Adrift in my Own Personal Sargasso Sea

 

Today was one of those days when I just couldn't muster the resolve to hit the research trail where I had left off. Perhaps my mind was all awash with binding, slimy seaweed. I needed a break, a chance to shake loose of research frustration. Instead of pursuing those aggravating, elusive Polish ancestors of the Puchała persuasion, I set that goal aside for something a bit more mindless.

I worked on my DNA matches.

Yes, I know DNA can also be frustrating, and no, I wasn't fixated on finding cousins on the Puchała side of the family equation. I just decided to take my ProTools Shared Matches superpower out for a spin.

You can blame that little detour on an inspiration from a recent post by Dr. Rick Wilson of MyFamilyPattern.com. He urged: "Take a Genealogy Pause." I sure needed one.

The Wilson article drew from research on creativity. Since Dr. Wilson's academic focus is marketing, he did relate the blog post to his field, but I have spent nearly a lifetime pursuing just what it takes to make one "creative." And sometimes, its elusiveness is just what makes it seem so magical when we do find it.

It's times like that shower first thing in the morning, when our mind is still foggy from the previous night's dreams and we think we just let our brain wander on autopilot while we get ready for the day's events—when suddenly, this creative idea pops into our head. Taking our mind off the pressing details that drive us can become the time when our mind can thrive with creativity. Whether it's the drone of the white noise of a shower—or the ocean during a walk on the beach—somehow, when our mind disassociates itself from the rigors of work, it somehow simultaneously comes up with just the direction we need, the solution we were seeking.

My own genealogical "white noise" is cleaning up the neglected branches on my family tree. Often, it's also when I plug in new DNA cousins into their rightful place in the family constellation. It combines with a routine I've repeated so often, it now comes naturally. Other than checking verification from documentation, the process takes on a formulaic series of steps. Like knitting for some, I find it relaxing. Certainly much less taxing than pushing the limit on records availability for 1800s Poland—and then trying to decipher the foreign handwriting.

Though I've not much news to share for the effort, it's been a relaxing break, and I'll be ready to tackle those Puchałas after the weekend is over. In the meantime, a lot of new DNA matches have found their place in my family tree, a refreshing result, indeed.

Well, It's Been a While . . .

 

Some months just take us by surprise. Or, put it another way, some months just grab us and slap us around. Knock the breath out of us. Fun stuff like that. 

It's been like that around here, but I hope it hasn't happened to you. Covid apparently snuck up on me. While I've had the original set of vaccines, I have also come down with the virus two times in the past—but never anything like earlier this month. Everything seemed to be different—and knocked me flat out.

Then came those gotta-catch-up sequels: travel to a business conference to attend, work projects yet to complete. And incredible tiredness and that persistent cough.

This is starting to sound like one of those "the dog ate my homework" sob stories. For those who did reach out to check up on me, thank you for your concern! Hopefully now, we can pick up where we left off and get back on track with family history exploration. I'll play catch-up with September's research goal in the last few days of the month, and then we'll start fresh with a new—and hopefully germ-free—month ahead.

Fourteen Years Ago . . .

 

Fourteen years ago, this date—May 8—was a Mother's Day. I remember it well, for the day's designation didn't set well with me. My own mother had died a few years before that point, due to lingering injuries sustained in a car wreck occurring on her way to her favorite hiking spot.

While my mother was no longer with us, her legacy remained—the many family stories she had passed down in a long chain of succession to me from her relatives who had received them from ancestors before that. Those were the types of stories which would cause children's eyes to light up around campfires late at night. I still remembered them from my childhood, and I wanted a way to preserve them.

More than just the stories, though, I also wanted to seek out the missing parts of some of the other family stories—the ones where my questions didn't seem to get answered. I had questions from those childhood years, but now as an adult—and one who had learned effective search strategies, thanks to genealogy training—I was confident I could find those answers.

Over the years, thankfully, the tools available to seek out those family mysteries have made the search easier and easier. I've pushed far beyond the stories I remembered from my childhood. Now, much of what I write is an effort of breaking into new territory, exploring possibilities, testing hypotheses. But most importantly, making sure to keep writing it all down. Someone else might want to follow this trail.

Tomorrow is another day to get back to the task at hand, exploring the possible relatives of my mother-in-law's second great-grandmother, Lidia Miller. For today's break from the chase, I wanted to reminisce about that day fourteen years ago, when A Family Tapestry was "born."

The Cat Ate my Homework

 

Why is it that no woebegone child told any teacher that the homework wasn't turned in on time because the cat ate it? Yet, here I am sitting at my work table after having cleaned up the mess left by our geriatric cat who, against all house rules, spent the night camped up on the table—on top of my notes for an upcoming seminar, mind you—leaving her mark wherever she sat.

