Genealogy Fun Page

"Twas the night before Y2K,
And all through the nation
We awaited The Bug,
The Millennium sensation.

The chips were replaced
In computers with care,
In hopes that ol' Bugsy
Wouldn't stop there.

While some folks could think
They were snug in their beds
Others had visions
Of dread in their heads.

And Ma with her PC,
And I with my Mac
Had just logged on the Net
And kicked back with a snack.

When over the server,
There arose such a clatter
I called Mister Gates
To see what was the matter.

But he was away,
So I flew like a flash
Off to my bank
To withdraw all my cash.

When what with my wandering eyes
Should I see?
My good old Mac
Looked sick to me.

The hack of all hackers
Was looking so smug,
I knew that it must be
The Y2K Bug!

His image downloaded
In no time at all,
He whistled and shouted,
Let all systems fall!

Go Intel! Go Gateway!
Now HP! Big Blue!
Everything Compaq,
And Pentium too!

All processors big,
All processors small,
Crash away! Crash away!
Crash away all!

As I drew in my breath
And was turning around,
Out through the modem,
He came with a bound.

He was covered with fur,
And slung on his back
Was a sack full of virus's,
Set for attack.

His eyes-how they twinkled!
His dimples-how merry!
As midnight approached, though
Things soon became scary.

He was chubby and plump,
Perpetually grinning,
And I laughed when I saw him
Though my hard drive stopped spinning.

A wink of his eye,
And a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know
A new feeling of dread.

He spoke not a word,
But went straight to his work,
He changed all the clocks,
Then turned with a jerk.

With a twitch of his nose,
And a quick little wink,
All things electronic
Soon went on the blink.

He zoomed from my system,
To the next folks on line,
He caused such a disruption,
Could this be a sign?

Then I heard him exclaim,
With a loud, hearty cry,
Happy Y2K to all,
Kiss your PC's goodbye!

Author: Unknown

THE VAN GOGH FAMILY TREE
      author unknown......to me (Cindy?)

After much careful research it has been discovered that the artist Vincent Van Gogh had many relatives. Among them were:

His obnoxious brother........................Please Gogh

His dizzy aunt.....................................Verti Gogh

His brother at the Bay of Pigs ............No Gogh

His uncle the Israeli astronaut ............ Itza Gogh

His cousin who's a priest ................. ..Alter E. Gogh

The grandfather from Yugoslavia.........U Gogh

The brother who bleached his clothes white...Hue Gogh

The cousin from Illinois.......... .............Chica Gogh

His magician Uncle..............................Where Diddy Gogh

His Mexican cousin.............................Amee Gogh

The Mexican cousin's American half-brother...Green Gogh

The nephew who drove a stagecoach ...........Wellsfar Gogh

The ballroom dancing aunt.............................Tan Gogh

The bird-lover uncle......................................Flamin Gogh

His nephew the psychoanalyst.......................E Gogh

The fruit loving cousin...................................Man Gogh

An aunt who taught positive thinking.............Wayto Gogh

The little bouncy nephew..............................Po Gogh

A sister who loved disco..............................Go Gogh

And his niece who travels in a van................Winnie Bay Gogh

GRANDMA AND THE FAMILY TREE  

There's been a change in Grandma, we've noticed her of late,
She's always reading history or jotting down some date.
She's tracking back the family, we'll all have pedigrees.
Oh, Grandma's got a hobby, she's climbing Family Trees.

Poor Grandpa does the cooking and now, or so he states,
That worst of all, he has to wash the cups and dinner plates.
Grandma can't be bothered, she's busy as a bee
Compiling genealogy - for the Family Tree.

She has no time to baby-sit, the curtains are a fright,
No buttons left on Grandad's shirt, the flower bed's a sight.
She's given up her club work, the serials on TV,
The only thing she does nowadays is climb the Family Tree.

She goes down to the courthouse and studies ancient lore,
We know more about our forebears than we ever knew before.
The books are old and dusty, they make poor Grandma sneeze,
A minor irritation when you're climbing Family Trees.

