificate, and a few stories told by an aunt we aren't certain ever even met her. A few years ago I found the cemetery record that contained her death information. Shortly after that I came across a book written in 1890 about her mother's family history that provided me with the clues I needed to find the records that told her life story.<br />
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I think that's probably why I feel most drawn to her - because first she was a genealogical "brick wall." She was a challenge and a puzzle. I worked and worked - over years with my dad and on my own - to find more about her. And she was the first brick wall I ever broke through. And like most things that we have to work for, I feel more value because of the effort.<br />
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I recently came into possession of a few pictures of her that have really brought her to life for me. My favorite was taken in 1932, when she was 71 years old. She is sitting on the front porch of her New Orleans home, surrounded by her daughter-in-law, three of her granddaughters and a great-granddaughter. Best of all, she wrote on the back and now I have her handwriting as well as a glimpse into her personality.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjux2J6eeaAKNnoIecP1qijVsaiggD6vYjyLH1cjuYib8_4Cm_1cC2LILXiQ4NBJ8FytsOG_4ckgacynm7WQCLfWe0xuiC3db-bX4xQFP70nVjBx9jTn8A-YzTEvhVSbhA5SEQycwBLMl8/s1600-h/CMC04061150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjux2J6eeaAKNnoIecP1qijVsaiggD6vYjyLH1cjuYib8_4Cm_1cC2LILXiQ4NBJ8FytsOG_4ckgacynm7WQCLfWe0xuiC3db-bX4xQFP70nVjBx9jTn8A-YzTEvhVSbhA5SEQycwBLMl8/s320/CMC04061150.jpg" /></a></div><blockquote><em>"The whole family, Aug 1932. Something was on the door and landed on my nose. Looks as tho I had a bird."</em></blockquote>I think she is a woman I would have loved to have known better. I can't wait to meet her someday!Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-89734963371848718972010-02-15T13:45:00.000-07:002010-02-15T13:45:56.784-07:00Did You Know That Less Than 10% of People Can Make This Claim?I'm left-handed. One of my brothers is left-handed, as is one of his sons. Another of my brothers and another of my nephews are both ambidextrous.<br />
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So what, you ask? Well, it is estimated that only 7-10% of the general population are left-handed. But, there is a Scottish legend about people who descend from the Kerr family being more prone to left-handedness. (Joan Kerr Miller explains it well here: <a href="http://www.luxegen.ca/genealogy/are-you-a-left-handed-kerr-or-carr/">http://www.luxegen.ca/genealogy/are-you-a-left-handed-kerr-or-carr/</a>)<br />
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My grandmother was born a Kerr. And, according to my count 33% of her direct descendants are left-handed or ambidextrous. That's over three times the average. There might be something to that legend after all.<br />
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Now, I just have to get my Kerrs out of Kentucky and back to Scotland!Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-86563176268754298422010-02-03T23:09:00.000-07:002010-02-03T23:09:34.941-07:00Is Your Family Tree The Truth?I spent a couple of hours last week with a woman who wanted to learn more about her family history. She had found a family tree online that claimed that her ggg-grandfather came from a particular place in Scotland and she wanted to know if that was true. I imagine, that like many of you, she was having visions of visiting the "homeland," taking her children to see the place where their ancestors came from.<br />
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I think I interrupted her dreaming when I asked her how she even knew he was her ggg-grandfather.<br />
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HER: "What? What do you mean?"<br />
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ME: "How do you know that this guy is your great-great-great-grandfather?<br />
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HER: "Well, I found this family tree that someone put online..."<br />
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Do you see the problem?<br />
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As a professional genealogist, I have spent more time in the past year (time my clients have paid well for) VERIFYING family trees than I did in the first eight years I was in business combined. They come to me with these trees they've put together or inherited wanting me to extend their family story back another generation or two. But, when I ask for documentation I get blank stares. So I look to verify a few things and in doing so I'm finding that more and more often some or all of what they've handed me is false. Luckily, I'm getting really good at spotting inaccuracies - and quickly.<br />
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Why are people spending time and money to build family trees that are really just a giant lie? If you care enough about your family history to look into it, wouldn't you care that it was accurate?Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-82443788752300533332010-01-26T16:53:00.001-07:002010-01-26T16:54:32.197-07:00Who Do You Think You Are? Seven Episodes Set to Air on NBC in MarchNBC has finally announced that it will air Who Do You Think You Are? The first episode will be Friday, March 5th. If it is received in the U.S. with only a fraction of the response it was met with in the U.K., Canada and Australia, we are likely to see a HUGE resurgence in interest in family history in this country. That's great news for <a href="http://blogs.ancestry.com/worldarchivesproject/">Ancestry.com</a> (major sponsor of the show and my employer). It's also great news for those of us who do <a href="http://legacyfamilyhistory.com/">professional genealogy research</a>.<br />
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You see, many people have the time, resources and interest to engage in this hobby themselves. But, many people just want a "finished" product - a family tree to hang on their wall, a printed family history to give as a gift to parents and siblings, or knowledge about where exactly in Europe their immigrant ancestors lived. That's where a professional genealogist comes in. I've spent months getting my life and my business ready for this. Bring it on!<br />
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<object data="http://widgets.nbc.com/o/4727a250e66f9723/4b5f7efff84bdcf4/4741e3c5156499a7/a7d1a121/-cpid/c98df28b7227efce" height="283" id="W4727a250e66f97234b5f7efff84bdcf4" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="384"><param name="movie" value="http://widgets.nbc.com/o/4727a250e66f9723/4b5f7efff84bdcf4/4741e3c5156499a7/a7d1a121/-cpid/c98df28b7227efce" /><param name="wmode" value="transparent" /><param name="allowNetworking" value="all" /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /></object>Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-69675420771555403732010-01-25T17:20:00.000-07:002010-01-25T17:20:05.954-07:00The 2010 Census Has Arrived - SortaToday is the official start of the 2010 United States Federal Census enumeration. The very first town to be enumerated is in Alaska. Turns out they have to get up there and get everyone enumerated while they are all holed up for the winter because at the first sign of spring entire villages clear out for their commercial fishing season. You can read more about it at <a href="http://blogs.census.gov/" target="_blank">http://blogs.census.gov/</a>.<br />