Sigh. It's not that I can blame her. She's having a rough time lately. Actually, we all are having a tough time in this house lately, both cat and human population. After having lost my senior editor Luke earlier this summer, the oldest cat in our household finally came face to face with her outsized tumor and tried to do something about it herself. It was not a beautiful sight.

This is the kitten who, as the offspring of a feral farm cat, somehow beguiled her way indoors at the request of our daughter, who wanted a pet.

"You already have pets," my husband reminded her. "They're all outside."

Guess who won that round.

We named her Button, as in "cute as a...." Now, well into her teens, she isn't quite so cute. Cat years can put a lot of wear on a body. And I'm afraid her number's almost up.

On that pile of papers on the table was my roadmap of the Twelve Most Wanted ancestors from the past three years and projections onward through the end of this year. Somehow, that form escaped the camp-out catastrophe unscathed. I looked over the page to make sure I hadn't missed any spots requiring copying and disposal—and that's when my eyes fell on one particular detail I had missed.

You guessed it: I got something wrong with my homework for this month. But unlike the homework eaten by the dog, the cat's vice was getting the homework turned in early. Yep, my month's work on Theresa Blaising and her family was supposed to be my research project for September, not August.

Thankfully, we still have one more month to focus on goals for my father-in-law's ancestors, so we'll just switch positions and pick up with the August goal in September. Taking a look on the bright side, perhaps the month's delay will mean more resources appearing online for us now. Though we're heading back to Ireland for the coming month's research—a tough go for anyone seeking records before the famine years—perhaps that brief break from Irish research will bring us the fresh eyes needed to spot significant leads. After all, if cats can have nine lives, maybe the homework they mess with can gain the same benefit.

Hot Time With the Ol' Family Tree

 

When the temperatures skyrocket, guess what genealogists do?

We're deep in the midst of a heat wave, with hundred-plus degree weather continuing into a second week. We did emerge into the heat—yes, well after sundown—to watch the fireworks for the Fourth of July, but other than that, it appears most everyone has hunkered down indoors for the long run. And other than the usual daily routine of chores, I find myself heading back to the family tree. Like an obsessive puzzle, it draws me in to fill in the blanks.

Perhaps that is the result of being heat dazed. A DNA match to my mother-in-law's convoluted line emailed me to check on connections, leading me to descendants of a collateral line which I had somehow neglected in past reviews. Rather than engaging in my usual energetic routines, it was far easier in this heat to succumb to sitting at my desk to fill in all the blanks—adding proper documentation, of course—until the entire family was represented in my mother-in-law's line.

I don't know if anyone has done a scientific study on the correlation between rising temperatures and increased hours of usage at genealogy websites, but I wouldn't be surprised to see a bump in hours logged in at Ancestry, or MyHeritage, or FamilySearch, or whatever the preferred mode of tree-building might be.  On the streets at noon around our town this week, I've noticed there is very little traffic, prompting me to think there has been a grand exodus to the hills or the coast this past week. For those who can't leave town, is genealogy in the air conditioned comfort of home the next likely draw?

It will be interesting to see how my biweekly count fares tomorrow. That will tell the tale for at least one heat-exhausted researcher—but I wouldn't be surprised if I had plenty of company engaging in that same pastime.

A Process Break

 

There are some moments when the mind cannot tolerate staying focused long enough to trace even the most obvious of family relationships. This is one of those times.

Yesterday afternoon, I had to say a difficult goodbye to my longstanding companion and self-proclaimed "senior editor" of A Family Tapestry, Luke. Though I knew the day would eventually come, it was still  more difficult than I anticipated it would be. 

If you have been following along here from nearly the beginning, you may have recalled meeting Luke at the wrap-up of the year when I began blogging. He had often been at my side, inspecting my commentary as it crossed the computer screen. In this past year when life became more difficult for him, he still remained in his special spot next to my work space. It's hard to take my seat to write and realize his place is empty.

After that final goodbye, I gave some thought to the pets of our ancestors, and wondering if we would understand our relatives better if we knew more about their pets (if they had any). I can still clearly remember my mother's stories about her childhood pet, a black Scotty named Jo-Jo, and all the trouble his stubborn tenacity could land him in. But even trying to divert attention to family stories right now just doesn't measure up to the need of the moment.

I know so many of us who pursue our family history are also fond of our pets. In online meetings, I sometimes see the swish of a telltale tail across the screen as someone's cat jumps up on the table--expectedly or not. They are in our lives, and in their small way make our lives more pleasant, more enjoyable--but they are gone in such a short while, no matter how much we might miss them.

