R.I.P. Rockstars (apology )

(BTW) R.I.P= Really Impressive People!!

My apologies to anyone who was offended by my post about the four amazing bloggers from the Rockstars Tribe. My intention was to curate their blogs and to do it in a humorous, family history themed way. I posted it with the intention of helping my friends out, not of hurting them. 
Goes to show you the power of words and sarcasm! 
Thanks to Stacey, Tim, Tejash and Vitaly.


Here's the original post!
Enjoy!

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain

When you awaken in the mornings' hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there. I did not die.

~Mary Elizabeth Frye

This post is a tribute to a few of my tribe mates from the Rockstars tribe on Triberr. Every once in a while I feel it's important to say thank you to the guys and gals there who help me spread my blog out to their readers, thus increasing my reach. This is a tongue-in-cheek post dedicated to four of those mates who are getting a virtual resurrection from the dead. 'Tis true, all of us do live in the real world and do not have the time nor inclination to "tweet", "poke", and "like" enough to satisfy the internet's insatiable appetite to know and be known, or to love and be loved. But guys! You matter! Keep up the good work that you do in the world! I chose them because I don't see them away from their blogs and would like to get to know them better! (And I DID get to know them better because of this post!)

  
   1. Tim Celan aka @hannibal666

      Tumbler blog: http://hannibal666.tumblr.com/

There is NO way I could do justice to Tim's blog.You HAVE to check out Tim for yourself. He's a crazy man whose brain is leap years ahead of mine. He could destroy me with his wit and over-MY-head sense of humor. I'd love to see him in action. I've heard he was a classic.

Resurrect Tim today! 

• Ask to join his Facebook group!(here)
• Follow him on Twitter!(here)

  2. Stacey Herbert aka @mylifestylemax
      blog: http://www.mylifestylemax.com/

"I'm Stacey the thinker, schemer, detail driven dream chaser behind this blog. If you're in search of a life less-ordinary you're in the right place. I share on personal development, well-being, lifestyle design and more..."

People change and grow as I'm sure Stacey has. She travels extensively and is living in Bali last I heard. Track her down, check her out, tell her you love and miss her. She's a blast! Tell her to come update her profile so we know what she's up to.

Some of my favorite Stacey posts:

• http://www.mylifestylemax.com/2011/08/nicheamnesty-tv-blogging-without-borders-episode-1/
• http://www.mylifestylemax.com/2011/08/nicheamnesty-tv-blogging-without-borders-episode-2/
• http://www.mylifestylemax.com/2011/08/nicheamnesty-tv-blogging-without-borders-episode-3/
• http://www.mylifestylemax.com/2011/08/nicheamnesty-tv-blogging-without-borders-episode-4/ 

Resurrect Stacey today!

• Like Stacey's Facebook page (here)
• Follow Stacey on Twitter (here)

3. Vitaly Tennant aka @mytimematters

     blog: http://mytimemattersblog.com/

"A lost ounce of gold may be found, a moment of time never. Humor. Tech. Personal Growth. Entertainment. Travel. Entrepreneurship. Crazy Pics. Videos and more. "

His blog has SO much in it. You could spend all day there and never get bored!

From Vitaly's blog:

• 50 Top Funny, Bizarre and Creative Tombstones (Love this one!)
• Five Easy and Inexpensive Fitness Tips
• Costa Rica, Ed Mercer and Entrepreneurial Acknowledgement

Resurrect Vitaly today!

(Vitaly is very active...just joking with him!)

• Follow Vitaly on Twitter! (here)
• Like Vitaly's Facebook page! (here)

Video from Vitaly's YouTube Channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/vitalyvt/videos 

4. Tejash Unadkat aka @tunadkat

    Cofounder and CEO of Fatminds, 
    San Francisco Bay Area
    blog: http://www.tejash.info/

This guy is BUSY! Get to know him and the continuing education programs and courses he writes about. The blog is loaded!

From his Fatminds blog: blog.fatminds.com

• Learn Your Past Through Genealogy
• Real Criminals Behind the TV Shows

Resurrect Tejash today!
(Again, this was more to introduce you to him!)

