Genealogy Chat

NEXT GENERATION GENEALOGISTS A modern mother is explaining to her little girl about pictures in the family photo album. 'This is the geneticist with your surrogate mother and here's your sperm donor and your father's clone. This is me holding you when you were just a frozen embryo. The lady with the very troubled look on her face is your aunt, she's the family genealogist.' If this happened.....ouch

If? Surely When :-(

and this! Grandma Climbed The Family Tree There's been a change in Grandma, we've noticed as of late. She's always reading history, or jotting down some date. She's tracing back the family, we'll all have pedigrees, Grandma's got a hobby, she's Climbing Family Trees... Poor Grandpa does the cooking, and now, or so he states, he even has to wash the cups and dinner plates. Well, Grandma can't be bothered, she's busy as a bee, Compiling genealogy for the Family Tree. She has not time to baby-sit, the curtains are a fright. No buttons left on Grandpa¹s shirts, the flower bed's a sight. She's given up her club work, the serials on TV, The only thing she does nowdays is climb that Family Tree. 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 monumental project - to that we all agree, A worthwhile avocation - to climb the Family Tree. She wanders through the graveyard in search of dates and 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. Now some folks came from Scotland, some from Galway Bay, Some were French as pastry, some German all the way. Some went on West to stake their claims, some stayed there by the sea, Grandma hopes to find them all as she climbs the Family Tree. There were pioneers and patriots mixed with 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 records show was hopelessly a crook. Blacksmith, farmer, weaver, judge, some tutored for a fee, One lost in time, now all recorded on the Family Tree. To some it's just a hobby, to Grandma it's much more. She learns 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 suppose. Grandma will cook and sew, serve crullers with our tea. We'll have her back, 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 ­ Œtwas 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 Grandma¹s voice we heard that old familiar ring. She told him all about the past, and soon Œtwas plain to see, The Preacher, too, was neatly snared by Grandma and the Family Tree.

I LOVE the poem... Grandma Climed the Family Tree Oh how true it is!