If that is the case for us, I'm quite sure those who filled our past generations might have known such attachments, as well. And yet, those dearly held feelings often turn out, in the long run, to be as ephemeral as the trinkets of life accumulated in a junk drawer. Could that ever be something to share about an ancestor? To write down as part of that relative's story? How do you trace something as fleeting as feelings?

Sometimes, people ask the question, "But what should I write?" The answer always is, "Write what you know." Even if, today, that is all I know.

A Process Break to Reminisce

 

It may be the middle of the week in the beginning of a research month which is far, far from my stated end goal, but today I need to take a process break. Why? On this day, thirteen years ago, we were celebrating Mother's Day. How do I know? Because thirteen years ago, I flung the first of 4,687 blog posts out into the ether, with the idea of sharing the family stories I inherited. I wanted to serve as genealogical guinea pig, reporting on my escapades as they unfolded. And I thought it might be a good idea to launch such a series on a family-friendly day like Mother's Day. After all, it was my mother's ancestors who were careful to pass down so many of those stories I knew from childhood.

After the nearly two million page views—both human and, I suspect, AI-initiated—and 15,636 encouraging comments from fellow family history aficionados, I hope to continue stringing together enough words to resonate every day. But one never knows which posts will wend their way to someone who will find them helpful, or inspiring, or even amusing. Sometimes, even years afterwards, I do hear from people researching the same lines as I am—added bonus if they are actual cousins—but that is not the case for most of the top posts here over the years.

When I look at the posts which snagged the most eyeballs, they seem to fall into a very few basic categories. Some were retrospectives on recent genealogy events, but others involved reflections on the current status of local genealogical societies, or the pathos we unexpectedly uncover as we plod along our research pathways. Then, too, there were the rare moments when genealogical pursuits or skill sets collided with breaking news. On a lighter side, even my orphan photo rescuing projects seemed to resonate. 

It's always hard to determine which posts will connect with readers. Cousin bait has been a prime motivator, at least on this writer's end, but that doesn't mean the same will motivate readers, themselves. Above all, the process of blogging about family history demonstrates our innate desire to find commonalities through family connection, no matter how distant—not just that we are family, but that seeking family is more a team sport than an individual endeavor. 

Dog-Ate-My-Homework Time, Again

 

The past twenty four hours have brought me one of those dog-ate-my-homework days again. I truly, honestly had good intentions to work on that WATO project, using a techy tool to help me decide whether Dennis Tully as son of Denis Tully might be a viable hypothesis. But something else was apparently in the works for my day, instead.

We had just arrived in Southern California, a few days preceding a conference my family is attending on behalf of our business. Settling, late in the evening, into our room at one of two designated conference hotels in the area, we drifted off to sleep around midnight, only to be awakened four hours later by the blaring of a fire alarm. Announcements in the hallway indicated that, while there was no fire, everyone was to report to the outer courtyard of the main entrance—where we awaited word of permission to safely return to our rooms.

Adrenaline rush aside, we eventually were able to settle in and catch a bit of sleep before being awakened again with a phone call that the hotel—which had parked us, out of desperation the night before, in a handicapped-occupant room—would be moving us to more appropriate quarters. The only hitch: we had to check out of our room by 11:00 and wait until we could "check in" again that afternoon. They would, as a courtesy, hold our re-packed bags for us until such a time as we could access that new room assignment.

Thus, left without my computer, I hoofed it to a nearby Starbucks and entertained myself the old-fashioned way: I read a book. No online searching for documentation for mystery DNA matches for me.

The WATO process involves setting up an abbreviated pedigree chart, widened to include theoretical generations which might tie us to the mystery DNA matches which trace back to that other Dennis Tully. The trick is thinking through the process so there is a place on the chart for each of the DNA matches for each Dennis' tree plus the preceding generations needed to chart each of at least three hypotheses. One hypothesis, of course, would be that Dennis is son of Denis, but another one, toying with the idea that the younger Dennis could be nephew of the elder, would require me to expand to a theoretical set of grandparents as most recent common ancestors at the head of the tree.

In the meantime, once I finally was able to return to my room and repeat that process of unpacking the suitcases, I did manage to gather my thoughts and reach out to a few more Tully researchers of that other Dennis Tully line. In addition, I finally—though accidentally—stumbled across the secret passageway leading to setting up those new Ancestry circles for family collaboration. More on that, tomorrow.

