tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19031553193555043662024-02-19T09:11:08.569-07:00Family History WritingFamily history research is so fascinating that it deserves to be shared. Here are one writer's musings and insights about making that process palatable and inviting to others.Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.comBlogger149125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-52274155383489059282020-06-21T16:03:00.001-06:002020-06-21T16:33:16.422-06:00My Last Father’s Day with My Dad<br />
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It must have been close to midnight when Dad knocked on the
door of the Stubbs’ bunkhouse where Jim and I and some other family members had
gathered. The unbelievable, the unthinkable had happened. Our daughter Rachel had
been killed instantly in a car crash just west of Salt Lake City. We had been celebrating
my dad’s birthday at a family reunion at Lake Mead and Boulder City, Nevada.
The spot was chosen to honor him since he had spent many years serving there,
both as bishop and a teacher at the high school. It was hot and miserable in
the motel at Lake Mead where Dad was staying, and he wasn’t feeling very well.
He hadn’t told us, but the illness that would end with his death in early
September was already taking its toll on his body. However, when we called and
told him about Rachel’s accident, he quickly got out of bed and came up the winding
road to Boulder City to comfort us as we prepared to head home to Utah. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bert N Whitney on a desert outing</td></tr>
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The plan was to spend the next morning, Father’s Day, at
church meetings in Boulder City, celebrating our dad’s service there in the
building he helped build so many years ago. Now, Jim and I were traveling
through the night to meet with our children and grandchildren in Utah, while
the rest of the extended family reunion went on without us. In those early
hours of what would be his last Father’s Day, he gave both Jim and I father’s
blessings that would carry us through the hard days and weeks ahead. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I remember and treasure so many blessings given me by my
father. He was known in our family, and perhaps beyond, for his gift of
healing. He served me and my family generously with that gift over the years.
The parade of memories as I consider this includes the time Carl fell off the
top of the slide in Logandale Park, when Rachel fell into the window well of
their home, when my eyes needed healing, times at the reunions and precious
private blessings in his home. I always expected the healings to be miraculous
and speedy until one time during a blessing when he counseled me that growing
older meant my body would be breaking down in ways that were long-term and
persistent. That warning proved true, yet I treasure the security I felt and still
feel when he blessed me with protection as I go about my work in serving
others.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dad taught me to value and enjoy schoolwork. He was quietly
proud of my academic success. I saw him continue to extend his own education year
after year. That made it natural for me to have the same pursuits as an adult.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He gave me a love for the outdoors, especially the desert. I
remember his patient instruction as I tried to climb up the red rocks. “Put
your foot right there. Now, do you see the next place to hold on?” He didn’t
worry about his beloved 4-wheeler when I turned it over. He encouraged me to
get right back on and go again, this time a little faster.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned to love and respect my ancestors through his
example. The Whitney reunions were sacred occasions that we never missed, no
matter how young the youngest baby was. He never gave up learning the latest
technology to help us keep our family history current. Dad was a private person
but he wrote regularly in his on-line production of the family newsletter. His
last family history goal was to find and photograph all of his
great-grandparents’ graves. A worthy goal, in my cemetery loving heart. He was
always the first to donate time and money to family history projects. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dad gave service to so many in his public callings in the church and on the job. He was a
schoolteacher and dean. He served in Church callings as a bishop, in the
temple, and as executive secretary to the stake president of the Logandale Stake.
He also went about doing good in his small towns he called home. He was a
renowned handyman and would often be found helping repair something for
someone. He built and remodeled our homes and church buildings. I thought he
could fix or build anything. It was an adjustment for me to find out that not
all men have the same talents.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year (2020) his birthday and Father’s Day, always intertwined
in my mind, are actually on the same day. I’m thinking about you, Dad. I’m
grateful for you. I especially remember the first early hours of your last Father’s
Day in 2005. Thanks for your service that day and so many others. I love you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-43239228394527974582020-04-29T22:01:00.000-06:002020-04-29T22:01:34.786-06:00Mr. Nathan and His GrandpaMy son, Nathan, made this video about the fun and the comfort of looking at family history. Take a look at his work. I'm so proud to be his mother.<br />
It is so relevant for the times we are now in, with the novel coronavirus shutting down so much in our country and even the world.<br />
This virus is threatening our precious senior citizens. They are the repositories of so much history. The history that makes us who we are. Looking back and seeing our grandparents as people who were once young with different lives than what we see today helps us move forward with greater confidence and hope into our own lives.<br />
That confidence and hope are essential for our survival today.<br />
I challenge you to do as he suggests. Talk to someone about who they are and who they once were.<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Link to Nathan's video: <a href="https://youtu.be/_CvPoDnImig" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/_CvPoDnImig</a></span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo featured in Nathan's video, his grandmother and his grandfather, <br />holding Nathan's father as a baby</td></tr>
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<br />Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-78789994818601091072020-03-06T18:27:00.002-07:002020-03-06T18:27:25.294-07:00Stories Live On<br />
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Last Sunday I listened to several people talk about their
strongly held beliefs. It was their desire that their children and
grandchildren know of these beliefs. Unfortunately, most did not have all their
children and grandchildren present as they testified. Even if they had been
there, would they have been in a time and place in their lives to hear what was
said?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As I get older, I often wonder what will I have left of
myself here when I am not. The written word is my best chance of leaving a
taste of who I am. It can serve as an influence even when my voice is gone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Last Sunday, our grandson ate breakfast with us. We had
pancakes. Chatty, as always, Orson wanted to compare notes with his grandpa.
“Remember when your mother made pancakes for you the morning you got baptized,”
he asked. “Dollar pancakes?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Yes,” Jim replied. “My mother made mine dollar size so I
could eat more than my dad did.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The Black Tag Secret,” mused Orson. We all knew what he
meant. It was the title of a story about Jim’s baptism day that Jim wrote in his
recently published autobiography. Orson continued to quote details about
various stories in the book until I asked him if he had read the whole thing.
“Oh yes,” he replied. It was obvious that he had. In fact, the day before, he
requested copies of some stories Jim has written since that book. By the next
day, Orson informed me that I had made double copies of one of those stories.
He looked over my originals and quickly selected the one he was missing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shortly after another young grandson, Alex, received his
copy of Jim’s book, his mother told us that he had taken it to school with him,
because he was in the middle of a story. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Center: Jim's book on display at RootsTech 2020</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The book of stories and philosophy Jim gifted his children
and grandchildren with at Christmastime seems to have made an impact already.
But to me, the most interesting reaction came from Jim, himself. He worries
about losing his memories and even losing himself. Maybe that’s the reason he
has become so enthusiastic about writing that he sets aside a time every day to
do so. I lose track of him for a time, and then he calls me to come and read
what he has written on his computer. He has made himself a list of story
prompts on his phone, and he often adds to it. He has even begun his own blog at <o:p></o:p><a href="https://rememberingmylifeinstories.blogspot.com/">https://rememberingmylifeinstories.blogspot.com/</a>.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I think there is something very satisfying about recording
our life’s journey and our thoughts and the lessons we have gained from that
journey. It’s not easy. It’s not fun, at least I don’t think so. But I see more
than ever that it’s valuable. I treasure the writings and the stories of my
parents and grandparents and ancestors. And I love to see other people treasure
them too. It’s the influence we have on coming generations that may have
lasting value. I hope so.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And I hope I will soon compile some of my own stories. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-66491620419736280912018-05-01T20:18:00.000-06:002018-05-01T20:21:54.614-06:00Life's Leftovers<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jim and I started the clean-out of Dad’s house when he
entered the Veteran’s Home two years before, but we knew it would take a while.
Now the situation was serious. The realtor told us that it needed to be
completely empty to sell. Dad had taken up new residence in the Veteran’s
Cemetery. His spirit had traveled off, completely shedding all his earthly possessions.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The family had gone through the old home, selecting keepsake
items. We had carefully boxed up letters, documents, and family histories. It
was time for the estate sale. We walked through the rooms once more. Maybe we
could fit one more piece of furniture into the back of our car. Our children
had already loaded their cars with the extra “stuff” we thought valuable when
they had traveled home from the funeral. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A knock at the door interrupted our conversation. It was an
older sister, a long-time friend of both our families, Sister Snow. She said
she wanted to see the house one more time, and maybe she would select something
to take home, just for remembrance. Her eyes took in the red, white and blue
wallpaper in John’s old bedroom. “I helped put that paper up,” she told us. She
picked up a spoon from the worn silver in the dining area. “I think I want
this,” she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I had considered the old chair in the master bedroom. It had
pink upholstery, my color. But the paint was worn out on the arms, and the chair’s
seat sagged a bit. I passed it by. But Sister Snow didn’t. “The Relief Society
chair!” she exclaimed. “This chair came from the Boulder City Ward Relief
Society room where both your mothers’ attended every Tuesday morning.” She
examined the chair more closely, smiling at her memories. “There were only
three with arms like this,” she told us. “Your mother, Rose, got this one when
they replaced the chairs in the room with the standard Church Relief Society
chairs,” she said to Jim.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kmg9AJNjcm9PVXvdwdS0JwxnXIKN0mhjXgMYShFPnp3KmhFeJRmgaQcPUd8hgFTBDE_0r75omZBxy5c4W7c1SuEJ8CQ5a9gHq5MvjNz7L1oYUVlI0q8KUXNe8KGU6L4AD8uT-VThFb8/s1600/IMG_20180501_200133917_LL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kmg9AJNjcm9PVXvdwdS0JwxnXIKN0mhjXgMYShFPnp3KmhFeJRmgaQcPUd8hgFTBDE_0r75omZBxy5c4W7c1SuEJ8CQ5a9gHq5MvjNz7L1oYUVlI0q8KUXNe8KGU6L4AD8uT-VThFb8/s320/IMG_20180501_200133917_LL.jpg" title="The Relief Society Chair" width="240" /></a><br />
“I absolutely insist that you take this home with you,” she
said. Her insistence was unnecessary. I, too, was remembering. I remembered how
nice the Relief Society room in the Boulder City Ward church was. There was
even a small bathroom immediately adjacent to the room. Nothing but the best
for the Relief Society sisters. I’m sure those were the thoughts of both
bishops involved in the building of that chapel, Jim’s dad first and then my
father. As youth, we were forbidden to take food or drink into the room, and we
treated it with reverence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Suddenly the chair looked wonderful to me. The saggy seat and
imperfectly preserved paint on its arms seemed to hug me as sat in it once
more. I remembered our mothers’ faithful attendance in Relief Society, and our
fathers’ respect for the valiant women of our ward. The Relief Society chair
has a treasured place in my own bedroom now. I think I’ll sit there and reminisce
a bit on Mother’s Day this year.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-41189772968990808612018-04-14T11:47:00.001-06:002018-04-14T11:47:06.692-06:00All Things Restored: Miracles from RootsTech 2017<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: YouTube Noto, Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="243" id="vp1p1L8b" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/embed.animoto.com/play.html?w=swf/production/vp1&e=1523727758&f=p1L8b2CvOwckuf80AAzn0A&d=0&m=a&r=360p+720p&volume=100&start_res=360p&i=m&asset_domain=s3-p.animoto.com&animoto_domain=animoto.com&options=" title="Video Player" width="432"></iframe></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "YouTube Noto", Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "YouTube Noto", Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I made this video March 1, 2017 to celebrate finding Animoto. Today I worked on it a little more with my year's worth of experience. It's really just for me. RootsTech 2017 was when I first purchased the Animoto video program. It had been my heart's desire to be able to put a video together ever since my daughter died in 2005. She was an expert at videos and it was one of the things I had sorely missed since she left us. I stood in the Expo Hall of RootsTech, transfixed, as a woman demonstrated it to me. As I stood there, the short video she was making was rendered in a few minutes. I remembered my deceased daughter Rachel at the high school all night long, rendering her beautiful videos. Suddenly Rachel was there beside me in spirit, encouraging me to "Go for it, Mom." Unexpectedly, my frugal hesitant self didn't care how much it cost. I asked the salesperson if even an old woman like me could learn it. "Yes," she replied.
