My Battle with Gremlins Where I Won!

Michael Earles Carlson US Airforce 1955-58

So, I’m carrying my laptop, microphone, and power cord, this photo (above), and some cookies,  walking up to the front door of my dad’s nursing home, and I’m wrestling with gremlins.

“This’ll never work”

“He won’t talk to you.”

“There won’t be a plug for your power cord, and even if there is he’ll freak out about the microphone.”

“He’ll get distracted and you won’t be able to refocus him.”

I really wanted to follow through with this new project-attaching a voice 0f  someone reminiscing while looking at a photo. A Talking Photo for my account with Legacy Stories. And I knew that if I succeeded with my dad, anyone after him would be a breeze.

I smiled at the receptionist, went up to the second floor, passed the common room where bingo was in full-swing, made my way around the nurses’ station, said hello to a lone woman in the hallway, slumped in her wheelchair, held my breath as some wonderful smells bombarded me, and announced myself to my dad and two empty beds in room #11, Nantucket Sound.

“Hey, Dad! It’s me, Betsy. I brought you some cookies.”

I jumped right in instead of explaining. I asked him if I could record his voice while I was already half-way through setting up my laptop, and he said I could. That was it. We were off and running in a few minutes. He wouldn’t stop talking! I learned to leave the recorder running because a few times he’d said he was done and then started a new story that I accidently recorded over as I scrambled to turn it back on. Editing can always be done later.

A lot of misinformation I’d believed for years was corrected, and I learned so much more than I ever knew about him. Most of it got recorded over, but now I know I can ask him to retell the stories and he will.

One that was lost was his year at the Adirondack School for troubled boys in upstate New York. “You were a trouble-maker, Dad?” “No, my adopted brother Peter was. He was already there. My mother sent me there when I was in the fourth grade.” When I asked why, he said matter-of-factly,” I dunno. I guess she had things to do. Maybe I was in the way.” My heart sank. He lived there for a year and never went home he said. We’ll revisit that experience soon. I want to know how it affected him. I know his mom wasn’t working. “She was loaded,” my dad told me.

When I saw my two boys out his window, back from the playground, I wrapped things up and promised to come back in the morning to cut his hair. I was curiouse if he would let me record him again, and he said that would be fine. We chatted about the Red Sox game that he’d turned off because it was too boring.

He then admitted that he’s bored every day.  That’s the first time he has said that.

And it was the first time I had to cut the visit short with so much more to talk about.

I walked out of his room and down the hallway, passing expressionless men and women in wheel chairs,  hoping to coax a smile out of them when their cautious eyes met mine. They were sitting at the ends of their roads with thoughts in their heads, most of them memories of happier times. And I wondered if they’d let me sit with them and record one of their stories for one of their loved ones?

I walked to my car happy and a lot lighter, a band of gremlins following forlornly behind. They’d failed in their mission to stop me from trying something new and connecting with someone I love in a meaningful way.

They’ll try again. I’m sure. They’re relentless.

I can’t adequately describe the transformation in our relationship as a result of this simple exercise. It’s more than showing a photo and recording memories. It’s about connecting.

Amazing that he has had all of these stories locked in a vault for the 50 years that I’ve known him, and I never heard one of them. Today I transferred them to a new vault that will not only preserve them but make them shareable with friends and family!

 To see and hear the Talking Photo click  here.  Keep in mind that this was my first try and I was thrilled that he was even talking! 

Family History Sunday Series 1:8 Military Records

“The nation which forgets its defenders will be itself forgotten.”
   – Calvin Coolidge

When I find out that someone that I’ve been searching for served in the military, I wake up. When I learn that they died while serving, my heart drops every time. Knowing that someone was probably far from home and friends and loved ones makes the loss harder. Imagining the news of the death as reported to next of kin brings me to that place where those who have grieved always arrive unprepared, sometimes kicking and screaming, and never leave of their own free will.

Searching military records is hard for me, but it’s also exciting and extremely rewarding.

You might not think so, but military records can be full of information that can fill gaps in some people’s history, making a more complete (not perfect or finished!) submission of a family tree to FamilySearch.org easier.