In this era awash with proliferating Karen-itis, I'm sure this past twenty four hour period must have been a nightmare of a headache for hotel management at our facility. As a postscript to the unfortunate episode, I do have to say the hotel's management certainly bent over backwards to send us on our way with a bigger smile on our faces than we might otherwise have expected. Hopefully, with a good night's sleep behind me—and barring any further midnight surprises—I'll have enough clarity of mind to tackle the WATO project for tomorrow.

Fibber McGee's (Genealogy) Closet

 

You could almost hear the sound effects when I wrote about my missing file folder for the Lee family the other day. (I know at least one person then could relate to those disappearing family history files.) The stuff that adds up to a years-long pursuit of our genealogy could rival the avalanche falling from Fibber McGee's closet. I haven't told the half of it.

It was late one night, calling it quits after a long day of rearranging stacks of old file folders, when I had tiptoed past the precarious pile of unfinished work near the bookcase in my bedroom. I apparently didn't tiptoe quietly enough. Down tumbled the entire mess. What might have been partially organized earlier that evening was now certainly in no such state within the next few seconds.

Too tired to right my wrongs that late at night, I looked for a spare place to stash the mess and at least clear it off the floor. I didn't see any, a sure sign that my spring cleaning efforts were in full swing. Always handy at last-minute rescues, my husband pulled out an empty storage bin—you know, the kind made of clear plastic to remind you of how much work you still haven't finished—and we stacked the files inside. Instant clean-up solution, right?

Of course, now that I'm missing the second file folder for the Lee family, I'm certain that is its final resting place. Will I be rewarded with finally locating it as I make my way through the stacks of papers long since stored in that box? Perhaps not. But the exercise brings me to yet another opportunity to convert those old paper files to digitized records and reclaim some square footage in my office. Like Fibber McGee's continuous lament, that's a stash I need to get around to cleaning up.

One of these days.

While Hot on the Trail

 

It took me a few days to realize that, while hot on the trail of the unnamed daughters of William Ijams, I forgot one significant detail. 

Sure, I've found some indicators to answer my question about the unnamed daughters in William Ijams' 1816 will. For that, I am thankful. It always irks me when I can't complete a research task. And now, I have material to help push me along into another generation of his descendants—most especially that matriline for which I have no clue how to connect with some exact mtDNA matches.

But after twelve years of (mostly) daily posts to A Family Tapestry—with stories of ancestors, in-laws, and even "outlaws"—somehow I forgot that last Monday marked my blogiversary. See how desperate I was to find the answer to my research question?

From that first post on May 8, 2011, when I began sharing stories, we've covered a lot of family history. There have been 4,326 posts. Over a million page views. And 15,460 comments. There have been wonderful collaborations with some readers who have sent helpful information my way, or mentioned that they were working on the same family lines. It's all been a wonderful and worthwhile endeavor.

While things have changed, over the years, both for the world of genealogical research and for me personally, there is still much to be discovered on all the wonderful people who have gone before us—the people we call our ancestors. While still in hot pursuit of their stories, may they help teach us and give us a wider perspective on our own life and times, as well.  

 

It's Not the Same When You're not Home

 

Perhaps it's no surprise to learn that a family history researcher would feel more comfortable with the old rather than the new, the tried-and-true instead of the latest development. So, reading on, don't expect to see me say anything surprising or unexpected.

You see, I have this old computer. A very o-l-d computer. It is my laptop which is chock full of my work from literally a decade of research. It has served me quite well in its years of service, but as with anything else, it has become, well, old. Outdated. So out of sync, in fact, that the only option staring me in the face was to switch to a new computer.

Well, I did that last year. Maybe even two years ago now. And I'm only now warming up to the thing. New partnerships take time to mesh, ya know?

About being "not home." Now that we're tentatively "past Covid" (will there ever be such a day?), our family (and thus our family's business) has returned to our typical annual convention attendance. This particular trip did not involve my branch of the business, but I came along for the ride because, hey, I just needed to get out of town.

That presented one problem: I still needed to get work done. Fine: I'll work remote. No problem, right?

Except that I have this love affair with old stuff—and this phobia about embracing new stuff without a proper introduction. And guess what: even though I know how to put this new machine through its paces, "not home" also means navigating other messy stuff like playing nice with the hotel's wifi system, the operating system's own contrary mannerisms (I moved from a right-oriented PC to a left-friendly Apple), and who knows what other invisible interfaces tucked in between the two obstacles.

Guess what? That meant glitches like someone (hotel wifi? Apple OS?) suddenly deciding I shouldn't be able to access the pop-up window Newspapers.com uses to link a selected article with an ancestor's name in my tree.

Funny, that always worked just fine when I was not "not home."