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "YouTube Noto", Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I went home and began my video-making journey. Videos for my sisters were some of my first projects. I loved being able to express my feelings in this new way. This video celebrates the miracle that Animoto became for me. I even put in part of my sister's "healing time" video just for fun. The cameo of me and my daughter Rachel at the end grabs my heart and reminds me of the miracle of having all good things restored to my life.</span>Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-23665030602190368352018-03-29T14:17:00.000-06:002018-03-29T14:17:24.813-06:00A Plan for Happiness<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
July, 1981: I was happy and grateful to finally have my mom
living close by. I planned to ride my bicycle to visit her across town since I
didn’t often have a car available. But baby Nathan was a wiggly two-year-old,
and I worried about putting him on the back for that long ride. Still, my husband Jim was
home for parts of the summer, and he took over some of the childcare along with
my older children. Carl was 12 and Anna 11. I considered them nearly grown and
well able to supervise Mark, 9; Amy, 7; and Rachel, 5, as well as the baby. My handicapped
son Andy was once again living in the Developmental Center, and that relieved
me of his constant care. I made as much time as I could to spend with my
mother. We were working together on a history of her great-grandfather, Asmus
Jorgensen, and her own history, pre-marriage.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Earlier that summer, when Dad first brought Mom to Orem, he
dropped her off at my house. Then, wonder of wonders, Dad put earnest money
down on a house just a block away from us. I had worried constantly about my
mother’s health, and the wish I had to be close enough to check on her every
day was finally fulfilled. Dad went back to Logandale to finish their move. Mom
stayed in my bed since Jim was working out of town, river running. In fact, the
pain of her arthritis made getting out of bed nearly impossible for her. The six-hour
trip north from Nevada had been made lying in the back of their van.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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My memories of those days are mixed. My heart was bound to
my mother. She was my best friend and I loved being with her. My children were
our entertainment. They knew how to be quiet and not to jostle their grandma’s
bed. Her smiles were their reward. Alyce, my neighbor, came and played our
piano for us. Hymns, one after another, and the classics. Alyce made beautiful
music from our old upright. But counterpoint to this happiness was the worry of
her illness, growing worse each day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Mom was in pain, too much pain, limiting, excruciating, severe
pain. We called her Salt Lake doctor, on the verge of help with her arthritis,
surely. But then the surprise came. Mom had cancer. And it had spread into her
bones. No wonder she couldn’t stand to have her bed touched or wrinkles in the
sheets. No wonder she was unable to sit, stand or move. Even lying in bed was painful
for her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An operation removed the worst of the cancer and after a
hospital stay, Mom was able to come home from the hospital. Dad had moved their
belongings north, from southern Nevada to central Utah. But the location of
home had been changed. The house next to us was no longer an option. Medical
bills necessitated temporary shelter in our old house in south Orem, conveniently
vacant. Dad worked all day in the back yard there, screening rocks from the
dirt. He went back to Nevada, still settling their affairs. When he was gone, I
stayed all night with Mom. She wasn’t sleepy, being bed-bound all day. One
memorable night she wanted to talk. I was tired, and I kept drifting off. I had
worked hard in the house and yard. I had picked cherries and canned them,
preparing for her winter needs that would never come. How I wish I had been
able to stay awake that night. Like the apostles of old, I fell asleep and
could not watch through the night with her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During that long night she asked me to find her patriarchal
blessing. The living room of the small home was filled with files and boxes of
belongings, but I dug through and retrieved it to read to her. “I’ve done it
all,” she said wonderingly. I guess she had, though I argued to the contrary. <o:p></o:p></div>
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August came, and the watch was over. Mom’s earth life was
finished August 2, 1981.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The months that followed seem foggy to me as I look back.
Depression stalked me day after day. Our son Andy died October 4. Mom was constantly in my
mind and heart. I was convinced she had called Andy home. My dad was severely
depressed too, and I worried about my younger sisters. I wanted to be there for
them, but he had shut me out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In January 1982 we discovered abuse in our home. My sweet young
children had been victimized. The darkness seemed overpowering.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally April dawned. The second Sunday in April was Easter Sunday. That Easter
morning my mother was once again in my thoughts. I envisioned her in her casket,
where I had last seen her. But then, in my mind’s eye, I saw her open her eyes,
sit up, stand. She was rising from the dead, resurrected whole and well. We
embraced. The wonder of that vision stayed with me throughout the day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Later, at church, I sang in an Easter cantata. As I sang the
words, “Oh death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory?” my heart burned within me, and my eyes to filled with tears. I felt those words. I would hear my mother's voice once more and feel her arms around me. My
son, Andy, would no longer live in his small atrophied body, but would stand strong
and straight and tall. I knew through Christ all wrongs would be righted and
all things restored to their proper order; loved ones would be reunited and all
death overcome at last. The Easter holiday gained a meaning for me that I had
never seen or felt before. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I celebrate this season again this year with those same
words that mean the world to me. “Death is swallowed up in victory. . . . Oh
death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory?” (1 Corinthians
15:54-55). No more. No more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-866997078758553092017-07-10T15:50:00.002-06:002017-07-10T16:03:10.057-06:00Golden Wedding Anniversary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOrpgsTs-e-Oj_ZtROES-46-6BLf1pJASEL6BE9WHB0l9pvDz8T6rQOWE7uOyUGJVXk_HmBJk5kc0vd68wdDWrJvBTKua99IMyj6dusMHOp02JuLuy8QoREAhdg-sCVpyGUHLnYKdADc/s1600/73f9c4d811cc55d9a19138590de1c97c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="692" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOrpgsTs-e-Oj_ZtROES-46-6BLf1pJASEL6BE9WHB0l9pvDz8T6rQOWE7uOyUGJVXk_HmBJk5kc0vd68wdDWrJvBTKua99IMyj6dusMHOp02JuLuy8QoREAhdg-sCVpyGUHLnYKdADc/s200/73f9c4d811cc55d9a19138590de1c97c.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4SBuGCpSSrxVcegFbBvm11TYoY0G0ddWmzWwxgw56WnQOL1FHM-RB3Rfr3VsdfhXgEqIHmkWszBR1LLdK98z7tBgP6esrq19dTlVuu6T_toPbnsc6cWalLI-7IFS-EhlMINce5jp3uc/s1600/009.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1249" data-original-width="1250" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4SBuGCpSSrxVcegFbBvm11TYoY0G0ddWmzWwxgw56WnQOL1FHM-RB3Rfr3VsdfhXgEqIHmkWszBR1LLdK98z7tBgP6esrq19dTlVuu6T_toPbnsc6cWalLI-7IFS-EhlMINce5jp3uc/s320/009.tif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My grandparents, MJ and Hazel Christensen, at their 50th.</td></tr>
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I remember my grandmother's golden wedding anniversary very well. My mother made her a cake. We all dressed up and went to the party. I was awed by the fact that my grandparents had been married 50 long years. A desire was born in me to reach that milestone too.<br />
<br />
In June this year it happened. We have now been married for 50 short years. On July 4th we celebrated with a family party. We had lots of family type fun. My granddaughter made me a cake. My daughter and son-in-law produced an awesome Kahoot! trivia game. We stayed up late and talked. I played volleyball with my volleyball playing daughter. We modeled our silly hats to celebrate the silly looking wedding veil I wore 50 years before.<br />
<br />
We played ping-pong and my river-running sons took everyone who wanted an adventure white water rafting. Finally, I tossed my dried bouquet to the singles in our group and my 14 year old granddaughter caught it.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tGiRgZvk0CeaHfYCZ-GfWcqVhrUaCkGpVcinSxePEkXKaokW2GNhhZxVQhRwdWN1dm1aZG-3WxD727lJLEsywqDzWy2pbwNdqwAtIHSlAf2DS6JO4bOR62LhP2VPySNVhEZ3HPQyb4o/s1600/18815409_10214367010228055_2519718270151686822_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="1180" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tGiRgZvk0CeaHfYCZ-GfWcqVhrUaCkGpVcinSxePEkXKaokW2GNhhZxVQhRwdWN1dm1aZG-3WxD727lJLEsywqDzWy2pbwNdqwAtIHSlAf2DS6JO4bOR62LhP2VPySNVhEZ3HPQyb4o/s320/18815409_10214367010228055_2519718270151686822_o.jpg" width="256" /></a>Around the fire that night we shared our love and commitment with each other. Each member of the family read a paper plate full of positive comments that the others had written about them. Then Jim and I talked about how much we love each other and our children and grandchildren.<br />
<br />
And the day passed. And the celebration is now over. I don't really feel any older. It's kind of the same feeling I had when I turned 70 at the beginning of June. It seemed bigger in the looking forward than in the looking backward. I still haven't arrived. And our marriage hasn't "arrived" either.<br />
<br />
How to hold onto some of the magic? Be aware, write, record and share. Today one of my favorite ways to do that is to produce a video. For this occasion, one wouldn't do. I made two:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7FYgfCpyjA" target="_blank">Jim and Joy Wedding Video</a><br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcVnOr4qXDU" target="_blank">Fifty Years of Family</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R3bvpErEPBfwQF6gUZ8MXP4BoIElN3aa_-obi9xy40MGU76EvQfPMbLPwLecGsfzti4KmuPSQjep5I5008aXzdW1p-mWfyigZs7NS17ZbrHN4YkOlV_pP9TcbQB-F2mhKSUrdqpny78/s1600/Jim%2526Joy2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="470" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R3bvpErEPBfwQF6gUZ8MXP4BoIElN3aa_-obi9xy40MGU76EvQfPMbLPwLecGsfzti4KmuPSQjep5I5008aXzdW1p-mWfyigZs7NS17ZbrHN4YkOlV_pP9TcbQB-F2mhKSUrdqpny78/s320/Jim%2526Joy2016.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are last year at our grandson's wedding</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-7oLMVvzOT2dimlAMNb5byGw_Xr5Ln5hAZrxH46JxdzhYI8fI8ilK8fu4v07q4LiIbNQo-XpIXmhTFUpeGcPfmJYswBchGmZ9azpIAnOn9n4mK6oj6sx1Vy7PHRhTuHHpxNLCZP0SLs/s1600/StubbsJim%2526WhitneyJoy-1967-StGeorgeTemple-Wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="160" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-7oLMVvzOT2dimlAMNb5byGw_Xr5Ln5hAZrxH46JxdzhYI8fI8ilK8fu4v07q4LiIbNQo-XpIXmhTFUpeGcPfmJYswBchGmZ9azpIAnOn9n4mK6oj6sx1Vy7PHRhTuHHpxNLCZP0SLs/s200/StubbsJim%2526WhitneyJoy-1967-StGeorgeTemple-Wedding.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are 50 years ago.</td></tr>