The mail is all for Grandma, it comes from near and far,
Last week she got the proof she needs to join the DAR.
A worthwhile avocation, to that we all agree,
A monumental project, to climb the Family Tree.

Now some folks came from Scotland and some from Galway Bay,
Some were French as pastry, some German, all the way.
Some went on west to stake their claim, some stayed near by the sea,
Grandma hopes to find them all as she climbs the Family Tree.

She wanders through the graveyard in search of date or name,
The rich, the poor, the in-between, all sleeping there the same.
She pauses now and then to rest, fanned by a gentle breeze
That blows above the Fathers of all our Family Trees.

There were pioneers and patriots mixed in our kith and kin
Who blazed the paths of wilderness and fought through thick and thin.
But none more staunch than Grandma, whose eyes light up with glee
Each time she finds a missing branch for the Family Tree.

Their skills were wide and varied, from carpenter to cook
And one (Alas!) the record shows was hopelessly a crook.
Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge, some tutored for a fee,
Long lost in time, now all recorded on the Family Tree.

To some it's just a hobby, to Grandma it's much more,
She knows the joys and heartaches of those who went before.
They loved, they lost, they laughed, they wept, and now for you and me
They live again in spirit, around the Family Tree.

At last she's nearly finished and we are each exposed.
Life will be the same again, this we all supposed!
Grandma will cook and sew, serve cookies with our tea.
We'll all be fat, just as before that wretched Family Tree.

Sad to relate, the Preacher called and visited for a spell,
We talked about the Gospel, and other things as well,
The heathen folk, the poor and then - 'twas fate, it had to be,
Somehow the conversation turned to Grandma and the Family Tree.

We tried to change the subject, we talked of everything
But then in Grandma's voice we heard that old familiar ring.
She told him all about the past and soon was plain to see
The preacher, too, was nearly snared by Grandma and the Family Tree.

He never knew his Grandpa, his mother's name was ... Clark?
He and Grandma talked and talked, outside it grew quite dark.
We'd hoped our fears were groundless, but just like some disease,
Grandma's become an addict - she's hooked on Family Trees!

Our souls were filled with sorrow, our hearts sank with dismay,
Our ears could scarce believe the words we heard our Grandma say,
"It sure is a lucky thing that you have come to me,
I know exactly how it's done, I'll climb your Family Tree!"
Author Unknown

A GENEALOGIST'S CHRISTMAS EVE    

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
The dining room table with clutter was spread
with pedigree charts and with letters which said...

"Too bad about the data for which you wrote
Sank in a storm on an ill-fated boat."
Stacks of old copies of wills and the such
were proof that my work had become much too much.

Our children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
And I at my table was ready to drop
From work on my album with photos to crop.

Christmas was here, and of such was my lot
That presents and goodies and toys I'd forgot.
Had I not been so busy with grandparents' wills,
I'd not have forgotten to shop for such thrills.

While others had bought gifts that would bring Christmas cheer,
I'd spent my time researching those birthdates and years.
While I was thus musing about my sad plight,
A strange noise on the lawn gave me such a great fright.

Away to the window I flew in a flash,
Tore open the drapes and I yanked up the sash.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an overstuffed sleight and eight small reindeer.

Up to the housetop the reindeer they flew,
With a sleigh full of toys, and 'ole Santa Claus, too.
And then in a twinkle, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of thirty-two hoofs.

The TV antenna was no match for their horns,
And look at our roof with hoof-prints adorned.
As I drew in my head, and bumped it on the sash,
Down the cold chimney fell Santa--KER-RASH!

"Dear" Santa had some for the roof in a wreck,
And tracked soot on the carpet (I could wring his short neck!).
Spotting my face, good old Santa could see
I had no Christmas spirit you'd have to agree.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings (I felt like a jerk).
Here was Santa, who'd brought us such gladness and joy;
When I'd been too busy for even one toy.

He spied my research on the table all spread
"A genealogist!" He cried! (My face was all red!)
"Tonight I've met many like you," Santa grinned,
As he pulled from his sack a large book he had penned.

I gazed with amazement-the cover it read
"Genealogy Lines for Which You have Plead."
"I know what it's like as a genealogy bug,"
He said as he gave me a great Santa hug.