But here's the thing: when it comes to replying to your comments to this blog, guess what I suddenly could not do? Yep. Provide a reply.

Get this: I love comments. It turns a lonely virtual pursuit into a bona fide conversation. And, in like manner, I want to talk back. Only now, I can't.

So, for those who were kind enough to leave a note for me during this traveling week, yes, I saw your shared stories and helpful hints—and appreciated them. Maybe before I get back home, I will stumble upon an undeserved stroke of genius and figure out how to outwit the hidden forces wrangling with this (otherwise serviceable) laptop and send you a reply. Maybe I'll discover how to put this new-to-me contraption through its paces more expertly. Maybe I'll outwit the gremlins hovering in the ether. Maybe...

Or not. I can always wait until the cows come home. After all, I have my old standby waiting patiently for my return to more familiar territory.

Where I've Been . . .

 

Incredibly, it's been a long six weeks since I last entered any research notes on that continual quest to mine the stories in our families' history. There have been some good reasons for that—health-wise, mostly—and some not-as-sterling reasons for lingering as long as I have. But for now, let's see what we can piece together. The goal is not so much to look back, but to move forward.

All told, posting one puny day's entry usually requires about three hours' effort, start to finish, but it's always been a worthwhile process. For one thing, blogging one's research journey provides a record of what has already been accomplished, and what still needs attention. Having a blogging plan helps organize the research path, too. But if nothing else, I always figured that, after a long day's work when most people collapse on the sofa to unwind to the sights and sounds of network television, my choice of wandering along the branches of my family tree was just as viable a way to relax.

While I didn't post any of my wanderings this past six weeks, that doesn't mean I wasn't looking. There's always time to poke around those half-finished branches. And I did find some tempting stories—like discovering a fourth cousin from a southern family connection ended up living on the other side of town from me, an entire continent's distance from where we both started life. There were some stories that broke my heart, and others which made me proud of my family's roots. Those are all stories which need to be told.

Since my goal in June was to untangle all the branches of my mother-in-law's Gordon roots—after all, 168 DNA matches can make for a gnarly Gordon tree—I have been busy behind the scenes with that attempt. To talk about it, though, might equate to the excitement of watching grass grow, so perhaps that can save for another year's posts.

Looking forward, July represents a shift in my Twelve Most Wanted quest for 2022: a move to examine the roots of the first of three ancestors from my father-in-law's Irish heritage. That is a task to be introduced tomorrow.

For now, my gratitude to those of you who reached out with comments and emails. Your prayers and well-wishes have been encouraging. If there is anything I have felt was missing from the medium of blogging, it is the wish that this could be turned into a true conversation. It's always nice to have a listener talk back, to join in the conversation—almost as if we are sharing a cup of coffee before going our separate ways to start our day. 

When it Rains . . .

 

There are times when the deluge of life events can conspire against us. For me, this weekend was one of such times. As is often said, when it rains, it pours. It wasn't just the blowout on the freeway the other night, nor even the feeling of having a lumpy, racing heart rate at the same time as a lumpy, bumpy instantly flat tire. Everything seemed to come together in just the most exquisitely difficult way.

And then, I slept it off. It's kinda tiring, you see (no pun intended). Which leaves little time for that customary three hours of research for my daily posts.

While flat on my back yesterday, mulling all this over, it occurred to me it might be time to take a break from that research schedule. A hiatus of sorts. While I'm not sure I'll just take off entirely and indefinitely, if there is a missing entry in that customary daily schedule, you'll know I'm just taking a break. Or I might just post a snippet on a resource which I've stumbled across in my much-slowed-down research progress. Or not. Just wanted to give the heads up that, right now—here, at least—it's been pouring.

One of Those Days

 

Do you ever have one of those days? You know, the kind in which everything you planned somehow doesn't go quite as planned? Well, that's me, today.

This weekend was going to be one of those times to set aside for some celebration and recollection. The college where my husband received his master's degree was hosting a twenty year anniversary celebration of the start of that particular program. They had invited all the alumni and their guests to an afternoon of remembrances on campus, with the sharing of prospective possibilities as they commemorated the changing of the guard from the founding faculty to a new leadership.

It was a beautiful day for a drive to the Bay area, and we certainly enjoyed the program and seeing old friends and appreciated faculty members. We topped off a pleasant day with dinner and were about to head home when my heart condition kicked in again. No problem; we have contingency plans for that—but when, on the last leg of the journey home, passing construction on our city's crosstown freeway, we hit work site rabble, everything got put on hold.