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Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-4948114858935509832017-05-13T14:40:00.002-06:002017-05-13T14:41:34.317-06:00My Mother LineMy sister Jill once asked me, "Do you know your mother line?" She quickly recited several generations of daughter to mother. I hadn't thought about that before. I did know that my mitochondrial DNA was German. And so is my mother line.<br />
<br />
I have pictures for six generations of mothers back. I love them all. As I celebrate Mother's Day this year, I'm thinking of those mothers. I know what it's like to be a mother. Our lives are all different, yet in this we are the same—mothers with daughters and granddaughters.<br />
<br />
I made a video to celebrate my mother line. It's posted on YouTube <a href="https://youtu.be/6dSC5UvbVT4" target="_blank">here.</a><br />
<br />
Do you know your mother line?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMke5VgO03X5JW7Hp4oOndk26ikS21RPa1qBwfjkf4ZCZ6y4PeDksKELwr0nG-ETwpVZqmdnlPNuDVrAIbuxuAOMVWOsgORLPXjKkSmja9-i2uP-bwspXJjTNWZBWiNjf5BJEwYJr7f0/s1600/happymothersday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMke5VgO03X5JW7Hp4oOndk26ikS21RPa1qBwfjkf4ZCZ6y4PeDksKELwr0nG-ETwpVZqmdnlPNuDVrAIbuxuAOMVWOsgORLPXjKkSmja9-i2uP-bwspXJjTNWZBWiNjf5BJEwYJr7f0/s1600/happymothersday.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-27420089233283945522017-02-24T12:50:00.000-07:002017-02-24T12:54:38.038-07:00A Photo Valentine Gift for Me This Year<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLC_cEvr_tCHmGEVoLMnteC0RUky5fI9-7J1hvWyYI2OtY1R8L7bMJnTMAhO-OzpCoddqut9DW4uLfCeMBPqvxX8qGsQm8CrijWFYSzMvCJxXSPr7D3Xg4f32QWzN8zscd_csDFnJ6S5c/s1600/BNW212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLC_cEvr_tCHmGEVoLMnteC0RUky5fI9-7J1hvWyYI2OtY1R8L7bMJnTMAhO-OzpCoddqut9DW4uLfCeMBPqvxX8qGsQm8CrijWFYSzMvCJxXSPr7D3Xg4f32QWzN8zscd_csDFnJ6S5c/s320/BNW212.jpg" title="Unknown" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A treasured photo taken in<br />
Lyndon, Kansas, Feb 13, 1885 as a<br />
Valentine. Alas, I don't know who<br />
it could be.</td></tr>
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We sat, entertained, as we watched a slideshow featuring family members of various eras engaged in similar activities. But the surprise ending caused a universal groan. "The problem is we don't know who any of these family members or friends are," the presenter explained.<br />
<br />
I have many unidentified photos myself, some old, some new. Precious antiques or unidentified babies, they have lost their value when they are not labeled. As I scanned photos, I carefully scanned both front and back, but even then sometimes the two get separated and often the back of the photo still doesn't tell the whole story. I have tried to painstakingly add borders in Photoshop to write on, but there are other drawbacks to that. Some photos from my dad and my grandma had identification written across the front. That was a mixed blessing.<br />
<br />
I had heard of metadata, the information about the photo that is actually saved within the electronic image, but how to enter that metadata escaped me.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ASm9cEpOecz2qWwalS2SU5kx4NkGDEpbDw2WogWmYRfNw9e6im0PDV8SMx36E1itzeotrpyHMd86YSBzMDehTSqnQNa59fIOU0gXdPGrFm_xMjKq7ISuJbFvao_6pa5r_6fA5AuXHSc/s1600/BNW211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ASm9cEpOecz2qWwalS2SU5kx4NkGDEpbDw2WogWmYRfNw9e6im0PDV8SMx36E1itzeotrpyHMd86YSBzMDehTSqnQNa59fIOU0gXdPGrFm_xMjKq7ISuJbFvao_6pa5r_6fA5AuXHSc/s320/BNW211.jpg" width="209" /></a><br />
That mystery was solved when I attended a <a href="http://picturesandstories.com/" target="_blank">Pictures and Stories</a> class by Alison Taylor. (Recording available <a href="https://www.rootstech.org/videos/alison-taylor" target="_blank">here</a>.) I could enter data very easily in the Properties/Details space in Windows or I could use my Adobe Bridge program (free download) to even add metadata to a lot of photos at once. Alison's blog gives <a href="http://picturesandstories.com/news/2017/2/13/using-adobe-bridge-cc-to-enter-photo-metadata" target="_blank">further details on Bridge</a> which I found easy to understand and duplicate. I just followed along with her. It does take a little time, but for the first time ever, I feel that I am efficiently organizing my many images of photos and documents. Thanks so much Alison!<br />
<br />
<br />Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-74880567139970686152017-02-19T19:00:00.001-07:002017-02-24T13:34:53.839-07:00Writing and Publishing Resources <ul><br />
<li><b>Inspiration from Church leaders</b><br /><a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/family-history/resources-for-talks-and-lessons/talks?lang=eng&old=true">https://www.lds.org/topics/family-history/resources-for-talks-and-lessons/talks?lang=eng&old=true</a>;
<a href="https://www.lds.org/broadcasts/watch/family-discovery-day-roots-tech/2017/02?lang=eng&vid=5320007523001">https://www.lds.org/broadcasts/watch/family-discovery-day-roots-tech/2017/02?lang=eng&vid=5320007523001</a></li>
<li><b>Why is family history important? </b><a href="https://www.rootstech.org/videos/bruce-feiler">https://www.rootstech.org/videos/bruce-feiler</a>;
<a href="https://www.lds.org/church/news/want-emotionally-healthy-children-tell-family-stories?lang=eng">https://www.lds.org/church/news/want-emotionally-healthy-children-tell-family-stories?lang=eng</a></li>
<li>Memories on FamilySearch.org: <a href="https://familysearch.org/photos/">https://familysearch.org/photos/</a>;
FamilySearch <i>Memories</i> apps for both
iPhone and Android phones; Family recipes: <a href="https://familysearch.org/recipes/">https://familysearch.org/recipes/</a></li>
<li><b>Journaling </b><br />Principles <a href="https://www.rootstech.org/videos/steve-reed">https://www.rootstech.org/videos/steve-reed</a><br />Journaling apps and many other great
ideas for stories and fun activities: Crystal Farish & Rhonna Farrer <a href="https://www.rootstech.org/videos/crystal-rhonna">https://www.rootstech.org/videos/crystal-rhonna</a></li>
<li><b>Story Ideas</b>AncestorClips Blog 60 second stories they really read by
Kenneth R Hardman <a href="http://www.ancestorclips.com/">www.ancestorclips.com</a></li>
<li><b>Where to look for
stories</b> <a href="http://blog.familytreemagazine.com/insider/2015/06/17/BeginnerGenealogyTipsWhereToLookForGreatAncestorStories.aspx">http://blog.familytreemagazine.com/insider/2015/06/17/BeginnerGenealogyTipsWhereToLookForGreatAncestorStories.aspx</a></li>
<li><b>How to write short
stories</b><br /><a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2012/may/14/how-to-write-flash-fiction">https://www.theguardian.com/books/2012/may/14/how-to-write-flash-fiction</a>;
<a href="http://fictionsoutheast.org/7-tips-for-writing-flash-fiction/">http://fictionsoutheast.org/7-tips-for-writing-flash-fiction/</a></li>
<li><b>Timelines</b>: <a href="https://twile.com/">https://twile.com</a></li>
<li><b>Family History Writing Studio and February Challenge</b><b> </b>Social
History Resources<b> </b><a href="http://www.familyhistorywritingstudio.com/social-history-resources/">http://www.familyhistorywritingstudio.com/social-history-resources/</a><br />Articles about writing <a href="http://www.familyhistorywritingstudio.com/home/articles/">http://www.familyhistorywritingstudio.com/home/articles/</a><br />The Armchair Genealogist <a href="http://www.thearmchairgenealogist.com/">http://www.thearmchairgenealogist.com/</a></li>
<li><b>Publishing ideas</b><br /><a href="http://www.storiestotellbooks.com/blog/">http://www.storiestotellbooks.com/blog/</a><br />Story Corps <a href="https://storycorps.org/">https://storycorps.org</a>; Familysearch.org Memories (see above)</li>
<li><b>Video and on-line
Photos and Stories </b>Adobe Spark Video, Post or Page <a href="https://spark.adobe.com/">https://spark.adobe.com/</a><br />Animoto Video Maker <a href="http://amimoto.com/">http://amimoto.com</a><br />Audio editor <a href="http://www.audacityteam.org/">http://www.audacityteam.org/</a></li>
<li><b>Metadata</b> <a href="http://picturesandstories.com/news/2017/2/13/metadata-writing-on-the-back-of-a-digital-photo">http://picturesandstories.com/news/2017/2/13/metadata-writing-on-the-back-of-a-digital-photo</a>; <a href="http://picturesandstories.com/news/2017/2/13/using-adobe-bridge-cc-to-enter-photo-metadata">http://picturesandstories.com/news/2017/2/13/using-adobe-bridge-cc-to-enter-photo-metadata</a></li>
</ul>
Buffalo Story (Barajas Family)<br />
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Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-36087018323497563892016-12-15T17:52:00.000-07:002016-12-15T17:58:03.728-07:00Floating Island Pudding: Just like family stories, versions of this family recipe abound[Uncle Don Christensen's description:]<br />
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<div>
When I was a boy my mother, Hazel, sometimes took me with her when she went to Idaho to see her parents. We would ride on the street car in Salt Lake City and then get on the Inter-urban train for the ride to Grace, Idaho. We were picked up at the railroad station by one of mother’s relatives. We stayed in Preston at mothers’ parents’ home at 77 North First West.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfn_KfAA1VdTKJPTbfr4Sp53mGuw88Zr4HQnEjN8RECXnO5kiK2nRbJs-3ZY7RwvT3jcwlXI-fXliJjOP3Jzrg2hYyn2IVpCqWEVjdRAJb-8C52AzxkrZMXhlnV1jniTM8WMsVc_ZjqE/s1600/HELgrandchildren2.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfn_KfAA1VdTKJPTbfr4Sp53mGuw88Zr4HQnEjN8RECXnO5kiK2nRbJs-3ZY7RwvT3jcwlXI-fXliJjOP3Jzrg2hYyn2IVpCqWEVjdRAJb-8C52AzxkrZMXhlnV1jniTM8WMsVc_ZjqE/s320/HELgrandchildren2.tif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma Harriet Johnson with some of her grandchildren</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The first thing I would do was ask my grandmother to make a floating island pudding. This was a favorite with me and all of my cousins. It was similar in taste to a deep dish apple pie, but Grandma made it in a dish pan. She would roll out the dough on the table to make the crust; this was about 10 to 12 inches wide and about 20 inches long. She then filled it with sliced apples and spices and</div>
<div>
folded it up into a tube. This was placed in the dish pan like a big doughnut. Then in the middle she added more spices and a lot of butter. This was then baked in the oven until nice and brown. We all enjoyed eating it with cream or ice cream....</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