• Like Fatminds on Facebook (here) 
• Follow Fatminds on Twitter (here)

Fatminds on YouTube (71 videos)

xoxoxoxoxo

So there you have it; Tim, Stacey, Vitaly, and Tejash. Hope there are no outstanding errors. If there are it's all our tribe leaders' fault. And if you are really nice, and point those errors out to me, AND if you have a blog, MAYBE you'd like to check out Triberr for yourself. Perhaps you need an invite? Leave a link to your blog address in the comment section and we'll see what's up! (Someday I'll figure out how to make the links work. No worries. Copying into the browser isn't too hard.)

Why, Yes! I Do Come From a Long Line of Dormans!

Guest post by Bill Dorman

Everybody loves Bill! He's a lot of fun and a frequent visitor here. I met Bill on Twitter and serve with him on two Triberr tribes. His blog, billdorman.me is a fun place to stop by for a good read on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Trust me, he's great entertainment. And so is the comment section!



Do you ever wonder who blazed the trail before you; the sum of all parts who determined in some way the person you have become?


I had never really given it much thought when I was younger, and even though my dad's family was relatively close knit and were great story tellers, I never knew much about the family beyond my grandfather.


Unfortunately, my grandfather passed away when I was 5 years old.


I do know 'Big Daddy' was a preacher man and he was going all over rural Florida in the 30's and 40's starting churches. I also know my father did not care for the vagabond lifestyle, moving almost every year.


It can be addicting.


My father passed away when I was 39; but about 3-4 years prior to that I became interested in the 'family' and began asking questions. I started bugging all of the relatives and really came up with some interesting stories. It was fun to watch the excitement as they recollected long forgotten memories. Every time I would 'discover' something new, I would pass it on.


This was a little bit before the internet so you almost had to be a private detective digging through census data in genealogical libraries and such. However, when you started connecting the dots, it just made me want to dig some more.


I see dead people.


My wife thought it was silly to be chasing dead people. I would counter that my efforts were bringing these people alive, and if it weren't for them I wouldn't even be here. I was curious to 'know' who they were.


You can glean valuable information from census data. You will see who the neighbors were, who married who, their occupation, etc. This helps you piece their life together.


As the discoveries were made I would always try to envision what their life was like at that time. I would wonder if they were having fun or if life was hard. I also wondered what mannerisms and characteristics they had that have carried down to me.


There will be hidden treasures.


One thing I quickly found out, there is no unclaimed Dorman estate money out there. The other thing I found out was there are a lot more Dorman's than I imagined.


Just like social, you can start chasing down a lot of different trails. Therefore, most of my efforts have been straight line, direct Dorman descendants that if any link in the chain were broken, I wouldn't be here writing this.


I know of towns, schools, roads, buildings, murders, war heroes, etc that I can trace. Some of the stories I could tell would be pretty colorful and that is what is most interesting.


They say US southerners take root; well I am probably a testament to this statement. I can trace my direct line to the early 1700's where Mitchel Dorman lived in North Carolina; every migration from there just kept going south.


Aren't you curious?


With sites like Ancestry.com, it has become very easy to discover your family history. Just like social, not every thing you read and/or discover should be taken as gospel, so it pays to verify all sources of information. It is very easy to get diverted if you don't.


I have found 3rd, 4th & 5th 'cousins', some of them local, who have also taken an interest in family history. This is another great way to cross check your information, finding 'relatives' who are also looking.


Where did I come from?


Well, we all probably came from the proverbial 'Eve' on the plains of Africa; but beyond that I definitely have European ancestry. Originally, I assumed England but since I haven't jumped the pond yet in my discoveries, I have reason to believe it could be Ireland or Germany as well.


If you have any curiosity at all, I would recommend at least taking a look. However, I will warn you, it can be very addicting........just like social.

Principal/owner @LanierUpshaw, Inc. FSU grad; Auburn dad; interested in people & relationships, who you want to be when you grow up. My themes will run from social media to life to community to corporate life and what it all means to me, of course.





Recent posts at Bill's place:

• Who Keeps Moving My Cheese?
• What's Up With Triberr These Days?
  
• I've Learned Too Much; My Head Hurts

Find Bill Dorman on:

Twitter: @bdorman264
Facebook Bill Dorman

Intimations of Immortality

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home:

Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

Shades of the prison-house begin to close

Upon the growing Boy.