But wait! We have a solution for that. We called our roadside service company. And waited. And began to wonder whether we needed to switch companies. And were informed that the tow truck had already arrived and fixed our tire. And called back again.

Thank God for kids with trucks. Our daughter drove downtown to where we were stranded, waited until the tow company really did show up, and whisked me home to a quieter environment to wait out those pesky health problems.

All that to say, that was not a day to prepare today's post. Definitely not a day to continue chasing those elusive Gordon ancestors—not even for my mother-in-law. Though it's always a time to remember to touch base with everyone, say everything's really okay, and rest up for another day. Tomorrow is another day—hopefully, one with time for some family history research. Until then, if ever you can, steer clear of those hidden road hazards! 

Hold That Thought

 

The plan for March: dive energetically into the pursuit of my fourth great-grandfather, Charles McClellan, discovering all I can about his life's trajectory, and gleaning clues—where solid facts are camouflaged—from his encounters with his F.A.N. Club, first in Florida, then backwards in time to Georgia and then, maybe, the Carolinas.

The detour: stopping to receive a routine Covid booster shot on my way home from meetings on Monday. Silly me; I thought it would be no worse than the other two times I had done that. Besides, I needed to do that; I'm flying east to meet up with family in a few weeks. It would be foolhardy to take a trip like that without maximum protection.

Clue: think again. Perhaps it was because I actually came down with the disease in January that my immune system roared into action. Long story short: we'll have to put that exploration of Charles McClellan on hold until I can manage to sit up longer than it took to write those three paragraphs.

I'll be back soon. I promise. In the meantime, no matter what happens, I'm glad I can watch RootsTech online, whether seated, standing, or crashed out on the sofa. Being virtual has its virtues.

The Repercussions of Recuperation: If Hard's too Hard, Try Easy

 

Well, here I am, tentatively peeking out from under the Covid covers to survey the damages of a very rocky two weeks past. It's great to set out a research schedule that's full speed ahead for family history, but is probably wiser to build in a Plan B for the inevitable down time that comes with the ills of winter.

Incredibly, all was not lost while spending a "captivating" two weeks of recuperation. It wasn't the virus itself, per se, which knocked me flat, but the repercussions. However, while I was too exhausted to get up and do anything, I discovered my restless mind could only cope with the inactivity if I grabbed my lightest laptop computer and pieced together collateral lines and DNA matches while flat on my back.

Talk about desperation. To give you an idea of the magnitude of the malaise, I opened up my mother-in-law's tree of multiple generations of solid Catholic families and added the descendants of each collateral line. At my last count—skipping one of my customary biweekly rounds completely, thanks to Covid—the tree she is in held 25,124 individuals. Not any more. In mindless but rapid succession over the past two weeks, I managed to add 979 of her relatives—all duly documented via records at Ancestry.com, and many now connected to my husband's DNA matches—to bring that tree's count up to 26,103 people.

And was grateful for the diversion.

My own tree didn't fare too badly, either, though most of the collateral lines there come with far more struggles. Still, I managed—at least since the last count almost a month ago—to squeak out fifteen additional entries, to bring my tree up to 27,285 people.

The struggle in my own tree is mainly due to the research challenge I had selected for my January goal: to explore the wider realm of historical records and reports for the areas where my fourth great-grandfather Job Tison once lived. That research, by necessity, came to a screeching halt the minute the Covid fever hit, two and a half weeks ago. Though I had already gathered some links to online resources for upcoming posts, the requisite comprehension power to follow through with that just wasn't something to be tackled at quite the same level of effort as simply adding yet another dozen kids to a good Catholic family's tree might have been.

The best approach I've found, when scheduling requires such a shift, is to make note of how far I've progressed, what has already been accomplished, and the remaining steps to tackle the next time I revisit the research problem. Family history research is often a cyclical process, at least in my experience. Sometimes we are limited by the availability of accessible records, or the foundational knowledge from which to make that leap of discovery. I'll take the next week to wrap up material I did uncover—but have not yet written about—then construct a to-do list for the next time I visit this issue. Perhaps, by then, it will be safer to venture out and actually research this ancestor in person, following the same paths he once walked, himself.

In the meantime, before we transition from the last notes on Job Tison to exploring another ancestor's mysteries, I do want to express my thanks for the encouraging comments and emails sent and prayers offered on my behalf over the past two weeks. Genealogists—and genealogy bloggers and followers—are some of the most caring people I know. It is a privilege to count you as friends.

Didya Miss Me?