[My mother Anne Christensen Whitney's version:] </div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFPkVQHOatK0_fBkEsaxXWi0GZstp9RF8niQAN9ONspZ0kwJmXlzGLlKcGBxcNwXNuO7m_cdraakegWmDbscs-USSIr0VxLrM-kPINlgqS8qV9RYS1GBzEGLmL7-873akOdnSvkiRCow/s1600/HarrietJohnson003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFPkVQHOatK0_fBkEsaxXWi0GZstp9RF8niQAN9ONspZ0kwJmXlzGLlKcGBxcNwXNuO7m_cdraakegWmDbscs-USSIr0VxLrM-kPINlgqS8qV9RYS1GBzEGLmL7-873akOdnSvkiRCow/s320/HarrietJohnson003.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harriet Emaline Lamb Johnson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1MuVJ9tYrFebDxyjmvPaJNhLaMe3jT6GLzykNlEHel7oDr0Bl9TKUh18wRaQ5LBoRi94DUjngZhL5b4lagXeUfxWKjlfILuj58fb6ivi3V3ut76sx0NTx141cY8o53a4YxGavOB6LPnE/s1600/ZimmermanElizabeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1MuVJ9tYrFebDxyjmvPaJNhLaMe3jT6GLzykNlEHel7oDr0Bl9TKUh18wRaQ5LBoRi94DUjngZhL5b4lagXeUfxWKjlfILuj58fb6ivi3V3ut76sx0NTx141cY8o53a4YxGavOB6LPnE/s1600/ZimmermanElizabeth.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elizabeth Zimmerman Lamb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<br />
Here is something that was handed down from your 2nd great grandmother that you can hand down to your great-grandchildren. It is from <i>Elizabeth Zimmerman Lamb</i> to <i>Harriet Emaline Lamb Johnson </i>to <i>Hazel Johnson Christensen</i> to <i>Anna Christensen Whitney</i> etc. One thing this floating island pudding has meant to me has been love and caring and a warm house with a good smell on a cold day. It has been a favorite in each generation.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVEMrYFn040r_nkFrdJT9yb5zamA7vXbNdlmDQzJx2NeupRWLxTh9Mg_G85GSoQPA68GS8doEpLOjtWTUtO5CijKAVCDsCArVpT46DkFS7fiVW3rD4kkfo1sjWcaUZDliyiZRm2-vSZqQ/s1600/scan0003.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVEMrYFn040r_nkFrdJT9yb5zamA7vXbNdlmDQzJx2NeupRWLxTh9Mg_G85GSoQPA68GS8doEpLOjtWTUtO5CijKAVCDsCArVpT46DkFS7fiVW3rD4kkfo1sjWcaUZDliyiZRm2-vSZqQ/s320/scan0003.tif" width="186" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna Christensen Whitney holding Joy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA10cSvK43qzRURLU3yw4S1hgFG4PQCOxrXJ92k_CRUgRGhVGC3YfccxDAHnMZ-naw9Cwyj9EX458iLk74E-pJTWwcNK2t0iHYuQ6-8QOWpevQnC6nuUMmMEpiQD2qH2G9q_3WyUiJVQc/s1600/JohnsonEdnaHattieHazelEyesEdited.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA10cSvK43qzRURLU3yw4S1hgFG4PQCOxrXJ92k_CRUgRGhVGC3YfccxDAHnMZ-naw9Cwyj9EX458iLk74E-pJTWwcNK2t0iHYuQ6-8QOWpevQnC6nuUMmMEpiQD2qH2G9q_3WyUiJVQc/s320/JohnsonEdnaHattieHazelEyesEdited.tif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harriet Johnson's daughters: Edna, Hazel and Hattie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Grandma (Harriet) said to make the crust—make a light biscuit dough a little shorter than usual but not quite as short as pie dough. (increase shortening) Roll the dough out to a rectangle and put the sliced apples on the dough. Bring the crust up over the apples (that you have sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar) and form a ring. Put in a deep pan—cover with boiling water, sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar again. Dot with a big piece of butter. Bake about an hour at medium temperature (375 degrees). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anne gives us a clue about the country of origin of the recipe when she references our second great-grandmother, Elizabeth Zimmerman of German descent. This must be a German dish.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilorNJ1pvkHZCc5sHV40EoCZ1qGDNIdhFIkpIKXv2Ik_rD5JK5IMA3A6AkKrwM40Gx-fVVuPUonfCYfi5wQwiQZbOeH4ievzA3ppZtG3rRJdrtnI4TksYQqXpatuk5VRe6kSZ2WmqxZS0/s1600/052.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilorNJ1pvkHZCc5sHV40EoCZ1qGDNIdhFIkpIKXv2Ik_rD5JK5IMA3A6AkKrwM40Gx-fVVuPUonfCYfi5wQwiQZbOeH4ievzA3ppZtG3rRJdrtnI4TksYQqXpatuk5VRe6kSZ2WmqxZS0/s320/052.tif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hazel Johnson Christensen's children:<br />
back - Vern, Don; front - Carl, Anna, Paul</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
[Last but not least, my sister Marilyn Prestwich gives us this updated version.]</div>
<div>
<div>
Here's the recipe written for today’s cooks by Marilyn Prestwich, Anna’s daughter:</div>
<div>
Combine 1 3/4 C. flour, 2 1/2 t. baking powder, 3/4 t. salt. Cut a little more than 1/2 C. shortening into the flour mixture with a pastry mixer or two knives. Add 3/4 C. milk a little at a time until dough is pliable, but not sticky. Roll dough out into a long rectangle, wide enough to fold over the apples, and long enough to form into a circle.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Slice and peel about 5 apples. Place apples in the middle of the rectangle. Sprinkle liberally with sugar and cinnamon. Fold dough over the apples, pinching together at the top. This is the dumpling.</div>
<div>
Place a large kettle next to the dough and place dumpling in the bottom of the pan in a circle.</div>
<div>
Add enough boiling water until the dumpling is barely covered. Sprinkle with more sugar and</div>
<div>
cinnamon. Slice 1/4 C. butter or margarine thinly and place them on top of the dumpling circle.</div>
<div>
Bake about an hour at 375 degrees.</div>
</div>
<div>
From <i>Hazel Johnson Christensen: Her Ancestors</i>, compiled by The Bert N Whitney and Anna Christensen Whitney Family History Committee (Provo, Utah: 2011)</div>
Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-55970803500041679962016-12-12T16:19:00.000-07:002016-12-15T16:34:23.254-07:00<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Floating Island Pudding<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Adapted from a heritage recipe from Harriet Emaline Lamb
Johnson<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By Adele Matthews, her great-granddaughter<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #313131; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span><span style="color: #313131; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">6
medium apples (cored, peeled and sliced)<br />
1/2 cup sugar<br />
2 tsp cinnamon<br />
<br />
Mix together in bowl. Set aside.<br />
<br />
Biscuit dough:<br />
<br />
2 cups flour<br />
1 Tbs baking powder<br />
1/2 tsp salt<br />
1/2 cup oil (I use olive oil instead of shortening like the original recipe
said)<br />
3/4 cup milk (or 2 Tbs dry milk and 3/4 cup water)<br />
<br />
Mix dry ingredients. Add oil and milk: stir with fork just until dough is
mixed. Too much handling makes the dough tough.<br />
<br />
Put half of the dough into the bottom of a large casserole dish and spread with
fingers. Add apple mixture on top. Put the rest of the dough on top of the
apples.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYM02V1VHl42pXWllxq_UxtaQG6YigghghiqUuL7KktBrjF7K4yBsmPPWRwGLb3WmMi40jx68g0bAMNNDk2Q-6ja162BTt_WLYwpBeAc0aL1u7lmx4JBcHMmQDNYlTtJpSjDaCm9ptYsA/s1600/doughonthebottom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYM02V1VHl42pXWllxq_UxtaQG6YigghghiqUuL7KktBrjF7K4yBsmPPWRwGLb3WmMi40jx68g0bAMNNDk2Q-6ja162BTt_WLYwpBeAc0aL1u7lmx4JBcHMmQDNYlTtJpSjDaCm9ptYsA/s400/doughonthebottom.jpg" /></a></div>
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<td style="background: white; padding: 0in .5pt 0in .5pt; width: 241.5pt;" width="322"><div align="center" class="TableContents" style="text-align: center;">
Dough on the
bottom<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJO9C462kmSUrwu_6Fx51Os9EAJApG6eY8jv7IHzXd5_kyME5CJLCcH92HFkE-_DFy6lkiFI4ChIl3ewpYG4EiLOAyUwy-6eFNit6Mz1q5e9d7QJswrJg_pEeWtj5cBjTrIWQ-w2M9U4/s1600/Addapples.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJO9C462kmSUrwu_6Fx51Os9EAJApG6eY8jv7IHzXd5_kyME5CJLCcH92HFkE-_DFy6lkiFI4ChIl3ewpYG4EiLOAyUwy-6eFNit6Mz1q5e9d7QJswrJg_pEeWtj5cBjTrIWQ-w2M9U4/s400/Addapples.jpg" /></a></div>
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Add apples<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunYUrOaVFTWOYyqf1ngXbiSfG9O4uKf8NxS8cWvZJ7mg7JmManqjKzqAS0eSNrgcbu0xcNK32M02kL9Glfrc4YXl0iMRMDxz1LZMhmcB11tu4qlq-D864c3p_adqV0m8_-zR65xZMoAw/s1600/Doughonthetop.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunYUrOaVFTWOYyqf1ngXbiSfG9O4uKf8NxS8cWvZJ7mg7JmManqjKzqAS0eSNrgcbu0xcNK32M02kL9Glfrc4YXl0iMRMDxz1LZMhmcB11tu4qlq-D864c3p_adqV0m8_-zR65xZMoAw/s400/Doughonthetop.jpg" /></a></div>
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<td style="background: white; padding: 0in .5pt 0in .5pt; width: 241.5pt;" width="322"><div align="center" class="TableContents" style="text-align: center;">
Dough on the
top<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
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</div>
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<span style="color: #313131; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sprinkle with 1/4 cup sugar and 1/2 tsp cinnamon. Cut 1/2
Tbs butter into little pieces and place on top of dough. Pour 2 cups hot water
(just from the tap) over the whole thing. Bake for 45 minutes at 375 degrees.<br />
<br />
Note: If you like a little more "pudding" you can put it in a deep
oven proof dish and add 3 cups hot water.<br />
Some of my family likes more, some like less.<br />
This is good served hot with ice cream or whipped cream on top.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-87931036155487939002015-02-22T07:55:00.000-07:002015-02-22T07:59:14.451-07:00RootsTech – Saving the World<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the fifth year I have attended <a href="http://rootstech.org/?lang=eng" target="_blank">RootsTech</a>, a family
history spectacular held in Salt Lake City, Utah and sponsored by <a href="https://familysearch.org/" target="_blank">FamilySearch</a>
and others. This year, like every other, was amazing. There is something so
affirming in being with several thousand other people who are as interested and
engaged in family history as I am. The opportunities for learning seem
boundless. This year the <a href="http://www.fgs.org/" target="_blank">Federation of Genealogical Societies</a> held their
convention in conjunction with RootsTech. Though I knew I could never
assimilate everything that was offered during that wonderful week, I could not
resist signing up for both events simultaneously.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcxSzgmVzNopvp28WUly1EJBMheYzIu_VFG9ZC6v6IwmJSnnIz7-0Z3KcSg5WWOCbAPsPuJlYst-I_Z3zqJ9i9_ACeQhhIEwoJGbAcPb1-47wgulFKs6Hf7oLyb5NWLfRmFOYjP4mk-OU/s1600/JoyBethElizabeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcxSzgmVzNopvp28WUly1EJBMheYzIu_VFG9ZC6v6IwmJSnnIz7-0Z3KcSg5WWOCbAPsPuJlYst-I_Z3zqJ9i9_ACeQhhIEwoJGbAcPb1-47wgulFKs6Hf7oLyb5NWLfRmFOYjP4mk-OU/s1600/JoyBethElizabeth.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Sister Beth and Cousin Elizabeth. I love sharing<br />
RootsTech with people I care about.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But when a friend asked me what I learned this year at
RootsTech, I was at a loss to tell her anything specific. I’ve been pondering
her question. For me, such a conference is more than information about a
fascinating hobby. It’s of earth-shattering or rather earth-saving importance.