But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,

He sees it in his joy;

The Youth, who daily farther from the east

Must travel, still in Nature's Priest,

And by the vision splendid

Is on his way attended;

At length the Man perceives it die away.

And fade into the light of common day.

~William Wordsworth ~

It's rare for me to find "cause of death" records in my research of my ancestors. But the mortal me is always subconsciously trying to beat the system and asks the question, "How did he die?" when looking at lives lived centuries ago and ones that I'm enjoying in the present as they approach that inevitable door that opens only once  and locks quietly behind.

So when I find a cause of death I'm intrigued. There are clues in those records that add a piece to the puzzle of who someone was, or at least to the quality of their life.

The record for registered deaths in the city of Somerville, Massachusetts in 1900 included the death of Charles Deforest Johnson. He was almost 51, and had been married for 27 years. Who attended the graveside services that November day in Everett, Massachusetts as the coffin was lowered into the freshly dug plot in the Woodlawn Cemetery?

Charles' parents had already died by then, but his three brothers were probably there supporting his widow. I found it amusing that the three remaining siblings of eight were the ones named after presidents William Henry Harrison, George Washington, and Benjamin Franklin. Imagine THAT obituary! 

He and his wife Henrietta both came from families of nine children. Yet they were childless. What were they thinking as Charles' death approached? 

I was touched and relieved as I briefly studied his cause of death, kidney disease. I was comforted. One more blessing added to my growing pile that has come through my family history research. You see, I know people who suffer from this disease. I understand the change in the quality of life. And I hate to see people suffer. 

I read the following quote yesterday and every time I woke up during the night it was there. I couldn't escape it. 

"Death from kidney failure is generally considered a gentle death. In fact, many physicians and nurses would choose to die of kidney disease rather than any other illness."

So here we are looking at Charles, Henrietta, and me. I know what his fate was. I have it in black and white. I ponder those last days with Charles. How quiet they must have been. I imagine the serenity as he slipped away in his sleep, no pleading for mercy to take him early.


I'm left in awe of the gift the two of them were given and I cry. What a blessing to be allowed to finish in peace and to focus on his immortality!


I have made many assumptions about people and how impending death could or would cause them to change. Some people use the wake up call to pay attention to life's blessings and to express outwardly their gratitude for having lived a life. Others stay quiet and never share the deep thoughts and changes going on inside. There are no visible manifestations that the looming event has registered. 


I am humbled to know that I can't change how a person lives a life. I can only take what I'm learning from what I'm observing and ask if I'm being truly grateful, with outward expressions, that I've received the wake-up call that that door is right in front of me and that I've taken every advantage of every opportunity to lift, inspire, and comfort one more soul with the time I've been given today.


Will I listen more intently, hug tighter and longer, and smile more often? Maybe for a few minutes I will. But inevitably I slip back into feeling immortal and save those moments for another day. 


Eventually those moments will run closer and closer together and as I practice living in the moment, time will feel more precious and I will feel richer for having chosen to give more of me away.


Reminds me of this quote:

"He that findeth his life shall lose it: 

and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it."  (Matthew 10:39)

I hope the same for you; that we will be more outwardly focused and seek to lift, comfort, and inspire in the midst of our grand adventure we call mortality.

The What Not Inn

Guest post by Ann Jane

 When Betsy asked me to write a guest post on her blog, she had me shaking in my snow boots.  Me?  Write?  On someone’s blog?  A formal type writer I am not.  

 However, what she asked me to write about was easy:  My Grandparents or someone earlier.

[Ann admitted to me that when the temperature hits 50* she's outdoors painting, so her blog, Willy Nilly, This and That might be all about her artwork! (hint, Ann!)]

  Lucky me!  I knew my Great grandparents on my Mom's side.  We spent many a Sunday afternoon piling in my Grandpa’s big old Buick and taking a mini road trip to the “What Not Inn.”

 The first I remember being there I was probably five years old because my brother was a baby and for some reason he cried all the way there.  Kind of unforgettable in a car with 6 people and a 30 mile ride.  It seems like a forever ride to a five year old anyway.  But what fun it was to finally get there.  