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For a genealogist the census is a pretty big deal. It is a foundational record (different from a vital record) for a large amount of U.S. family history research into the last 200 years. Unfortunately (though I guess I understand it), we have a 72 year privacy law. So, the most recently available census is 1930. The 1940 census will come available in 2012.<br />
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In the meantime, be sure to do your part to participate in the 2010 census - besides being a <a href="http://blogs.census.gov/2010census/census-myths/" target="_blank">law</a> that you provide complete and accurate information - imagine the delight of your descendants 72 years from now when they get to see your answers.Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-64342916175438655732009-12-16T16:43:00.001-07:002009-12-16T16:48:33.098-07:00We Are All One Single Growing ThingI came across this beautiful quote today. It reminded me of one of the reasons I spend so much time doing genealogy research (both my own and <a href="http://legacyfamilyhistory.com/" target="_blank">for clients</a>) and I just wanted to share it with you.<br />
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<blockquote><em>Human beings look separate because you see them walking about separately. But then we are so made that we can see only the present moment. If we could see the past, then of course it would look different. For there was a time when every man was part of his mother, and (earlier still) part of his father as well, and when they were part of his grandparents. If you could see humanity spread out in time, as God sees it, it would look like one single growing thing--rather like a very complicated tree. Every individual would appear connected with every other. ~C. S. Lewis</em><br />
</blockquote>I really believe that the more we come to know and understand our own family history, the more we are able to view each other through this lens of connectedness. And, I would like to think that might change the way we treat each other.<br />
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What do you think?Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-67743117646102443622009-12-03T02:58:00.000-07:002009-12-03T02:58:32.191-07:00Explain This To Me!I get about three emails a week that start that way. I have a client who pays me a monthly stipend to do just that – explain things to him – genealogical things that is.<br />
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David has a subscription to Ancestry.com. He loves doing his own genealogy work – being the family detective, if you will. But he has had ZERO formal training as a genealogist. And he realized very quickly when he got into this hobby that there is a whole lot more to genealogy than just looking up records. And he really doesn't want to take the time to learn how to do more than just search a few websites and talk to his elderly relatives. He's a busy professional with three small children after all.<br />
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He knows how to use internet search engines. He knows about his family. What he doesn’t understand are the nuances of the records used in tracing genealogy. So, he’ll find, say, a census record from 1900 listing his great-grandfather and family. Most family history hobbyists will stop right there. “Yay! I found my family in 1900 living in Hoboken, New Jersey. There’s great-grandpa Fred and great-grandma Sal and their three children, Hannah, Mortie, and Abe.” What so many of them don’t know is that there is a whole lot more information listed and implied on that one page that can and should lead to more records and more discoveries.<br />
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Record analysis is just one of the many tasks that genealogists must perform. So, every week I take the two or three or five emails David sends me with links to a census image or a World War One Draft Card or a Naturalization Index entry found on Ancestry.com and I’ll write a report that explains what these records tell us, what that information means in context of his family and the history of the time, and what additional records that information could lead him to next.<br />
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And off he goes on another searching adventure – playing amateur detective with his own family – thrilled when he makes a discovery even if he isn’t always quite sure what that discovery means. And once a year he and I bind up the records he discovered and the explanations I provided and he gives copies to his dad and his sister and whatever other family members may be interested.<br />
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This particular niche of clients has been an interesting sideline to my business. It’s a little like being a coach instead of the player on the field. I love, LOVE, playing the game but if there are people willing to pay me to coach – I’m happy to do that as well.Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108998991318856459.post-53081646149080970682009-12-02T18:13:00.000-07:002009-12-02T18:13:56.553-07:00Who Do You Sound Like?The other day a friend told me that I write the way I speak. My first thought was, “Well, why would I want to write the way someone else speaks?” On further thought I realized that a lot of people have a writing voice and a speaking voice and never the twain shall meet. Then I did a little research and learned that there are authors who don’t write their own books and bloggers who don’t write their own blogs. So I guess it isn’t just that some have a different writing voice than their speaking voice but that they are using someone else’s voice entirely. How weird is that?<br />
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I imagine there’s a time and a place for formal writing, following the rules of grammar and punctuation, doing your best to put your best foot forward. And I also imagine there are some time saving benefits to having someone else write your blog for you. But, when you want people to know who you are – and isn’t that one of the purposes of a blog - what’s the point of trying to sound like someone you aren’t – or using the writing of someone who isn’t you.<br />
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So, I'm taking up a couple of new blogs – me blogs – a blog here on a domain with my name on it and another <a href="http://datinginreallife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">here</a> that will be a little more personal and a little less business. I’m not an expert at very many things. But I am an expert on being me. And I am an expert at <a href="http://legacyfamilyhistory.com/" target="_blank">family history research</a>. And I am learning how to be an expert business woman, and daughter, and sister, and aunt, and friend, and teacher. So, those are the things I’ll talk about here and there. And I promise that it will be my voice you hear. Because if you are going to hire me, or work with me, or become my friend – shouldn’t my voice be the one you get used to hearing?<br />
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<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(First published on my first blogging attempt 28 Feb 2007. Some minor changes have been made.)</span></em>Crista Cowanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01159819421858195063noreply@blogger.com2