To see why I feel that way, we have to back up from the specifics to a wider
perspective. But specifics are important too. I’ll try to start there. The
first day for me (<a href="https://www.fgsconference.org/" target="_blank">Genealogical Society day</a>) was about nurturing those of us who
make genealogy our vocation, whether we are paid with money or with service
blessings. I was impressed that it is important to build unity and camaraderie
among the staff at a family history center or the members of a genealogical
society. We do this by listening with respect to one another, by having fun
together, and by keeping in mind the mission of our facility or society.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also on Wednesday were some classes about how to reach out
to others who may be interested in joining our ranks—those who take their
family history seriously. The tools for doing so are numerous. I feel
overwhelmed with the complexity and the numbers of internet helps that are
available to us. On Wednesday and throughout the conference, several classes
just demonstrated one or many of these helps. I am hoping that when a certain
need arises, I can remember something I learned that may meet that need. Just
cataloging the syllabi of good ideas and instructions in my computer files or harder
still, in my mind, seems daunting to me. (RootsTech syllabus <a href="http://rootstech.org/About/syllabus?lang=eng" target="_blank">here</a>.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqBmIGV0MbINF2KoWyJ13zFg-iD4C3nupIA1MLH5ScObg_fLw2tdWelpkr6uKFRltBA47PNa8TMfdzANi-86wOfuZ2PqQGOCkdA78qPkTPHoDRNu89WPWpX4eKAUhsivFgdFdZjQ71yc/s1600/JoyAbrahamLincoln.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqBmIGV0MbINF2KoWyJ13zFg-iD4C3nupIA1MLH5ScObg_fLw2tdWelpkr6uKFRltBA47PNa8TMfdzANi-86wOfuZ2PqQGOCkdA78qPkTPHoDRNu89WPWpX4eKAUhsivFgdFdZjQ71yc/s1600/JoyAbrahamLincoln.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with cousin Abe on his birthday</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A memorable class considered the principles of ethical
genealogy. These were more firmly embedded in my personal philosophy as I
listened to <a href="http://legalgenealogist.com/" target="_blank">Judy Russell</a>. I think I have a better idea of what ethical
genealogy means and a stronger resolve to live those principles. That was the
first day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On Thursday, the pace quickened and the opportunities
multiplied, and that was the pattern for Friday and then Saturday too. Much has
been written about each day. I am still gathering information and impressions
from the written accounts of those of us who ponder our world on “paper.” Here
is one good <a href="http://www.geneamusings.com/2015/02/rootstech-2015-and-fgs-2015-conference.html" target="_blank">summary</a> of a few of these accounts by <a href="http://www.geneamusings.com/" target="_blank">Randy Seaver</a>. Whole presentations and also pieces
of them are available on the internet <a href="http://rootstech.org/video/4050134760001" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VK74LRhXaac" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvPMsmtbDXk" target="_blank">here</a> and just keep looking. The conference is over but it has not
ended.<br />
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Each day began with a large general session and some of these are
also available <a href="http://rootstech.org/video/4050134760001" target="_blank">online</a>. I always love the keynote addresses and this year was no
exception. The feelings those general sessions inspire in me are what makes me
love to be a family historian and a genealogist. The most powerful insight strengthened for me
this year is the importance of each person’s life and how all of our lives are
interwoven. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VK74LRhXaac" target="_blank">Tan Le</a> demonstrated that importance as she talked about her
grandmother and her mother. <a href="https://www.lds.org/church/news/rootstech-2015-give-loved-ones-time-donny-osmond-says?lang=eng" target="_blank">Donny Osmond </a>got choked up about his dad. </div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ptgPCxfXuwc" target="_blank">A.J. Jacobs </a>showed us that we are all connected, cousins, if
you will. I had four of the more traditional type of cousins and a sister at
RootsTech with me, which really intensified my interconnected experience.<br />
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSpLUOU6HfLSPdcljQ0n4_xawHu9C4jwxjHiWvf-aLXToVykVZRJcKLe7PwXFnmND4inaS9AVMKesSW-NkEXENhzF3dEk157wa0-SW50J0IiXSWVhyphenhyphenO5nA6CdiuGc8j4rS_BtvGTb3Ns/s1600/JoanNay&Beth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSpLUOU6HfLSPdcljQ0n4_xawHu9C4jwxjHiWvf-aLXToVykVZRJcKLe7PwXFnmND4inaS9AVMKesSW-NkEXENhzF3dEk157wa0-SW50J0IiXSWVhyphenhyphenO5nA6CdiuGc8j4rS_BtvGTb3Ns/s1600/JoanNay&Beth.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousin Joan and Beth; All photos<br />
courtesy of Beth Breinholt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I
also met up with members of the staff of the Family History Center where I
work. There were specific sessions for us directed at how to help our patrons.
I received inspiration to work harder to increase the numbers of those who come
to the center and to help them have a good experience with us.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbUG3eTIKr8znEAjJ9dgHZZ-7We8bnNyGdJCq8V9U8KzcHIOSPKCHgJMzTYCZuG-pTtIo0sBenzZyjPZiaP1E0A_qA_fbYN4-7wshdUX_1bRZPW0qOOPtDuSv54HSvGiqfheex74C34g/s1600/ElizabethDonNadineJoyBeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbUG3eTIKr8znEAjJ9dgHZZ-7We8bnNyGdJCq8V9U8KzcHIOSPKCHgJMzTYCZuG-pTtIo0sBenzZyjPZiaP1E0A_qA_fbYN4-7wshdUX_1bRZPW0qOOPtDuSv54HSvGiqfheex74C34g/s1600/ElizabethDonNadineJoyBeth.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousins Elizabeth, Don, Nadine, me and sister Beth</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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A good experience is exactly what was available for those
who came to RootsTech 2015. But I believe that experience has profoundly influenced
the world we live in and will continue to do so. <a href="http://thechartchick.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Janet Hovorka</a> wrote in her
little book, <i><a href="https://zapthegrandmagap.com/orderpg.html" target="_blank">Zap the Grandma Gap</a></i>, that
“family history can save the world.” She goes on to explain that when people
are grounded in their past, they are empowered with the perspective to go
forward with faith and compassion. The decisions of the past have shaped our
lives and we have the capacity to shape the future of this world in a like
manner. The type of knowledge, perspective, and inspiration we gain at a
conference like the huge and spectacular RootsTech is likewise a huge and
spectacular step forward in saving our world and the people who live here.</div>
Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-27831078083345841642015-02-08T19:58:00.000-07:002015-02-08T22:26:52.484-07:00Moms and Tots at the Family History Center<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJigq64Rx1f4xZ4zSesBImwy2unt7gf5ODETnKe-OE1TOh4sV-4JrRQOQP-wERHs5na-ccW4f51irKyN-bg2ldUkth5okyy65IRk5g_n5bDvG1sps45RAyiC9_KEAZeFO2YNqj21J4UB8/s1600/FHC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJigq64Rx1f4xZ4zSesBImwy2unt7gf5ODETnKe-OE1TOh4sV-4JrRQOQP-wERHs5na-ccW4f51irKyN-bg2ldUkth5okyy65IRk5g_n5bDvG1sps45RAyiC9_KEAZeFO2YNqj21J4UB8/s1600/FHC.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family History Centers are branches of <a href="http://familysearch.org/" target="_blank">FamilySearch</a> and<br />the <a href="https://familysearch.org/locations/saltlakecity-library" target="_blank">Family History Library</a> in Salt Lake City, Utah. Their<br />goal is to provide resources to assist in the research and<br />study of your genealogy and family history.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The <a href="https://familysearch.org/locations/" target="_blank">LDS Family History Centers </a>scattered throughout the world vary in size and staff, but we are all encouraged to make our patrons feel warmly welcomed. One fairly new way of accomplishing this goal is to welcome family members of all ages, even mothers with small children. Some centers have established a time and a day for these mothers to bring their preschoolers in to have their own family history experience while the moms do research.<br />
<br />
Are we serious about the word "family" in our Family History Centers? Hopefully, yes. Our center has invited moms and "tots" to the center for an hour every Monday morning. It's been exciting to develop curriculum for these preschool children that will keep them happy and busy while their mothers work in the next room. It's not enough just to babysit. We want to give the children a taste of family history for themselves. As we try these ideas, I would like to share them with others who may want to try something similar in their own centers.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><b>Family Trees</b></span><br />
<b>Principle</b>: People are stronger when they are united in families.<br />
<b>Scriptures:</b> Romans 12:5 So we, being many, are one body in Christ, and every one members one of another.<br />
2 Nephi 1:21 . . . be determined in one mind and in one heart, united in all things, that ye may not come down into captivity;<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><b>Introduction</b></span><br />
Show the children one craft stick (popsicle stick). Ask them if they could break it. Let a child break the stick. Show them two sticks. Can anyone break two sticks together? How about three, etc. Explain that each stick could represent someone in their family. When the family members stick together, they cannot be broken.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><b>Talking time</b></span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
An important part of any preschool curriculum is time to talk with the children. They talk together and individually with the instructors. Talking increases vocabulary and prepares a child for reading. In this lesson, we talk about trees and how they are symbols of strength and growth. Family trees can look like real trees with names or pictures of the people in the family. We show them examples of different family trees. The children sing about their families. We read stories about families. We talk about grandmas and grandpas and aunts, uncles and cousins.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><b>Activities</b></span><br />
1. Give each child several craft sticks to represent family members. Let them draw eyes and mouth on the sticks or color them. Or you may help them write the names of each family member on the sticks. Tape them together for strength.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaf1altp2RQRr1JrK8Gu8xZoWfcI529uApX7NUwn0eovJPVumC1EaTjHxg5AhfQERaSWsQDxPkwWJHM9G2Ap-EQHOfBSfsq19ef5V4UxGl_GAAftXhSYKdeWp8_ils9RUvK0jsS6xsI0/s1600/family-at-home-1187223-gallery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaf1altp2RQRr1JrK8Gu8xZoWfcI529uApX7NUwn0eovJPVumC1EaTjHxg5AhfQERaSWsQDxPkwWJHM9G2Ap-EQHOfBSfsq19ef5V4UxGl_GAAftXhSYKdeWp8_ils9RUvK0jsS6xsI0/s1600/family-at-home-1187223-gallery.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Through games, activities, songs, and talking time, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">there is much that preschool children can learn about </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Family History. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
2. Draw pictures of family members or help the children write their family members' names on a paper family tree with framed spaces. There are several online.<br />
3. Play games like Ring around the Roses or London Bridge to illustrate unity and strength. Talk about how these games were played by their grandparents or parents.<br />
4. Walk outdoors and observe and talk about trees.<br />
5. Sing <a href="https://www.lds.org/music/library/childrens-songbook/i-have-a-family-tree?lang=eng" target="_blank">"I Have a Family Tree."</a><br />
6. Visit your local library for picture books about families. Choose books with large pictures and not too much text.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><b>Culminating Activity</b></span><br />