Remember to focus on your living relatives who served or are serving now, too. Recording their memories now will add depth of understanding to their life for future generations. Add their military photos, documents, and stories to your account at LegacyStories.org for family and friends to enjoy.

Links to some of my military related posts:

Tears in Heaven: He Could Have Been My Boy

Father and Son Stories

FYI: I’ve ordered records online (for my father), and I’ve found quite few on Ancestry.com. So as not to overwhelm you, I’ve only included National Archive links in this post.

From the National Archives Website:

1. The National Archives holds Federal military service records from the Revolutionary War to 1912 in the National Archives Building in Washington, D.C. See details of holdings.
2. Military records from WWI – present are held in the National Military Personnel Records Center (NPRC), in St. Louis, Missouri, See details of holdings
3. The National Archives does not hold state militia records. For these records, you will need to contact the appropriate State Archives.

Links from the National Archives 

Request Military Records

• Request records online with eVetRecs
• Other ways to obtain service records
• Learn about military service records (e.g. DD Form 214)
• Special notice regarding requests for copies of military records

Research Using Military Records

• What’s available online?
• Locate older (pre-WW I) military service records
• Using military records for genealogical research
• Other military and veterans records

Replace Lost Medals and Awards

Browse WWII Photos

Remember Who You Are

When I look at my little morning glory, wrapping itself around the one sturdy, and consistent thing that shares its space to allow for growth upwards, I think ,

 “Remember who you are.” 

Then I see the singular, solitary bloom that exists to make me smile.  In the three days since that blossom appeared I’ve regarded it about as many times.  And again I’m reminded,

 “Remember who you are.” 

Below the magnificent simplicity lie many tendril vines, searching for something greater than themselves. I think,

“Do you remember who you are?”

I tenderly and hopefully wrap them around the first and beg them to

“Remember who they are.”

Walking away from the moment I hear,

“You are the vine stretching towards strength. Offer yours.

 “You are the flower created to offer beauty. Smile for ME. 

“You are the wayward tendril that needs help sometimes and, 

“You are My hands. Use them wisely.

 “You have a work to do. Do it well.”

Singular, solitary, magnificent and simply beautiful, and ofttimes not regarded.”

                                                                                                                                 

Jack Loves #RushLimbaugh! Is Blind, and Has Stories to Tell!

Do you know how to draw someone’s stories out of them? Do you like to? I’m learning and am always surprised at how eager people are to be known. I’m also becoming more aware of how peoples’ stories teach me and wake me up to the beauty and blessings of my own life.

Two days ago I got a call from a woman who is visiting family on the Cape for a week . She’s here with her husband and sister. She wanted some help with her family history, having unsuccessfully searched for her would-be ancestors in the area.  We did a phone consultation so that I could figure out how I could help her and we agreed to meet last night at the Family History Center where I go every Tuesday and Thursday night.

“Betsy! We’re here!” I immediately fell in love with the three of them, Ginnie, Linda, and Jack, Linda’s husband.

Jack walked in carefully with a white cane, holding  one of Linda’s arms.  His eyes were clouded with a blue-grey film. He was blind. And I was uncomfortable.

We sat down at the computer where we could look at what I’d found for them. I taught them how to navigate the site so that they could continue where I’d left off, and then Linda and I switched chairs, putting me next to Jack.

Poor Jack! He was either going to love me or be very uncomfortable when I was done with him!

I just can’t help myself. I heard the words coming out of my mouth and wanted to kick my nosy twin who resides in my mind and often rules my tongue.

“How long have you been blind?” Did I say that? He’s more than his blindness! Couldn’t I have asked him something else? Something about his vacation? Why, oh why do I say such things without paying attention to that split second of a warning message that says, ” You might not want to know” ?

“Twenty-two years.”

And my overly inquisitive twin continued to dig deeper, ” How?”

Jack tapped his cane on the floor between his legs as he recounted his military service from Vietnam to the Gulf War. He thinks his blindness started after being exposed to chemicals which did their damage over a period of eight months after coming home. He was completely blind by Christmas that year.