 

With thanks to those of you perceptive enough to find a way to perform a virtual welfare check, yes, I've been absent over the weekend. True, having the Internet service in our neighborhood go out for nearly a whole day contributed to the issue. But the mainstay of a miserable weekend has shown me that it is possible to not even have journeyed to Salt Lake City for my formerly-annual trek to SLIG (thinking of those who cast aspersions upon that wonderful organization for the co-incidental but inevitable January illness) to come down with something of an awful-disease variety: my entire family, despite all precautions including adhering to a sterling, up-to-date vaccination and masking protocol, has come down with the coronavirus.

I see I'm not the only one in the genealogy universe lately plagued with this unexpected outcome. From well-known lecturers to fellow genea-bloggers to even the "Plan B" speaker our local society had engaged for January's meeting—Plan A having been scuttled, also, due to the same virus—the disease is surging and impacting our community. My thoughts and prayers are with you; this is not an easy ride.

That said, it's been a rough go for me, as well. This is the first chance in which I've been able to sit up long enough to type a few words into a computer; don't expect any more for some time. It takes time to do research—let alone write coherently about the jumble of facts gleaned from pursuing promising rabbit trails. I'll be back when I can. In the meantime, please keep healthy with all the protocols at your disposal. For some, this is not a journey for the faint of heart.

Inch by Inch . . .

 

One of the reasons why I keep checking my research progress is specifically because of that saying: inch by inch, anything's a cinch. I like to see those inches add up. It makes me feel like I'm really accomplishing something—when in reality, all I'm doing is the slow and steady tortoise crawl toward my goal. You know, inch by inch...

Meanwhile, those family trees keep extending upward and outward—outward, because the dynamics of DNA testing require me to be facile with the other guy's family tree. It's those collateral lines which really add to that biweekly count, but they're so necessary to help determine just how I match those distant cousins.

For the past two weeks, I've added 390 individuals to my husband's family tree, mainly because of my research goal this month of finding my mother-in-law's Ambrose roots in late 1700s Pennsylvania. Right now, that tree stands at 21,704 names, most of them belonging to my mother-in-law's side of the family. Even when we begin the next quarter, switching to three months of research goals on my father-in-law's side of the family, this tree should continue to grow, though I suspect not quite so fast, owing to his more recent immigrant roots.

For my own tree, the progress has been less stellar in these past two weeks, mainly because that side of the family was not my current research goal. Still, stuff pops up, and I can't help but try to be even-handed in doing background work on both sides of the family. So adding 130 names to that tree was a pleasant surprise from the past two weeks—an "inch by inch" triumph, in my opinion. That tree is now hovering at 26,112 names.

There is something almost magical about committing to take time at regular intervals to do what amounts to small tasks, when each effort is considered individually. In the aggregate, though, those inch-by-inch tiny tasks can make a big difference. It's just that, due to the slow nature of the pace, we don't think we've made any progress—until we add in the step of tracking our work. It's encouraging to see that progress taking shape.

The tracking part really isn't difficult. Most of the programs I use already have that component built in. I set up a spreadsheet, delineated to indicate the date every two weeks, with cells for each of the main family trees I'm building on Ancestry.com. Ancestry provides the count for each tree in the "tree overview" summary section of their program. In addition, I track the total count of DNA matches each fortnight at each of the companies where my husband and I have tested, to calculate the increase in how many matches each of us have received over the past two weeks.

While I realize that engaging in genealogical research isn't really about the numbers, making the commitment to keep working at it over the long haul can sometimes bog down into a task with no end in sight. And really, does anyone really ever "finish" their family tree? Yet, by human nature, we find it more encouraging to continue work at a task when we can see that we are making progress. It certainly helps, when we can only squeeze in work "a little here, a little there," to see how much we've accomplished in the long run.

The Gift of Connection

 

As the pandemic slowly inches its way through a second year, medical heroics notwithstanding, I've been thinking a lot about the gift of connecting. 

Connection—something we haven't been able to do, fully, for a very long time—is a need woven into the human psyche. For those of us who've sat through any psychology classes, or business leadership sessions, or almost any interpersonal training, we know the drill: thanks to Abraham Maslow, we can all recite, together, the "Hierarchy of Needs" he championed.

Lest you have forgotten, let me remind you that right in the middle of those five ranges of human motivation is the category of "belongingness"—the yearning to connect with others. Our ability to connect becomes our gift to enable each other to draw closer toward personal fulfillment.

It is not by sheer coincidence that I've been thinking much about connectedness. Yesterday, I spent an entire day watching—from a three thousand mile distance—what, if not for the pandemic, would have been an energy-filled conference of the National Genealogical Society. It was admittedly still an event full of valuable information—but it was a day spent apart from all the people I would have loved to connect with, relate to, and share the energy with. Truth be told, the prospect of facing another online conference—even another upcoming one I've enjoyed the most and would never have missed in the past—withers upon the thought of enduring it virtually. The need to connect is superseding the need to be informed.