There is a large tree on the wall where the children meet. (It is a bulletin board tree from <a href="http://www.carsondellosa.com/products/1701__Big-Tree-Bulletin-Board-Set-1701" target="_blank">Carson-Dellosa</a>.) When the mothers come to pick up their child, he or she has the opportunity to put a leaf on our tree with the person's name on it that their mom has been working on. When the person's information is complete enough for temple ordinances, an apple is prepared with his or her name and the child hangs the apple on our tree. This is our Tree of Life. The fruit represents the love of God - our relationship with Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. Our relationship and our ancestors' relationship with our Eternal Family also brings us strength in unity and oneness. This tree will remain on the wall and gradually increase its number of leaves and fruit as time passes.Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-52628691968894445452015-01-19T11:30:00.000-07:002015-01-19T13:28:29.502-07:00The Supply Closet: An example of sensory writing<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
My sister Beth and I went to the same elementary school. I was delighted to read her description of the supply closet at the Boulder City Elementary School. Beth uses sensory details to take the reader right into her scene. Her detailed description and obvious love for this small place in her personal history allows us to experience it with her. Read on for a treat:</div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The halls of my elementary school still come to me in my dreams. I remember the two story building and its shiny linoleum covered switchback stairs, the centers depressed slightly from years of hundreds of hurrying children heading out for recess or else home.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqH4E0H_gZzbqlLdkpylQ77100N9ww9VMkceptSg88KX_MrpEWbu5srjbzpbqo1nOM5vDa2VdChyphenhyphenNSTt95xdoISRtoIQVAwU0U3osMgIXWkIlsf-kFvky_bjnFrt8Bsc8FRH3asNTucU/s1600/BCElementary1932.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqH4E0H_gZzbqlLdkpylQ77100N9ww9VMkceptSg88KX_MrpEWbu5srjbzpbqo1nOM5vDa2VdChyphenhyphenNSTt95xdoISRtoIQVAwU0U3osMgIXWkIlsf-kFvky_bjnFrt8Bsc8FRH3asNTucU/s1600/BCElementary1932.jpg" height="251" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boulder City Elementary School, 1932 (photo before our time<br />there) <span style="line-height: 1.15;">located at 401 California Avenue, now City Hall.</span><br />
Bureau of Reclamation Collection from University of Nevada,<br />
Las Vegas, University Libraries</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Going down the last set of stairs could take me right out the door once I crossed the hall on the first floor, but there was a major attraction on the left and it always caught my attention—the Supply Closet.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This small fragrant room doubled as a janitor’s cubby, and there upon the shelves above a long and large wooden-handled mop and folded up dust rags, sat reams of paper, creamy ivory paper with turquoise dashed lines printed across the landscape to guide my childish and earnest attempts in make letters properly. Long narrow boxes held yellow pencils, lined up perfectly as soldiers, pink erasers unspoiled atop each pencil, waiting individually to be chosen, stacked on top of each other. Next to them were the heavy round tubs of paste, white, sticky and solid. Unscrewing the lid gave off a smell like peppermint and I admit I furtively sampled it at my desk occasionally when I thought no one would see. Chalk, cylindrical, yellow and smooth with sharply flattened ends gave themselves away as brand new and unused. Long erasers with a sponge on one side and some kind of chamois fabric on the other lined up next to the chalk, the feel of which gave me a shudder across my shoulders.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcnZQrgNmq1gHmMNTG2Tahh1ZPrjEEH9zpMwMGcZA2Qo2Z1wpDb_baO3x-BEl5aiDq3uYP8tYoCWVdeBwo-J9O0lP75o0JoVNfx0Sp1FllCJRLo3PBGSIKven1aE94c9J2E-DBssXMiqg/s1600/120px-Coloured,_textured_craft_card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcnZQrgNmq1gHmMNTG2Tahh1ZPrjEEH9zpMwMGcZA2Qo2Z1wpDb_baO3x-BEl5aiDq3uYP8tYoCWVdeBwo-J9O0lP75o0JoVNfx0Sp1FllCJRLo3PBGSIKven1aE94c9J2E-DBssXMiqg/s1600/120px-Coloured,_textured_craft_card.jpg" height="138" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But my favorite of the supplies was the construction paper. It was heavy! The brown paper wrapped bundles were stacked and lined up on wood shelving, waiting. The color hidden inside was identified by small black printing at the end of each perfectly rectangular package—red, orange, yellow--all the rainbow hues plus black and brown, and then there was white, the color of endless prospects. The world was at my fingertips when I held a sheet of this paper. Colors were vibrant and true applied to white construction paper, and the weight of the paper made it so erasers erased properly when a sketch began to go awry. Cutting the paper was another treat—no flimsy spineless sheet of anything else could compete. The small silver scissors were allowed broad strokes along the high contrast lines of creation as the paper stood erect and at attention while it was being worked and shaped. The white paper had a cousin, manila, that was close in competition. It, too, was a little more rigid and easier to work with than “plain” paper, but the off white color paled the intensity of crayon and tempera paint soaked the fibers more quickly than pure white.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the classroom, inevitably the call came from the teacher, “Who would be willing to go to the supply closet?” I raised my flapping hand high enough I had to support my arm with the other hand, hoping to be chosen for a trip downstairs. My quick pace inevitably turned to super slow motion as I reached the closet door, propped open with a wooden triangle block jammed underneath it, and the single light bulb suspended from the ceiling lit up possibilities. The warmth of the room made the contents seem even friendlier, and I caressed the art and learning supplies, curiously touching each item up and down the shelf as I carried out the errand.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even today, opening a package of construction paper, although not made like the stuff I had as a child, fills me with anticipation and something about the smell of the paper speaks of possibilities and within, the creative juices begin to flow.</span>Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-66079643321792182722014-12-27T08:05:00.001-07:002014-12-27T08:06:14.926-07:00Remember a "great day"<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcrbBuaAqV6bT7JuqOuDTaxX3ek5M4yv-TG3Y9RcldRPXEk0fj9lOuIY2b-_H0OiEju41gygyzCBGJzIsPpWBJwtUWYIaanPYKcQ25yVZObSj8M-KDxfHhfz8HgtuBdYUhzZyf27hK3-o/s1600/1460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcrbBuaAqV6bT7JuqOuDTaxX3ek5M4yv-TG3Y9RcldRPXEk0fj9lOuIY2b-_H0OiEju41gygyzCBGJzIsPpWBJwtUWYIaanPYKcQ25yVZObSj8M-KDxfHhfz8HgtuBdYUhzZyf27hK3-o/s1600/1460.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Try writing just a glimpse into your life like Rachel did.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When you are as old as I am, it seems rather overwhelming to write about your whole life. However, I believe the best life histories are written just a snippet at a time. The story approach is a good way to write. <a href="http://www.familyhistorywritingservice.com/2014/09/on-line-personal-storytelling-helps.html" target="_blank">Here</a> are some helps for writing personal stories.<br />
<br />
Another way to give readers (including yourself) a glimpse into your life is to describe a day in detail. I was recently reading through a scrapbook that my daughter Rachel had made about her high school days. Rachel was a keeper, and she put much of what she kept into books: big, stuffed full, not really organized, and certainly not fancy, loose leaf books. What a gift for her family, since she died at a young age, nearly ten years ago! I started a blog to remember her four years ago, but my posts have gotten more infrequent as time passes. A certain essay that she wrote in high school about a wonderful day she had at a swim meet inspired me to write about her once again.(<a href="http://rememberingrachel.blogspot.com/">http://rememberingrachel.blogspot.com</a>/)<br />
<br />
I offer the essay here, too, in hopes it will inspire all of us to write about our lives, beginning with just one day, or something memorable in one day. Happy writing!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs13qAz6uqkV5zhBdNSjiHkCK1SPerFt8TU11dnbuNrHovjjt533zbJaNJd0xhkChIChdQj4svSsX9TEZe7gzAdO6XrUyBSu2y_X3M4gM3eMmt90uepyQ_Kb4u7bS0bFLbWnCDj5aksc8/s1600/KSS500_20110922_01274817_050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs13qAz6uqkV5zhBdNSjiHkCK1SPerFt8TU11dnbuNrHovjjt533zbJaNJd0xhkChIChdQj4svSsX9TEZe7gzAdO6XrUyBSu2y_X3M4gM3eMmt90uepyQ_Kb4u7bS0bFLbWnCDj5aksc8/s1600/KSS500_20110922_01274817_050.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rachel at an Orem High School swim meet. She graduated<br />
in May of 1994.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Rachel Stubbs<br />
10-19-1992<br />
On October 14, 1992 it was the inner-squad swim meet, blue
against gold. I was on the blue team and Bethany and Jared were our captains. I
was in the first race, the 200 yard relay medley. I swam fifty fly and I did
pretty good too. The next race for me was the 100 yard butterfly, after the
diving competition. I was so scared. I had never swam a 100 fly before. And not
only that, I had to swim the 500 free right after the 100 fly race. The diving
just ended and Dan [my coach] called “first call for 100 fly.” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I was really nervous. “Swimmers on the blocks,” Arlene
[assistant coach] called. Then, “Swimmers on your marks.” BUZZ, the buzzer went off. I took a flying
leap. Splash into the water automatically. My hips start going up and down,
starting the dolphin kick. I surface on the top of the water. I take my first
stroke. My hands came out and over my head. I take my first breath. I started a
pace that I could keep for the whole hundred. Slam! I got to the first wall
with only a 75 [yard distance] left; “remember to hit the wall fast,” I
thought. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I got to the other side. “Pretty good so far.” I reach out
to hit the pad and I slammed it off the wall. “Great,” I thought, and the push
off the wall was no good. I am only half-way through. “I can do it,” is what I
assure myself. I reach the other side again. Only a 25 left. “Pick up your
speed, Rachel!” I told myself. My hands were in place. Only one more kick and I
would be done. Wham! I surfaced. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Everyone was screaming. Dan was yelling and jumping up and
down. I had swam the 100 yards in 1:18! I was so happy. I got out and cooled
down, then went and gave my coach Dan a hug. I was happy, but the meet wasn’t
over. I still had the 500 and the relay left. The 500 was the next race. All I
wanted to do was finish that race. I was so dead from the 100 fly that I really
didn’t expect to get my best time. But I did! </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
My parents were in the stands so I went up there and was
talking to them. Bethany yelled at me to come down. I was supposed to swim in
the 200 free relay. They had redone the relay line-up and forgot to tell me. I
ran down the stairs and ran to lane six and jumped in and swam my fastest 50
free time. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
It was a great day.</blockquote>
Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-14033318244612273712014-12-11T10:42:00.000-07:002014-12-11T10:58:16.194-07:00Treasure Chest Thursday: Grandma's Boxes The summer of 1993 marked a dramatic ending to a work of love for my Grandma Christensen. (Read that story <a href="http://www.familyhistorywritingservice.com/2013/09/grandmas-book-of-remembrance.html" target="_blank">here</a>.) My sister Beth and I had embarked upon a project to organize our Christensen/Johnson family history. Grandma, aging fast, was so invested in what we were doing that she asked us to make a hundred copies of the book to give to her posterity for the coming Christmas season. But as we prepared to travel through a late July night to her home in Las Vegas, Nevada, we knew we couldn't wait until the heat of the summer had turned into December. Our grandma passed away within days after we delivered "the book." It was distributed at the family luncheon that followed her funeral.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMn5FRWUPl8xDWL37mvotTKQBeIn-gNrMAmu4B0996zw47x0dVt4LBWkvxNHNvORg5rjF6vyQhY0abCJf32B9l63T24cPSjdVOu5ple4pgxbXkXmRBwlojO7OTtassuOGKPL6Kf5oa2U/s1600/boxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMn5FRWUPl8xDWL37mvotTKQBeIn-gNrMAmu4B0996zw47x0dVt4LBWkvxNHNvORg5rjF6vyQhY0abCJf32B9l63T24cPSjdVOu5ple4pgxbXkXmRBwlojO7OTtassuOGKPL6Kf5oa2U/s1600/boxes.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the "boxes" in the boxes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But that was only the beginning. More inspiration came on the 15th of November in 2003, over ten years after Grandma's death. In her family, our branch (our mother Anne had died years earlier) was known for our interest in family lore. Our uncles, aunts and cousins who lived in Las Vegas cleaned out Grandma's home and divided her possessions. But when the eight boxes of memorabilia went unclaimed after her death, they ended up in my sister Adele's storeroom in Orem, Utah.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfVf19M-u6HyM_HsyoWl2mMBEKcbS32_j5XLrEJMDd-AtqV9lPwHok2bubc4l0A41uhaKvnZzXdo8KFmTc2YVlsNYV6mveCtCA9cWqXIDk7OHM33Hi87R-bQeCufq9DOUp9CkoIKqv9iA/s1600/AnnaleeJoyGmaboxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfVf19M-u6HyM_HsyoWl2mMBEKcbS32_j5XLrEJMDd-AtqV9lPwHok2bubc4l0A41uhaKvnZzXdo8KFmTc2YVlsNYV6mveCtCA9cWqXIDk7OHM33Hi87R-bQeCufq9DOUp9CkoIKqv9iA/s1600/AnnaleeJoyGmaboxes.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sister Annalee and I reading and sorting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now, ten years later, Adele had called several of us sisters who lived nearby to a family meeting to discuss "Grandma's boxes." The plan was to sort through them and organize or discard the old news clippings, letters, photos of distant relatives, funeral programs for our great-aunts and uncles, etc. We opened the first box and the smell of Grandma's house wafted out. I closed my eyes and I was back in her home, hearing her voice giving us instruction and caution. I felt the call to publish another book, better, more complete, hardbound, about the life of our grandparents, their children, their ancestors and their family history. Did I say one more book? Maybe there would be more than one.<br />