I didn’t want to ask, but I had to. It was so obvious in his countenance and body language. “Are you bitter?”

Linda sat back in her chair. I didn’t know she’d been listening. “Yes! Very bitter!” And Jack nodded in agreement.

“Why are you bitter?” That question might seem callous or ignorant to some people, but for a moment, as I tried to immerse myself in his world I  wondered how I would feel being blind after being able to see? Was it hard to be grateful for what he did have?

Jack pondered the question and shrugged as if  there could be no other answer, “Because I can’t see anything.”

It was as if the air from an over-filled balloon had been released. The truth was out. Jack was ticked off. He felt what he felt and wasn’t apologetic for it.

Funny how the truth can set you free. Isn’t it? We had a great conversation after exposing and dealing with the elephant in the room. We talked about his service. He was in Special Forces and wanted to get copies of  his service records. We talked about my dad’s service records that I’d been looking at earlier in the day and how he could order his.

We laughed and enjoyed each other for about 45 minutes, talking about politics and Rush Limbaugh. and how Jack’s diabetes makes Braille difficult to read because he has barely any feeling in his finger tips. He admitted that he needs a new computer with software that would help him stay active in a seeing and feeling world. He has tried everything that I suggested. He really needs help getting to the next level. But he has given up. He’s tired. I get it. There are some things that people need to have done for them. This is one of those things. We’ll keep in touch and see what can be done ’cause Jack has stories to tell, and stories to read. He has an enormous spirit to share.

Jack is a real character. I could talk to him for hours. But my thoughtful twin reminded me that they were there to do some genealogy, so I excused myself and told them I’d be within earshot if they needed me. I hit Jack on the knee and said, “There! They are thoroughly addicted now! Good luck!” I almost felt bad enough to sit back down with him because the two women were engrossed in their searching and Jack couldn’t see what they were seeing. He needed a play-by-play commentary. But that would have been distracting, so I left.

An hour later Ginnie called  for me. announcing they were done. I got teary.  I walked them out after hugs and goodbyes and promises to get together when they come back to visit later this year.

They were so grateful for the help. I have so much more to share with them. They agreed that sharing what they’re learning with family is important to them. But it’s baby steps for now.

I. hate. goodbyes!! I’ll miss Jack. He reminds me of my dad. I’ll miss Linda’s gratitude, and Ginnie’s “Wows!” as new records were found full of new people to research.

I watched them step through the door into the twilight. The sky was so beautiful and the grass was a vivid green. Jack couldn’t see it.  For a minute  I was filled with gratitude that I could see what I saw. And I understood Jack’s bitterness.

I’ve heard it said that when we enjoy our lives we are a gift to those who can’t experience  it as we do.

Today I’ll turn on my radio and I’ll think of Jack.

I’ll look at my family and soak in their countenances, and I’ll remember that Jack has to rely on his memory of his daughter’s and wife’s faces. Ones he hasn’t seen in 22 years.

I’m grateful to have had the courage to get to know Jack, to listen to his stories, and to learn.

Happy Memorial Day, Jack!

Memorial Day: A Flag at Half-Staff

 

“The things that the flag stands for were created by the experiences of a great people. Everything that it stands for was written by their lives. The flag is the embodiment not of sentiment, but of history.” Woodrow Wilson

“On Memorial Day the flag is raised briskly to the top of the staff and then solemnly lowered to the half-staff position, where it remains only until noon. It is then raised to full-staff for the remainder of the day.” (WP)

A flag at half mast. Hmm. So symbolic to me. Most things are.

A life lived with ups and downs, a life cut short in death or altered by physical and/or emotional wounds, a life honored and mourned, lives blessed because of another’s sacrifice.

So many memories. So many stories.

I’ll visit my father this weekend, as I do most weekends. His military service is on my mind right now because Memorial Day is coming next Monday. Memorial Day, sad to say, has never been more to me than a day of parades  and cookouts. This year is different. I want to ask my father about his military stories. I want to sit by his bedside at the nursing home that he never leaves and ask him if he’ll tell me some stories. I want to record his voice as he tells me about the one photo I have of him at that time.