 I was named after Anna, my Great Grandma.  I always thought that was kind of cool and she and my Great Grampa John were quite the characters, running that Inn from the 1920's until the late 1950's.  The Inn was located just South of the Resort towns of Saugatuck, Douglas and Holland, on the main and, at that time only, road North along the Lakeshore of Lake Michigan between Chicago and points North.  Back then it was almost exclusively Chicago people who had Summer Homes on the Lake, the most famous being Al Capone.  Some interesting people passed through and came to eat at the Inn and spend the night in the cabins.

 Back then, I was the youngest mobile child at these family Sunday and Holiday get togethers.  The older kids could wander and play in the Orchard or on the bridge over the Koi Pond but being the Wee One as he called me, my Gramps seemed to be my playmate.  He was a combination magician, artist and someone who just knew how to be a kid himself.  The old man had a huge bushy white mustache and a shock of unruly white hair and he always wore some kind of straw hat or Beret to hold it down. 

 Oh boy could he tickle a little kid with that "stache"!

 Gramps thrilled all the kids with the Quarter appearing out of your ear trick and a Quarter was a lot of goodies at the corner store for kids in those days. The boys would tuck theirs in their pants pocket but for us girls still in our Sunday Best dresses, Gram would get a handmade lace edged handkerchief and make a knotted pouch and tie it around our wrist. She seemed to have a never ending supply of these handkerchiefs in her apron pockets for some reason.

 Gramps was never without a pencil tucked over his ear and a pad of paper stuffed in a pocket.  The man could sketch and draw anything you asked him to.  THAT was my greatest fascination: to see lines turn into an animal and the animal into a scene out of his head.  He must have done hundreds for me in the short 5 years that I was lucky to have time to spend with him.  

 I’m sorry to say I didn’t inherit his drawing talent -- but it sure hasn’t been for a lack of trying over the years!

 My Great Gramma Anna sold the restaurant part of the Inn after he died but she still ran the 8 little cabins behind the house.  Somehow it just wasn't the same going to visit after he passed, maybe because I was older and there were younger kids and I could play with the big kids.  There was a very big presence, at least for me, that was missing.

 The What Not Inn is still there today and has been remodeled and expanded over the years to a Bar and full service restaurant.  There is this Awesome wall as you come in the door with photographs from the day it was built to the present and local area photos, with my Great Gramps in almost every one of the old original ones -- along with a few infamous guests that spent their Summers on the Shore.

  I think I should go visit that place again.   This time, I think take my camera and see if I can recapture some memories.

Some fun posts of Jane's:

• "She" Had the Nerve!
• Cookie Sheets and Toilet Bowl Cleaner
• I've Got No "Sit" In My Pants

Find Ann Jane on:
 Facebook
 aka @equuisdancer on Twitter
 her blog: Willy Nilly, This and That 

Roses In December

"God gave us memories 

that we might have roses in December"

~ J.M. Barrie, Courage, 1922 ~

We met her on moving day, December 1, 2011. Her persistence won our hearts, and against my husband's wishes, she became a daily visitor. I relish the memories of watching her sleep on my son's bed as if she was a lifelong member of our family. "We can't afford to feed one more!" he would say. But he was commuting for work and was gone for the better part of the day. So she came when he left. Then her brother started dropping by. They looked so much alike.

One day we all noticed that she hadn't come that day and hadn't been around for two weeks. Maybe she'd been forbidden to come. Maybe something was wrong.

While I was researching James Crossman Johnson, Uphard and Elizabeth's third child I was startled out of my trance by a knock at the door. A young man stood bent over a huge dog who was straining to get through the crack I'm made between me and them as I slid open the door.

"Sorry! He used to live here!" he said as I closed the door a bit to protect two worried and very curious children who stood beside me.

I really wanted to get back to my research of James. He was born in October of 1845 in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Up until the interruption by my neighbor all I knew was that he was born in Cambridge and crossed the Mystic River twice, first to live in Malden where he was five, and then to live in Somerville where I found him at 15.


My neighbor friend asked if I'd seen his black cat. 


"Yes! She came over all the time up until a couple of weeks ago!"
"No, that's his sister. She was hit by a car and killed two weeks ago. Have you seen her brother?"
I pushed the sliding door closed between us, leaving us to grieve the loss of our friend, and slowly made my way back to my research with a heavy heart.


