Newbie Tuesday: FHC

This week is ganging up on me and it's only Monday. My son graduated from high school on Sunday. We weren't sure until Thursday morning that he would be allowed to participate in the Commencement exercises. Max is a big believer in deathbed repentance.

Monday, I got to work and thought,  I shouldn't be here. An hour later, stuff happened. My sister called from NoCal to tell me that my brother in SoCal had talked to our mother, who lives an hour away from me in Northeastern Wisconsin.  Mom had knee replacement surgery scheduled for this morning. She had to postpone it because she blew out her good knee. So Patrick and I drove up to see her.

When we arrived at Mom's house, the car was in the driveway, but the lights were off, the door was locked and she didn't answer the door. I called her cell phone. No answer. I called the house phone. No answer. I thought maybe, my  brother or sister-in-law had taken her to the doctor. I called my brother. She wasn't with him. We knocked again and heard Mom call out for help.  Luckily, Paul lives close by so he arrived with the spare house key in no time. Mom was all alone out of reach of her phone and unable to get up.

We consulted with Mom's doctors' offices and we were advised to take her to the emergency room. That was a less than satisfactory experience, but that's a topic for another post. Then at the pharmacy, her car wouldn't start. So we transferred her into my minivan (which smells of wet dog and sweat socks).  She is spending the night at my brother's house, which is all on one level. Patrick and I are staying at Mom's house which is all stairs. No wonder her knees are shot.

The marvelous thing about this adventure was that A) I had the opportunity to serve my mother--something her English stiff upper lip won't allow and B) We talked about family history. So, I can honestly say that I kept my end of our deal from last Newbie Tuesday. I talked to an older relative about genealogy. Did you????  If you did comment below and let me know how it went. If you did not, Chicken...Bwak, bwak, bwak!

Mom told me a little more about my grandfather...but that's a topic for another post.

Last week, which was much less dramatic, gave me the opportunity to visit our local Family History Center (FHC). Family History Centers are located throughout the world in many of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints buildings. These are local branches of the Family History Library in Salt Lake City. Services are free of charge (except for copies or a small fee if you need to order a microfilm). You do not have to be a Mormon to use the facilities. The staff is always friendly and eager to help you.

I went to the FHC at the local church and sought the advice of a very skilled, very talented genealogist, my dear friend Karen. I told her my woes:

• Flitting
• Duplicating effort
• Not knowing where to start
• Not knowing what to do next
• Not knowing how to keep my research organized.
• Not sure I'm citing my sources correctly
• What the heck made me think I could write a blog about this
• AAARGGHH!!!

Her advice gave me great comfort. She said, "Do as I say, not as I do." She also said not to allow perfectionism be the killer of "good enough."

Here is some of the guidance she gave me.

1. Start with what you know
2. Talk to old people--talk to old people who are more distant relatives--they will be delighted.
3. Keep a research log. Download one here: http://www.familysearch.org/Eng/Search/RG/frameset_rg.asp?Dest=G1&Aid=&Gid=&Lid=&Sid=&Did=&Juris1=&Event=&Year=&Gloss=&Sub=&Tab=&Entry=&Guide=ResLog.ASP   Keep track of where you've searched and what you've found, even if what you've found is NOTHING. (No more duplicating effort)
4. It doesn't have to be perfect. Good enough is good enough.
5. If you don't know what line to focus on, pray about it and guidance will come. Dead people will talk to you--but that's a topic for another post.

Your assignment (by "assignment" I mean guilt-free optional exploration activity) for this week is to go to  http://www.familysearch.org/eng/library/fhc/frameset_fhc.asp and find out where your local FHC is.

Extra credit for actually calling or visiting. Leave a comment below and let me know how it went.

I See Dead People

I see dead people--not like the creepy little kid in The Sixth Sense--but I see dead people all the time. 

My first bite from the genealogy bug came when I was in the 4th grade at Algoma Elementary School. My teacher, Miss Mateju, assigned a research project and oral presentation on any subject we wanted. I chose genealogy.

This was 1974--two years before Alex Haley's mini-series Roots triggered a nation-wide genealogy fad. My father, who exemplified life long learning, was making a study of heraldry. I looked through the books on his nightstand and wondered what kind of caber-tossing, kilt-wearing, bagpipe-playing folk the Mitchells were.

I'll tell you; I still don't know.

I don't remember a thing about the actual 4th grade assignment, but I do remember spending many summer days riding my bike to cemeteries in our town. I would enjoy the cool peacefulness. I would pick the moss out of the carvings to find the oldest stone, the person who lived the longest, the baby who died the youngest, people who died on their birthdays, most unfortunate name (Butt is still the winner).

This childhood game served me well in 1996 when I was asked to help with the name extraction program for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My assignment was to take photocopies of microfilmed images of hand-written death certificates from Cincinnati, Ohio, 1930, and transcribe the information in very tidy printing onto cards. This information would later find its way onto the searchable online databases that we love so very much. This is when dead people started to talk to me (no I do not need to increase my dosage--I checked). 

Sometimes the penmanship would be very difficult to decipher. Sometimes the old fountain pen would have dripped, the record would have been damaged, and the information would be obliterated or otherwise unreadable. Just as I was about to write “M?n,” these angels would look over my shoulder and whisper “his name is Morgan.” 

Dead people want to be found--especially by their beloved corporeal family members who take the trouble to look. If you’ve ever shouted “Woohoo!” in a quiet Family History Center, you know exactly what I’m talking about.