I saw it for the first time on my grandparents’ bedside table at their home on St. Thomas,VI. I remember the cool marble floor under my little girl feet, and the sounds of laughter coming from the  sunken marble bathtub just around the corner to the right of that little table. He was so handsome in his uniform. I felt humbled for a moment as I stared at him, and he stared back at me from 1955-  four years before he was married, six years before I was born.

He was 19.

How did he feel about his service? What were some of his experiences? He’s such a character! I’ll bet he has some fun memories.

When I record his story, I’ll upload it and the scanned picture into my account with Legacy Stories as a “Talking Photo”. Any family member or friend who creates a free account and becomes my friend can then hear the story as my father tells it in his own voice. Isn’t that amazing? And when he dies, and he will someday, I will permanently link that “Talking Photo” to him on my family tree on FamilySearch.org, as I will do for all of my stories and photos of my ancestors. Then anyone who finds him on FamilySearch.org will see that there’s a link to him over at Legacy Stories where there are stories, videos, and photos of him waiting to be enjoyed, learned from, and shared.

When I see the flags at half-mast next Monday, I won’t just think about  my ancestors who served and how important it is to find them, get to know them, and honor them. I’ll think of my father and how he’s still alive to tell me about his life and how grateful I am to have him around to share those memories with him. Those memories are priceless. They are part of the fabric of who he is.

Just like our country’s flag.

And I want to get to know him better.

P.S. I’ll post the picture and a link to the “Talking Photo” as soon as I get it so that you can see and hear it. Hopefully it’ll be attached to my Sunday Series!!

Family History Sunday Series 1:7 “Becoming Real for Always”~ The Living Legacy Project

 

Have you ever read the children’s story, The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams? It’s the tale of a toy rabbit’s quest to earn the love of his child-owner in order to become real like the other rabbits he met near the boy’s home in the woods.

I love the story because it’s about love and loss, and the desire to matter –  to be “real” to the rest of the world.

The rabbit is told by another nursery toy, the Skin Horse, “…once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.”

Isn’t that what we all want? To become “Real for always?”

Researching and writing stories about my ancestors has made them “real” to me. I write the stories because I want my family to have them to read and to use as a tool to get to know them as I have.

But what of me and my personal legacy? How well am I doing leaving a record for future generations to learn from? How well are you doing? Do you consider how easily everything could be lost because of natural disaster, like fire and flood, and illnesses like Alzheimer’s?

When I reflect on the times I’ve sat with my children, watching their intrigue as I tell them  stories about my life, or when we look at old photos of me as a child and a young woman in college I feel the depth of the value of telling these stories to them.  We are bonded by the tales I tell them that come from my memory or that are triggered by a photo we find in an album or scrapbook. There is no happier family time than those times when we tell our stories.

“Tell us about when you were little!” they plead. As they listen I see their hearts transform and their minds connect to the new reality of human beings replete with strengths and weaknesses, hopes and desires, successes and failures.

But what happens to those stories and those photos over time? We told them often to our older children. Life has challenged us to remember how valuable those stories are to our younger children. I wonder about the risk I’m taking of having them lost forever to my children and future grandchildren because I haven’t digitized and archived them or the videos and photos that go with them.

Watch this short video and see what I found, or actually, what found me! It’s a miraculous project and I’m honored to be a part of it. We can do this!

Your ancestors’ stories make them “real”.

And you will be someone’s ancestor someday!

Click on the image to learn more. Register and start archiving your memories for free today!!

Family History Sunday Series 1:6 Vital Records and Archives

When the Fall arrives and the chlorophyll production wanes, vibrant colors surface and beautify the trees. I never tire of that phenomenon!

When you think about Autumn leaves I want you to be reminded of vital records that are had for each living person and that add to their story. When you throw the piles in the air be reminded of the documents that may lay piled in a relative’s attic that somebody could use to pull together someones story, filling very important gaps in their history and those that they were related to.

Mr. Wizard,Do You Have a Special Necklace For That?

