Ever want to test your faith in the ability of others to read? Do as I do; check the accuracy of transcriptions in the world of genealogy. Just this evening, while delving into some free record (opened up to celebrate St. Valentine), I decided to verify my life. Guess what?
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I may be getting to “that age”. You know; when the obituaries pass from a list of strangers to a chronicle of your own life. When phrases like “we were in school together” actually become relevant, rather than something heard from others. Today, the announcement of someone that I did go to school with (although we never shared classes), came across in the local newspaper, and I had to pause.
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The afternoon is gone. I’ve been down a deep hole of nostalgia, with a stream of the Cowboys Fringants playing in the background. Lots of songs that I recognize, albeit “don’t ask me to translate”; too many words. Good stuff.
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I want a new tee, just for days like this. It will be white, of course, and will have printed (white-on-white) the following phrase: “Never fear, winter is here”. Today was a heavy weather day.
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In current genealogy circles, the DNA test is a hot topic. Either you want to trust a corporation to receive your little swab of spit, or you don’t. Nothing forces you. Stepping laterally, I learned from the press that the border authorities (to the south of us) are offering free spit swabbing, from a subset of those who want to enter the country. No mention about whether you get a family tree link. One small detail; declining the offer comes with other effects. I’ll leave you to study and see if it matches your own life plan.
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As someone that has spent too much time perusing the records left by those who have come before us, I have found a quote that summarizes the effort completely: “Fractured Latin is the worst”.
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Guess what? The national rail strike is ending. After some intense negotiations, the government simply shook the “back to work legislation” rattle, and normal life returned. Just like every other time. Funny how the government can see the pain felt by corporations like that. Also funny how the government only gets involved when money is involved. Social reform? What’s that?
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In just over twelve hours, our local polling station will unlock the door. Those who take the time to get in line will be given a single opportunity to effect the body politic of the nation, albeit in a very anonymous fashion. After what seems to have been “month and months”, but wasn’t quite that long, I have a question that remains unanswered. If the candidates truly believe that every vote counts, why did I escape from any contact with them? No door visit. No literature in my mailbox. It’s as if I have either been totally ignored, or prejudged (his father voted a certain way and so did his grandfather, so no chance of reeducation there). Should I be thankful or hurt? I’m going to ponder this and then try to vote without bias.
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Fifty years, already! What set the summer of ’69 apart from other years was the double whammy of “men on the moon” and “Woodstock”; I remember both. Attended neither, but we knew something special was taking place, because even in those (prehistoric) times we had media coverage. There’s not much talk of a revisit to the moon, but musically, the dreams are big.
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As I watch the others playing card, I realize how useful a hobby can be. Instead of counting sequences, for example, I can try and find the ancestors of people I haven’t even met. Gives me the opportunity to marvel at good civil/religious recording techniques; imagine finding the parents of a person dead for three centuries. Now repeat the measure for another thousand-plus names. I’ll never run out of things to research!
Read the rest of this entry »posted in genealogy | Comments Off on Counting names instead of cards | 279 words