There are, of course, ways we can maintain our connection with our groups of friends, associates, or even nearby genealogical society members. Just the ability to connect via video conferencing methods has made the past fourteen months bearable. But we need to move beyond satisfaction with what has become the online meeting status quo. Peopling a meeting with silent, sitting figures, present only to absorb information, is not really the same as hosting an event which gives the gift of connection, of birthing a sense of belonging.

Belonging and participating become a two-way proposition. Belonging is connecting, meeting each other halfway, and thriving on our shared commonality. It is difficult to participate without a sense of belonging. Yet it is unlikely we truly feel as if we belong, if we don't have the opportunity to participate.

In my life-beyond-genealogy, I pay attention to the musings of those who study leadership. One pithy blog I follow, the creation of Peter Shepherd of Human Periscope, is called Noodle Scratchers—noodle, as in that round object perched above your shoulders, meant for thinking.

Recently, Peter asked, "How can I make this [meeting] about connection not content?" After I lead a genealogy society's Special Interest Group meeting, or deliver an hour's lecture on a research challenge, I find myself asking that same question. Why does lecturing via Zoom seem like delivering a drink from the fire hose? Perhaps the restrictive property of the vessel delivering the goods results in an unmanageable flow. The medium may not necessarily be the message, but it certainly can direct us on how to massage that message so our audience may better receive it.

Such considerations as those, however, still leave us in the one-way camp of content, not connection. And yet, that same medium—that online meeting forum—has the ability to accommodate multiple directions. Innovative applications can allow us to achieve that very connection we yearn to reach.

With Zoom fatigue becoming a real threat to the vitality of continued online options for organizations, I'd say now is the time to call for redirection toward connection. That very technology which once snatched us from organizational oblivion can certainly convert into the perfect launching pad for the next generation of meeting ideas to take flight. The generous gesture will be to develop that technology into a tool which doesn't merely permit us to individually deliver or receive content, but enables us to connect with one another.

Don't Blink

 

Don't look now, but I think a really great idea came and went in a micro-moment at Ancestry. And I hope it will come back.

I don't know about you, but when I set up my family tree on Ancestry.com, I wanted to develop a "style sheet" to standardize those pesky little details like formats or abbreviations. Those who have been at this genealogy pursuit for decades might relate to one such device used long before the advent of computers: the tradition of writing surnames in all capital letters. Another one would be using the international date format of listing day before month and year, such as 15 May 2021.

While computer search capabilities may have rendered the all-caps tradition less necessary, I still recommend adopting a style sheet perspective. Once I put my tree on Ancestry, I chose to follow their recommendation of shortening the month to the first three letters only, making readouts less cumbersome, for example. But I still decided to spell out words like Saint instead of "St." or Mount instead of "Mt." Regardless of what I decided to make my "style," I wanted to be consistent in its use.

One of those style details was making sure to list, for any geographic reference, not only the city or state, but include both the county and the country. Our family's tree has become quite international, and I wanted to reflect that detail consistently. However, it becomes tedious, when encountering a digitized document to add to my tree, to have to go in to the entry and type in all those missing elements—particularly the county.

One day earlier this month, I noticed that I no longer needed to click with my mouse, then move my hands to the keyboard to type in the missing county. In fact, I didn't even need to add the first comma; just by clicking on the line of data, a drop-down menu gave me options, including my preferred format. Just like that!

Skipping straight to clickable choices is a detail I had come to appreciate at Newspapers.com, where that same feature makes correcting details to my tree a streamlined process. Once I realized the same option was now operable at Ancestry, my speed picked up considerably, as I moved through my tasks adding relatives to my family tree. I didn't even have to touch the keyboard any more for those added documents. That same protocol even applied to dates I wanted to shortened to my preferred format—just click to choose the one I wanted.

There was, of course, one tiny catch: after clicking my chosen geographic format, the drop-down menu developed this inconvenient knack of dropping back down again. To move on to the next item, I learned to just click the mouse somewhere else on the page to get the drop-down line to simply go away. It was a minor annoyance, certainly not outweighed by the benefit gained by the new click-only improvement. I just figured someone coded something wrong, or forgot one step in the process of setting things up.

But then, poof! As unobtrusively as it had appeared, this little gem of an improvement went away. I blinked. I pinched myself. I checked to make sure I wasn't dreaming. But it was gone.

Did I really just imagine those moments when I was suddenly speeding through my family tree data?