 

There were times in my life when I’d wished there were friends by my side and a man behind a curtain who could fix the seemingly unfixable. Give me strength and courage, a heart or a way home. But really he’d show me that those things were inside of me the whole time, and he’d have the patience to guide me and to help my confidence grow. And when all else failed, he’d remind me to laugh and move on. Life is too short to be sweating the small stuff.

But what stuff is the small stuff?

When I was in high school I was acing biology. It was so easy to me. But when I found out we each had to give a ten minute oral report in front of the class, I marched down to the head of the department and declared that I wasn’t going to need biology (a required course for graduation) because I was going to be a dancer. He said, “Really?” as he leaned back in his chair giving my attitude the “once over” and agreeing on the spot to letting me waive the course.

Why was that so easy? Why could a shy 16-yr-old girl convince an old 40-something man that she knew who she was and what was good for her as far as her education was concerned? Why didn’t someone pull back the curtain and see the fear of public speaking that consumed me for years? How many people actually take the time to look beneath a person’s behavior and ask why it is the way that it is, or what it’s really hiding?

Well, I found one of my ancestors who shocked the pants off of me last week. I’ve been researching the Moody family, Stephen and Judith, and their two children, Henry, who was killed in the civil war, and Estelle.

Estelle Moody, born in 1848, eventually married Thomas H. Kelley, my great great grandfather. It was while I was reading the 1880 census for him, Estelle and their son, Edward that I discovered that he couldn’t read or write. I flipped to pages before and after, and he was the only one that I found who was illiterate.

Can you imagine not being able to read and write? Everything I do revolves around the two. How in the world does someone survive without those two abilities? And why couldn’t Thomas read and write? Did he have dyslexia or some other learning disability that he compensated for by being social and serving others? How long did it take before Estelle knew? And what a blessing it must have been to him to have Estelle help him compensate for what he lacked.

Thomas was a barber. His son became a broker in New York, as did his son, my grandfather. Was Thomas a barber because that was one of the only “safe” professions for him? I have to wonder.  Did he focus on honing his skills as a barber and a good listener and easy conversationalist? We all do those things that we are most comfortable and skilled at doing, especially if we have a weakness that if exposed would set us back a bit. Or perhaps everyone knew and accepted the fact that Thomas didn’t read or write.

All I know is the memories that this one fact about his life brought back. I was perplexed with the power that I was allowed to have. I couldn’t believe that no one was adept enough to see that there was something wrong and that I needed help. Fear is an awful thing to live with. Fear of being found out and people seeing the way that you really are, imperfect like everyone else, can be paralyzing. I figured that’s what adults were there for. They were supposed to be your back bone when yours went to mush temporarily. I was so disappointed. I hadn’t fallen through the cracks. I’d created one for myself and had jumped right in it!

Thomas Kelley, however, lived in a day when dyslexia wasn’t diagnosed and being illiterate might have been easier to live with than today.  But therein lies the problem. We can all learn to survive without some skills. We can cope and overcompensate. But can we thrive? Thomas was probably a very happy, contented man. He probably had many customers who were friends that kept him feeling vibrant and useful.

I have to ask what it felt like not to be able to read a story to your son, or to listen to him struggle sounding out new words and not have a clue how to help. When Edward started writing his name and asked him how to spell certain words, how did Thomas feel telling him to ask his mother for help? How did it feel not being able to read mail from your son, or to write letters to friends? And why wasn’t the discomfort of those never-ending situations enough to motivate him to get help? Did he just feel too old? Had he given up?

Just questions.

You can answer them for me.

 

 

 

Family History Sunday Series 1:5 The Student Teacher

So. I have good news and bad news. Good news- I got Internet access for a minute! Yippee! So the Sunday Series continues. Bad news? My head has been completely muddled and I haven’t been able to focus on anything but my pillow. We will get back to learning something new in the near future…hopefully next Sunday! Cross your fingers. Please.

Gone Fishin’

 

Just a note to let you know I’m on an extended leave of absence…not by choice! I’m still thinking about you and scheming up new things to write about. Will be back soon as I can. In the meantime, I’ll be having some fun, as should you. Feel free to leave some entertaining comments for me so that when I check in I’ll have a good laugh. That would mean a lot to me.

Ciao for now! Keep smiling!