<br />
Grandma had lived through important world events, two World Wars, the Great Depression, life on a farm in Idaho and then the growth of the Las Vegas metropolis where her family was a force to be reckoned with. But the numerous photos and newspaper clippings dealt with those events only as they touched the people she loved. Candy boxes and stationery boxes were filled with letters and cards from these folks. We spread the treasures out in piles on Adele's ping pong table and still there was more. What a fun day that was! And nearly overwhelming.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcYoyg05XbGRKOW6B4scgVHCrrV-nBwL9MrlykHCKnFhvxuAauC5wlgFwRlztQxQgCI15i1yJ7MkchygY6CSi4dbq5P4jfhmMiupLerA2BsASKziV_wGmdMZHB0Luaac_3UvvAY7XNOA/s1600/MelanieGmasBoxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcYoyg05XbGRKOW6B4scgVHCrrV-nBwL9MrlykHCKnFhvxuAauC5wlgFwRlztQxQgCI15i1yJ7MkchygY6CSi4dbq5P4jfhmMiupLerA2BsASKziV_wGmdMZHB0Luaac_3UvvAY7XNOA/s1600/MelanieGmasBoxes.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sister Melanie working</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
These ten boxes grew into three 800 page books about Grandma and Grandpa's loved ones and their ancestry. The project took nearly six years to complete with several of my sisters and cousins adding their work. Old papers, photos, letters and clippings had been stuffed into boxes marked for recycling unless "Anne's girls" wanted to go through them. Indeed a treasure and a blessing, for us and for posterity.Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-46122782042095857462014-12-08T09:18:00.000-07:002014-12-08T09:23:38.887-07:00Obituaries: Newspaper Gold Mines<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Today is the birthday of my niece Jeni. Since I'm thinking of her today, I'm posting a copy of her obituary. In a few words it captures her life story, gives her birth and death dates and places, and her family members. It is definitely worth searching out obituaries to write a family history story. </span></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">1976 ~ 2014<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG0XGDuta-wwovPLRY9FqBdWmGjFRnsu0xbOin3aknNgRAxzWg4kWhSIx_c1Nozg4Dhx5uHyICePAvV4gVmx_AcY6nbfTRiVMCwUI0F7IPck_4NxEM2NsIP01CzEKM-cSjbJUsm9lQuzA/s1600/Jeni.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG0XGDuta-wwovPLRY9FqBdWmGjFRnsu0xbOin3aknNgRAxzWg4kWhSIx_c1Nozg4Dhx5uHyICePAvV4gVmx_AcY6nbfTRiVMCwUI0F7IPck_4NxEM2NsIP01CzEKM-cSjbJUsm9lQuzA/s1600/Jeni.jpg" height="320" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jennifer Whitney Goodman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Jennifer Whitney
Goodman passed away peacefully in her home January 23, 2014, at the age of 37.
She finally succumbed to breast cancer that attacked her the third time.
She was born December 8, 1976 in Las Vegas, NV. to Clark and Susan Whitney of
Henderson, Nevada, the second oldest of six children, Jennifer spent her life serving
those around her and finding joy in the simple things in life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">She graduated
from Brigham Young University in 1998, where she met her beloved husband Rex
Goodman whom she married in the Oakland California LDS Temple on August 18,
1998. Jeni loved spending time with her family and friends. Some of her fondest
memories were of Whitney family reunions with her extended family. Jennifer
battled breast cancer on three separate occasions and also overcame a serious
back injury as a teenager. She had great empathy for people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">She grew up in
Henderson, Nevada, and later lived in Provo, Utah (BYU), Sacramento,
California, Carson City and Dayton, Nevada, and finally in Bountiful. She was a
devoted mother to her three children and was a faithful member of the LDS church
in which she served in many callings in the Primary, Young Women, and Relief
Society organizations.She loved the children and the young women that she
served and could normally be found preparing a lesson or making plans for an
upcoming activity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">She is survived
by her husband Rex Goodman; three children, Lucy, Cole and Cecelia Goodman;
parents Clark and Susan Whitney; siblings Eddie Whitney (Barbara), Angela Davis
(Anthony), Nick Whitney, Holly Schilling (John), Luke Whitney (Jenniphfer);
in-laws Grant and Judy Goodman; as well as numerous brother- and
sister-in-laws, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and cousins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Services will be
held at 10:00 am Monday Jan. 27, 2014, at the LDS Val Verda 9th Ward Chapel,
3317 South 800 West, Bountiful, Utah. Viewings will be held on Sunday, Jan. 26,
2014 at Russon Brothers Mortuary, 295 N. Main Street, Bountiful, Utah from
6:00-8:00 pm, and on Monday from 9:00 to 9:45 am at the church prior to the
funeral. Interment to follow at Bountiful City Cemetery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">In lieu of
flowers, please consider making a donation in her name to the Camp Kesem BYU (<a href="http://campkesem.org/byu"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">http://campkesem.org/byu</span></a>).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">On a personal note, Jeni shared a thought in the LDS Church Primary program she headed up in November 2014: "Every time we give and receive love, we reaffirm our identity as children of God, since He is love." During her birthday week, I will serve others by indexing obituaries. Following are some obituary projects currently underway at <a href="http://familysearch.org/">FamilySearch.org</a>. To begin a project, go to </span><span style="color: #0000ee; font-family: Palatino Linotype, serif;"><u><a href="https://familysearch.org/indexing/">https://familysearch.org/indexing/</a> </u></span></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">For help, read the blog at </span><span style="color: #302e2e; font-family: Palatino Linotype, serif;"><a href="https://familysearch.org/blog/en/obituaries-volunteers-treasure-trove-searchable-stories/">https://familysearch.org/blog/en/obituaries-volunteers-treasure-trove-searchable-stories/</a></span></div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br />
US, Arkansas—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part D]</div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
US, AZ, NM, NV—Obituaries, 1980–2014</div>
<div class="font7" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
US, California, Alameda County, Oakland—Obituaries, 1986–2011<br />
US, California—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part D]US, CT, DE, NH, VT—Obituaries, 1980–2014<br />
US, Georgia—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part D]<br />
US, Idaho—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part D]<br />
US, Indiana—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part B]US, Iowa—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part D]<br />
US, Kansas—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part C]<br />
US, Kentucky—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part B]<br />
US, Louisiana—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part B]<br />
US, Maine—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part C]<br />
US, Massachusetts—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part C]<br />
US, Michigan—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part D]<br />
US, Minnesota—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part C]<br />
US, Mississippi—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part D]<br />
US, Missouri—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part D]<br />
US, Nebraska—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part C]<br />
US, New Jersey—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part B]<br />
US, North Dakota—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part B]<br />
US, Oklahoma—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part C]<br />
US, Oregon—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part E]<br />
US, Tennessee—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part C]<br />
US, Texas—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part C]<br />
US, Texas—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part D]<br />
US, Utah—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part C]<br />
US, West Virginia—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part D]<br />
US, Wisconsin—Obituaries, 1980–2014 [Part C]</div>
Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-84418630458510955782014-12-07T11:03:00.000-07:002014-12-07T11:05:05.133-07:00Great finds: Newspaper researchI attended a class finding family information in the many online newpaper sites now available. These are becoming more and more common and accessible. I knew the Syphus family had spent time in Australia so I popped in to <a href="http://elephind.com/">Elephind.com</a> which I understood to be strong in that country. I was clearly fishing for information, just adding the surname to see what would happen. Whoa! Did I catch a big one.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Imagine my surprise when this headline came up, "FATHER STABS DAUGHTER WHILE SHE NURSES BABY: Boy Saves His
Sister from Probable Death by Hurling Parent Aside." Could this be <i>my</i> Syphus family? I wondered. Further research revealed that yes, indeed, the errant father whose newsworthy act was reported in the <i>Los Angeles Herald</i> (though it occurred in Salt Lake City) was indeed a cousin of mine.<br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="http://cdnc.ucr.edu/cgi-bin/imageserver/imageserver.pl?oid=LAH19090224.2.51&area=1&width=436&color=all&ext=jpg&key=" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 13px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="Block image" border="0" src="http://cdnc.ucr.edu/cgi-bin/imageserver/imageserver.pl?oid=LAH19090224.2.51&area=1&width=436&color=all&ext=jpg&key=" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://cdnc.ucr.edu/cgi-bin/cdnc?a=p&p=home&e=-------en--20--1--txt-txIN-------" target="_blank">California Digital Newspaper collection</a>, Los Angeles Herald, 2 February 1909</div>
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<br />Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-38243343655696825742014-09-25T17:08:00.000-06:002014-09-25T17:08:07.649-06:00On-line Personal Storytelling Helps<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are several websites that facilitate family history
writing when it comes to writing your own story. These sites each encourage us to take the sting out of writing our histories by doing it just one story at a
time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.legacystories.org/">Legacy Stories</a>
has been around for awhile. Tom Cormier, the president and CEO, has long been a
proponent of preserving personal history.
He works with an expert advisory team with the aim to “educate, motivate
and activate people to rescue their highest priority recorded and living
memories before they are lost.” The website and the mobile app both provide
what they call “rescue tools” and a place to both store and share priceless
personal and family history. They also provide training for workers to help
senior citizens use these tools.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The basic Legacy plan is free, with one gigabyte of storage.