My first thoughts after the shock wore off were of gratitude. We'd had some really fun weeks with the little kitty who cried to come in to eat our food, to sleep and to play. It would have been so easy to shun her, and to shoo! her home. But it felt right to let her in. 

And we were blessed with memories.

No regrets.

We'd been given a gift with no promise of how long it would be there for us to enjoy. Turns out it was a very short time.

I finally knew where our friend had disappeared to. But where was James? I'd done grave, census, marriage and death searches to name a few. Ancestry.com said that he belonged to 8 family trees. I checked them all out and they all say that he died on December 23rd, 1862, in New Orleans, Louisiana, as a soldier in the Civil War. Not one of them had documentation. I added that date to his record with no proof as well because I knew I'd want to figure out whether it was true or not.

This much I know. He disappeared after the 1860 census. It was possible that he enlisted in the war at 17 because even young children served as drummer boys, etc. 

His parents were left with the memories of their brief 17 years with him as they saw Christmas come and go and welcome another New Year. It would be their first year without him. His October 7th birthday would come and go without him from now on. All of the holidays and special occasions would notice his absence. Those who mourned his passing would rely heavily on memories created with him to buoy them up through the drought they'd feel without him.

The human mind is a wonderful thing. We are blessed with the capacity to remember unless and until nature decides we've had enough and relieves some of the burden of sorrow and grief.

My lesson this week came from an unexpected source. An innocent little kitty who offered friendship, connection, and, yes, memories. 

I'm left with a question.

How many blessings like that have I literally and figuratively shut the door on?

And how many "roses" will I have collected to help me to enjoy the Decembers that will inevitably come?

You?

Remember... a family history blog: With His Spoken Word

Remember... a family history blog: With His Spoken Word: http://wp.me/pbg0R-A0

If you landed here you should be here,,, sorry. Betsy playing with stuff leads to problems sometimes!

With His Spoken Word

Guest post by Caroline Pointer ~ Genealogist and Family Historian

When she’s not being transported back in time and being made awesomely complete by ancestors’ stories, Caroline M. Pointer is the author of her personal family history blog, Family Stories, and the author of her professional blog, For Your Family Story, where one can find out what happens when genealogy meets technology. She has a new blog launching on 31 Jan 2012 called BloggingGenealogy.com where one can find out how to write effective blog posts.

With His Spoken Word


I was in awe.
No, that’s not right.
It was more like I felt completed.
Yes, awesomely completed.


I was awesomely completed when I put that CD in my laptop’s drive and heard his voice.


My husband’s Great-Uncle Donald, who is now 91, wrote and voice-recorded his memoirs and gave me copies of both a couple of years ago when we went up to Iowa for the annual Pointer Family Reunion. He also gave me copies of the Pointer family photos as well as copies of newspaper clippings his mother, Pearl, had saved all of her life, all of which he had digitized.


He sat me down that day and went over with me every single photo and told me any stories that he knew about each one. To see the faces of those I had researched for so long was amazing. I mean, I had all their facts, but Great-Uncle Donald had their faces and their stories.


But I think what moved me the most – in fact, awesomely completed me – was to hear his story on his memoirs CD. I closed my eyes and just listened to him tell me his story. And the more he spoke, the more his stories came alive. And to be perfectly honest, there were times I may have had a tear or two in my eyes.


As researchers, we search and find facts a lot of the time, and we may have a photo or two, or perhaps a newspaper article, but when we listen to someone’s story as they tell it, it seems to come alive and it’s like we’re there as it’s unfolding.


As Great-Uncle Donald spoke, I could smell the farm animals.
I laughed at their stubborn goat on top of the car.


I could hear the cows moo as Great-Uncle Donald herded them to a different pasture.


I could hear Great-Uncle Donald and his brother goofing off in that swimming hole by that pasture.


I wiped the sweat from my brow as Great-Uncle Donald and his brother Wayne picked corn.


Dust got in my eyes making my eyes water as I listened to Grandpa Williams and Uncle Sim argue as they walked down that long dusty road.


I was right there on that morning when Great-Uncle Donald learned his father, Harve, had been accidentally killed. I could feel his sorrow and grief.