While the elves make the sleighful of toys I now carry,
I do some research in the North Pole Library."
"A special treat I am thus able to bring,
To genealogy folks who can't find a thing.

Now off you go to your bed for a rest,
I'll clean up the house from this genealogy mess."
As I climbed up the stairs full of gladness and glee,
I looked back at Santa who'd brought much to me.

While settling in bed, I heard Santa's clear whistle
To his team, which then rose like the down of a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
"Family History is Fun! Merry Christmas! Goodnight!"
(Author unknown)

The Genealogists Psalm

 By Wildamae Brestal

Genealogy is my pastime, I shall not stray.
It maketh me to lie down and examine
half-buried tombstones.
It leadeth me into still courthouses;
It restoreth my ancestral knowledge.
It leadeth me in paths of census records &
ship's passenger lists for my surname's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the shadows of
research libraries & microfilm readers,
I shall fear no discouragement.
For a strong urge is within me; the curiosity
& motivation they comforteth me.

It demandeth preparation of storage space
for the acquisition of countless documents.
It annointeth my head with burning mid-night
oil; my family group sheets runneth over.

Surely birth, marriage, & death dates shall
follow me all the days of my life;
And I shall dwell in the house of a family-
History seeker forever.


'genealogists are like squirrels - always chasing the elusive nut'

"Collect'em all, let God sort them out"

YOU KNOW YOU ARE AN ADDICT WHEN...

You brake for libraries.
You hyperventilate at the sight of an old cemetery.
You would rather browse in a cemetery than a shopping mall.
You would rather read census schedules than a good book.
You are more interested in what happened in 1697 than 1997.
Savage, Torry, and Pope are household names, but you cannot remember
what to call the dog.
You can pinpoint Harrietsham, Hawkhurst, Kent, but can't locate your
state capitol on the map.
You think every home should have a copier and a microfilm reader.
You know every register of deeds in the state by name, but they lock
the doors when they see you coming.
You store your clothes under the bed, because your closet is full of
books and papers.
All your correspondence begins "Dear Cousin".
You have traced every one of your ancestral lines back to Adam and
Eve, have it documented, and still don't want to quit.

                    

me hehehe

My sister said we looked alike!	Maybe we do!

If You can't get rid of the family skeleton,
you may as well make it dance.
-George Bernard Shaw

'show me how people remember their dead
and I'll show you how they take care of their Living'
-unknown

THE GENEALOGICAL BEATITUDES

Blessed are the great-grandfathers who saved embarkation and citizenship papers, For they tell when they came.

Blessed are great-grandmothers, who hoarded newspaper clippings and old letters, For these tell the story of their time.

Blessed are all grandfathers who filed every legal document,
For this provided the proof.

Blessed are the grandmothers who preserved family Bibles and diaries, For this is our heritage.

Blessed are the fathers who elected officials that answer letters of inquiry, For this is our heritage. For to some, they are the only link to the past.

Blessed are mothers who relate family tradition and legend to the family, For one of their children will surely remember.

Blessed are relatives who fill in family sheets with extra data,
For to them we owe the family history.

Blessed is any family whose members strive for the preservation of records, For theirs is a labour of love.
                   ----Author unknown

"Geneologists never die they just haunt cemeteries"

Subject: [NC-SC] NC Cemetery  

An item from The New York Times, Sunday, November 2, 1997, page 33,
"Metropolitan Diary"   By Ron Alexander:

"Dear Diary:
An older friend,recently returned from her home town in North Carolina, says they've
spruced up the churchyard cemetery since her last visit several years back. "Lots of new greenery," she said. "And families are together now." "Together?" I asked, puzzled. "Well, years ago they never much worried where they buried someone because everyone was a neighbor anyhow. They'd just dig a grave wherever it seemed to balance things.

But they've redone it so people are with their children and grandchildren, instead of scattered." "You mean they exhumed all those people and buried them?" "Oh no," she said. "They just shifted the headstones. Everyone agrees it looks ever so much nicer."

Contributed by Soni Holman Fink.

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Betty James Smith
1997