I was there on the ship with him sometime before 6 Jun 1944 when he and his unit knew something big was going to happen that would change the world. They just didn’t know when or where. I could feel both their fear and courage.


I was there when his older brother Lester was buried at Arlington Cemetery after dying from a brain tumor during World War II. And I was there when he learned his brother Wayne’s plane had gone down somewhere over the Brazilian Jungle during that same war. I felt Great-Uncle Donald’s anguish and sorrow.


With his spoken word, Great-Uncle Donald had transported me back to his family story. And this is why it’s so important that we, as researchers, keep in mind that behind those documents, that behind those facts, and that between those census lines are where our ancestors lived and where their stories are lying in wait for us to find them.


And when we’re lucky enough to find and hear those stories, well, they make us awesomely complete.

 Caroline Pointer is a lot of fun! One of my new favorite games that she created is The 48-Hour Ephemera Challenge. (here). There are 116 members to date. Be the next one to join!


"A new ephemera piece is posted every Friday night and you have 48 hours to work with others in a forum atmosphere to figure out the story behind the piece using clues from the piece and online resources."



Caroline can be reached at CMPointer@gmail.com, but she can almost always be found on Twitter as @FamilyStories , Shades' E-Magazine In2Genealogy Column, and Houston Genealogy Examiner


Other posts to check out from Caroline's blog:

They Had Balls
Was It Really Worth It?
Smiling Big & Laughing Hard
NBC'S Who Do You Think You Are? Preview of Season 3

Dream's End

View from Vincent's sanitarium window, Arles

Starry Night, Vincent van Gogh, 1889

"Dreams are like stars...you may never touch them, 

but if you follow them they will lead you to your destiny."

I am one of five children. When I got married I didn't have extreme desires for children. I actually couldn't stand babysitting when I was growing up, and I didn't ever crave holding babies. They actually scared me!

So of course I ended up having nine children. What's more interesting is I can never adequately answer the question, "Why did you have so many?'

No one asks, "Why only one, two three or four?" But pass that magical number and you've traversed the Continental Divide between the normal and the not-so-normal.

Still, I have always relied heavily on my mother's experience with firsts such as projectile vomiting that scared the pants of me (not really) when my two-week-old daughter gave a smashing portrayal of the possessed girl in the movie 1973 movie, "The Exorcist" (never watched it...but heard all about it!), or full-blown temper tantrums that occur when you have a cart load of frozen food at the checkout of the super market. Her wisdom has pulled through every time!

Elizabeth Ann Wheeler had her first daughter, Elizabeth Ann when she was eighteen, two and an half years after her first child William was born in 1841. All together Elizabeth Johnson had nine children and was not as lucky as I have been. None of mine have died. But her daughter, her namesake had to have been taking it all in, processing, learning, and making decisions for her future based on her experiences while she was young.

My children have reported to me over the years that they aren't too sure about having children. Either that or they say, "When I have my OWN children they'll NEVER do That!" Yeah, I said that, too.

I love the, "When I have kids I'm going to:

• let them stay up as late as they want
• eat as much junk food as they want
• NEVER make them go to school
• NEVER give them chores
• let them wear any style of clothes 
• let them do whatever they want with their hair...."
• ETC.

What no child ever thinks about is the inability to have children or the sacrifices they will be required to make just bringing them into the world.

I guess if they knew they'd never dream.

I wonder if Elizabeth Ann the daughter dreamed of having a family? She may have been just like I was, married to be married. If children came they came. If not, so be it.

She got married when she was 25, the same age I was when I tied the knot. Her husband, Theadore Lyman Palmer was just a few years older than she was and was providing for them both as a teamster in 1870, a year after they were married.

The next time I see them is 10 years later. No children had been born, but one was obviously on the way.

I know because I found Elizabeth, age 36, on a US Federal Census Mortality Schedule.

Cause of death? "Peurperal Convulsions" , aka Eclampsia, brought on by carrying and / or birthing a child. From what I've read there are warning signs of impending danger: headaches, swelling of the feet and ankles, and cloudy urine. These days doctors are so careful and can drive any woman crazy with all of the tests every month and eventually every week as childbirth nears. It can really get annoying. Now I understand better and I'm humbled. But these mild symptoms may not have worried Elizabeth or Theadore. Elizabeth had her mom, who'd had nine children. Perhaps there was no concern just excitement as her delivery date neared?

The end of that particular dream, if there had been one, ended tragically in January in 1880. Theadore is listed as "Widower" later that year in the US 1880 census. He's forty and still living in the same place six months after his wife passed away. Life went on for him, but I can't tell how. For now he has also been relegated to the RTE (Roaming the Earth) pile because I don't know where he went after 1880.

I had one more unexpected thought as I finished my research on Elizabeth's death. The physicians are listed by name on the Mortality Schedules. My heart broke for them. I never forget that there are always secondary people who suffer in a tragedy. These are the ones who have either caused an accident, directly or indirectly, or have been affected but forgotten while the primary players are comforted and mourned with.

What of the physicians? 

There were about 33 deaths in Melrose, Massachusetts as of May 31st ( can't tell exact amount because of cross-outs) with 7 (the handwriting is atrocious!) different attending physicians. That's an average of at least 4 deaths per doctor in  six months. Sure, they could walk away and go home and keep living.

I just wonder the cost.

Lucky In Love? Ask His Wives

"You can't always control who walks into your life, but you can control which window you throw them out of."

~ anonymous and / or your spouse? ~

What a day I had yesterday! 

I went from sluggish and semi-depressed to Energizer Bunny all in a matter of minutes. Why? Because I found William Henry Harrison Johnson (1st son of Uphard and Elizabeth: here and here ). I'd all but given up. 

Do you want to know how many William H. Johnsons there are? I can't tell you because I don't care about any of them but mine. But for a while I had mine unmarried, serving in the Civil war, and dying in Pennsylvania.

Want to know how I found him? Through his mother's maiden name on familysearch.org. I often use that site to cross-reference my other searches or to look for missing documents that I can't find on Ancestry.com. But I never thought to look for Elizabeth Wheeler because she was married and a Johnson when she had William.

What I remembered?

Researchers and family history enthusiasts treat people as individuals, and if they know the maiden name they always put that in the record instead of the new married name.

But on to William's story. 

We already established that his mom was 16 when she had him, and that he was named after our 9th president who died a month after William was born. His 4-yr.-old brother died when he was 10, but he got a new Edward the following year, so I guess it all worked out.

I can't imagine what would be going through his head when at sixteen his parents seemingly go off the deep end and start naming their children George Washington and Benjamin Franklin. Wasn't he the firstborn? The one who was supposed to get the special name?

He got married to Ellen when he was 21, and that marriage lasted for 29 years and blessed them with six children. 

And then she disappeared. 

No big deal. Sometimes it takes me forever to find a death record. And when I don't find one they go in the "Roaming the Earth" pile and cause me to pay attention to every stranger that opens a door for me or gives me a random smile.

Then I started reviewing the available documents (for free I might add) on familysearch.org and I saw a pattern. Could be an innocent one or a disturbing one depending on who you are and if you are a single woman living near William and running in his circles. 

See, William remarried three times after Ellen disappeared. And none of the other wives / marriages (who knows?) lasted long. The first made it for five years, the second for three, and the last for two and she was only 34 when she got married! William was 57 and that was the youngest he ever went. The others were his age or one year younger.

Me? What did I think about that? I was in a mood and I'll give you my two scenarios. 

First, he was a pusher. And his wives just happened to be near an open window when he was feeling the urge. You see I understand that one. I'm trying to watch myself, but I do tend to push and punch arms when feeling a need to add an exclamation point to get my point across.

Second, he was a carrier of a deadly communicable disease that he contracted a year or two before Ellen died. Maybe Typhoid, or Small Pox? The years match.

Today my mood has shifted. I'm a bit more humble. I really like William. I don't know why his wives died. But I can see that he was a catch and he liked being married. He just kept doing it!

The surprise for me, the thing that woke me up, was that his mother helped me to find his story and his wives. Each of those women was blessed to have had him in their life even if it was only for a short time. I could tell. 

It was as if the records were whispering to me. 

They were teaching me that , yes, everyone is an individual. Our lives will be made up of individual choices that intersect others' lives. The names we are born with are significant. They are a starting place. 

But they are also enriched and changed by the relationships we choose to have. They add dimension to who we are. Don't they?

The last record I have of William is the 1900 census where he is finally listed as "Widowed" and "Father-in-Law" to the head of household with his youngest daughter and her family. I literally took a breath and sighed when I saw that. He was only 59 and he was done. Seven years later he passed away, finally to see his wives again. What a reunion!  

I found it interesting that the women in William's life made him who he became to me. He was lost, and then he was found.

(I just really hope he didn't throw them out a window.)

I'm Bored!

William Henry Harrison, Ninth U.S. President, 1841

"See  Mine Eyes?!"

"But you're a moooommmm!! You HAVE to tell me what to do!" 

That mantra was whining out of every mouth of every body writhing painfully on the floor and couch hoping that I would come up with something to put it out of its misery. 

Playdoh? Coloring? Can I read you a story? Watch a movie? Do some homework? Sleep? Eat? Take a bath? Play with shaving cream? Clean the house? Your room? 

NO! NO! NO! 

"Well, then you're on your own." You'd think I'd sentenced them to 10 years of hard labor.

About 16 years ago, when we had only four children I ordered trophies for each family member and had them engraved with a unique personal trait or attribute, one for everyone.

Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy! Know what I chose for mine?

"Cruise Director"!

Well, this week I quit the job. And they're all going through withdrawal. Betsy awesomeness withdrawal. It's NOT pretty!

But I have plenty to do. I want to write. Right? I love to write. Don't I? I'd even decided to continue on with Uphard and Elizabeth Johnson's children. The couple was featured in the last post, "Sweet Fifteen". I had nine new research projects and plenty of time and nowhere to go! What fun!

I got nothing. For days and days on end.

When I complained to a friend about my dilemma I was shocked to hear, "You're just not feeling them yet." Yeah. I was. And they were boring me. How do you write a story that you can't connect to? That doesn't excite you at any level?

I left for the bus stop for the second time today with no story yet. And that was draining me. Kindergartners won't be dropped off until the smiling face of a parent is seen. That had already happened once this year (poor Kenny!), so I hustled myself down the sidewalk, bracing myself against the bitter wind, thankful to have something to do. 

And I promptly got lost in daydreams of the Johnson family.

 Who names their child Benjamin Franklin? George Washington? Or William Henry Harrison? Uphard and Elizabeth Johnson. That's who. But why?

That was my question as I walked. 

Elizabeth nearly knocked me over with her "Duhh!" "Betsy!" she scolded, "You of all people should understand!" Elizbeth is very cute and full of energy. Too young to be cooped up inside with nine babies if you ask me!

The thoughts started flooding in. "Uphard is out with the horse and buggy. Again." "It's wintertime and I can't get anything done even though I have nowhere to go!" "I'm supposed to keep them all busy so they don't kill each other. But I've run out of ideas." And finally, "This is great! Getting outside was just what I needed!"

I did understand. Finally. 

Why the names? Why not? It was entertainment. Something to talk about. To be moved by. William Henry Harrison, America's ninth elected president and the Johnson's first baby's name, was sworn in and dead a month after Elizabeth's first child was born. Imagine. New baby named after a new president. Then the guy dies and the nation grieves every time you tell someone your baby's name. Not funny. I know.

This little family was beginning to amuse me. Benjamin Franklin showed up twice. First as Uphard's brother and then his son. Either they were very patriotic or they were forward thinkers. 

"Honey. Just think. On those long, cold winter days you can tell them ALL about good old Ben and George! You can warn them to wear a hat and coat in the middle of winter, or else...well they might end up like, you know, William! Dead and gone!" "Sweetie! Imagine! You'll never run out of things to talk about with them!" "The kite story! You can teach them about lightning and electricity!"

I stood shivering at the bus stop waiting and listening, trying to conceal my smile. I was cornered. Young, sweet Elizabeth. So direct.

"As if THAT was going to help!" "Names!" "Hmph!" "A horse! I want a horse. No buggy. Just room for me. A one-seater if you know what I mean!" I did.

She swished her skirt and we both looked down the sidewalk towards the school an half a mile away. That look. I've seen that look. "See mine eyes?" she winked. A little mischievous. But never serious. Freedom was at the blinking lights beyond the school.

For a moment we were both out of there. On a cruise. Laughing.