An additional $5.95 a month gives the user unlimited storage and other
upgrades. Besides regular story prompts,
the site gives the user a place to store their journal entries and stories,
their photos and the oral recordings made about the photos. They even provide a
“Legacy Shop” connected with Amazon.com to sell products associated with sharing
personal and family history. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMToSCiWHwEh5oB00JNi6nKIYO2-QCd8GyC9MZ7wuGzUr5PcjCVSVaH5prxavANPSK1xVSHYkBxhqKaSQvuOQJvviCejAhzjvnlX1XhuYDMJoaizg7gaorFGVqwrxevVa97hnpk1eVVwY/s1600/2014-09-25+16.36.08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMToSCiWHwEh5oB00JNi6nKIYO2-QCd8GyC9MZ7wuGzUr5PcjCVSVaH5prxavANPSK1xVSHYkBxhqKaSQvuOQJvviCejAhzjvnlX1XhuYDMJoaizg7gaorFGVqwrxevVa97hnpk1eVVwY/s1600/2014-09-25+16.36.08.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by Julia Stubbs</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In contrast, the year-old <a href="https://www.storyworth.com/">StoryWorth</a>, is the essence of
simplicity. It is geared to make storytelling easy and accessible to anyone
with an email account. They email the person with a question about his or her life and the person replies with a story by email or by telephone. Then the company saves
the story and shares it with other family members. The costs are nominal. Up
to 6 family members can write their stories to be shared with an unlimited
number of recipients. Photos and audio files may also be uploaded. Stories can
be edited and saved on the site and downloaded at any time. Even printed books
are available at an additional cost. The price is $25 for 6 months or $49 for a
year. More story tellers can be added
for an additional cost. This company has been featured in a <i>New York Times</i>
article.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still another site also mentioned in the <i>Times</i> article is <a href="https://www.memloom.com/faq">memloom.com</a>. This site, run by two
Michigan women, offers limited “showcase” templates which gives a story a
professional look and feel. They do not support export or printing options at
this time and the amount of storage for stories, images, video or audio is also
limited. A free basic account gives the user 3 gigabytes of storage and when
you switch to a standard or premium account, the storage increases. The prices
for these upgrades are not apparent on their website.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In addition, there are other worthy programs geared to
helping us write our life stories. The <a href="http://www.storycircle.org/index.php">Story Circle Network</a> is
especially for women with stories to tell, and it encourages the formation of
local groups of storytellers. <a href="http://womensmemoirs.com/">Women’s Memoirs</a> is another site for
women. Nina Amir writes a great <a href="http://writenonfictionnow.com/about-nina-amir/">blog about writing
non-fiction</a>, as does Lynn Palermo who writes <a href="http://www.thearmchairgenealogist.com/">The Armchair Genealogist</a>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hopefully one of these helps will inspire you or your loved one to make progress in preserving your stories. Maybe all you need is a good friend who is also a good listener
and willing to encourage you. Maybe you just need a pen and a cheap notebook or an
app that does audio recording on your cellphone. Your local church or library may
sponsor a writing group or series of classes. But probably the most important
ingredient in actually writing your memoirs or autobiography is the simple
willingness to just sit down and begin. Begin with one memory or one story. But
just do it. Yes, we can.</span></div>
Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-36956431254354165092014-02-04T18:03:00.002-07:002014-02-04T18:16:55.862-07:00Tips for Researching Your Family History<div class="MsoNormal">
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Uncovering details about your family is a rewarding
experience; for several reasons. The
pure curiosity satisfied by accurate genealogy research is one thing, but
assembling a snapshot of your lineage also provides information about genetics,
health and illness trends within your family, as well as definitive answers
about your nationality and ethnic heritage.</div>
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Fortunately, it's easier than ever for dedicated researchers
to get started digging up family dirt.
The paper trail genealogists have relied on for decades still exists,
but today's research landscape also includes online resources, which continue
to expand in size and scope. Compiling information about your family's past is
a multi-faceted pursuit, using whatever avenues are at your disposal. Try these tips for tracing your family
history.</div>
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<h3>
<b>Start With a Game Plan</b></h3>
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Jumping in without a goal in mind can be fun, but you'll
quickly exhaust research avenues without a master plan. Are you interested in a single family member,
attempting to flesh out his or her history, in great detail? Or are you more inclined to fill lots of the
branches of your family tree with summary sketches of many relatives?</div>
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Answering a few questions up-front sets you on the best path
for success, as you leave the gate on a defined mission. Genealogy, in its simplest sense, is data
collection, so set yourself up to efficiently compile information as it comes
in. Start with a family tree; either
pre-printed or of your own crafting. It
can be accomplished digitally, online, but starting with a paper copy gives you
a working document to expand-on and share with other family members as you fill
branches.</div>
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Whenever possible, standardize your recordkeeping, so it's
easy to compare entries as you accumulate them.
A personal profile sheet, for example, lets you plug information about
each ancestor into a uniform format, adding consistency to the flow of
information. Do the same thing for
online research, creating organized databases for your research.</div>
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<h3>
The Three C's</h3>
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As you begin to uncover family data, use the three C's to
fill-in vital information about your ancestors.
Churches, Cemeteries, and Census records provide longstanding resources
to draw from, on your quest for family history.
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Churches, for example, stood as the centers of many
burgeoning communities in the past, acting as meeting places for those sharing
religious beliefs; but also as civic centers, where citizens gathered to
address all kinds of issues. Schools
were often extensions of churches too, creating scholastic paper trails helpful
during genealogy research. Also
connected to local settlements, sometimes near churches; cemeteries contain
lasting references to your family history.
Etched in grave markers and headstones, researchers find dates to
corroborate research, and even uncover unknown relatives in family plots.</div>
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Census records provide snapshots of family life; outlining
vocations, numbers of individuals living under the same roof, as well as skills
of those polled - like the ability to read.
Tracing movement of family members is facilitated by census data too,
showing where ancestors lived at various points in history. For the most accurate information, use
Federal Census records, supplemented by state census polls compiled in-between
federal census years. </div>
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While each researcher's approach to family history is
unique, starting with a well-organized game plan, and solid resources are two
tips for genealogy success.</div>
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<h3>
Author Bio:</h3>
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<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a></div>
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This is a guest post by Sarah Brooks from <a href="http://freepeoplesearch.org/" target="_blank">Freepeoplesearch.org</a>.
She is a Houston based freelance writer and blogger. Questions and comments can
be sent to brooks.sarah23 @ gmail.com</div>
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Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-86375121121822456672013-09-11T07:42:00.000-06:002013-09-11T08:07:16.437-06:00Grandma's Book of Remembrance<div class="Publishwithline">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #222222;">In different hours, a man represents each of
several of his ancestors, as if there were seven or eight of us rolled up in
each man's skin,--seven or eight ancestors at least, and they constitute the
variety of notes for that new piece of music which his life is. -</span></em><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Ralph Waldo Emerson </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #010000;">My sister Beth is noted for her ability to get things
done, tackling big jobs and accomplishing them in a short time. When she called
me and offered to help organize our family history records</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">I was excited at the
prospect. The sheer volume of the work that had been done by our Mormon pioneer ancestors and family members was overwhelming to me</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">My mother was an
avid family historian</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">and she had taught me about careful record-keeping as she
checked and rechecked the earlier work. But her untimely death from cancer had
left us with much of the organizational work undone. Now Beth's vision of a
more usable family history book included the gathering of our family stories
into one book. My desire was to make it as accurate and complete as
possible. Her drive to complete a hard task complemented my training in slow
and careful research. Because of our mother’s love for the work of family history
that she had passed to us</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">we agreed that the appropriate place to start was with a
book about her parents</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #010000;">Mom’s influence was obvious as we worked</span><span style="color: #292728;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">It seemed that the
book should be dedicated to her. As we recognized the enormity of the job we
had undertaken, Beth and I enlisted the help of our other sisters. There are
eight of us altogether. Each sister contributed what she could. We met on a
regular basis and each of us assigned ourselves to the next task on our organizational
chart. We transcribed handwritten histories and journals, sent for death
certificates and patriarchal blessings, researched the facts of our ancestor’s
lives, and tracked down family photographs and stories. We felt that we were
making slow but steady progress.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #010000;">But we had not reckoned with the iron will of our
maternal grandmother, still living at age 93</span><span style="color: #524e50;">.
</span><span style="color: #010000;">Grandma had always been a record-keeper. In
her old age</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">instead
of counting sheep at night</span><span style="color: #292728;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">she named her children</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">,
</span><span style="color: #010000;">grandchildren</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">,
</span><span style="color: #010000;">and great-grandchildren by birthdate</span><span style="color: #292728;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">She never forgot a
birthday of one of her numerou</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">s </span><span style="color: #010000;">posterit</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">y</span><span style="color: #292728;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">When any of her 33
grandchildren had a baby</span><span style="color: #292728;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">Grandma was sure to call to get the vital statistics
firsthand</span><span style="color: #524e50;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">As
a young married woman</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">she had even served briefly as a ward clerk in a small LDS
ward when no man (the usual choice) was available for the job. Although she was
now nearly blind, she wasn</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">'</span><span style="color: #010000;">t sure she wanted any of her pictures or historical
memorabilia to leave her possession while we copied them</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #010000;">Beth’s tenacity prevailed</span><span style="color: #292728;">,
</span><span style="color: #010000;">however</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">and eventually we organized some of the stories that we
had collected into a book that could be read to her. At that point</span><span style="color: #292728;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">her vision of our
project exceeded ours. She told us that she wanted </span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">fi</span><span style="color: #010000;">nished copies of the
book made for all of her children and grandchildren. She would pay for the
copying. They were to be a Christmas present from her to her descendants</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">both present and
future. Grandma's age never limited her abilit</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">y
</span><span style="color: #010000;">to look forward rather than backward</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_FNPz2dkd_hrk3Ck_jSoy_f_rOexPiHhr3SJhKcTJ2xTVnNf-Qz_CrLtXJbH7ZlTe7paTDMlKwo43Ew6DYln-tackbPoPMzbN6GOlTzs_CzCcR2lkRocVHtNqQPHyzZAgvAD737DO0ks/s1600/Joy&BethCA8-02-25.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_FNPz2dkd_hrk3Ck_jSoy_f_rOexPiHhr3SJhKcTJ2xTVnNf-Qz_CrLtXJbH7ZlTe7paTDMlKwo43Ew6DYln-tackbPoPMzbN6GOlTzs_CzCcR2lkRocVHtNqQPHyzZAgvAD737DO0ks/s320/Joy&BethCA8-02-25.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beth and I in 2002. Since the events recounted in this story,<br />
which took place in 1993, we have continued to collaborate <br />
on many different family history projects.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #010000;">Throughout the whole project, we received many spiritual
blessings</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">even
miracles. Now</span><span style="color: #292728;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">however, as Grandma's challenge encouraged us to quicken
our pace</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">our
sp</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">i</span><span style="color: #010000;">ritual
experiences were also increased. We met each week to report our progress and
receive further assignments</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, and </span><span style="color: #010000;">we also shared some of these e</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">x</span><span style="color: #010000;">periences.</span><span style="color: #292728;"> </span><span style="color: #010000;">Our faith and determination were strengthened</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">One sister</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">who was transcribing some of our great-grandmother's
letters</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">told
us she could hear the writer's voice as </span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">s</span><span style="color: #010000;">he typed</span><span style="color: #292728;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">To</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">w</span><span style="color: #010000;">ards the end of her task</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">,
</span><span style="color: #010000;">she had merely to turn on her computer</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">and she felt Great-grandma
there</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">Another
marveled at the marked increase she suddenly noticed in her typing skills</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">We felt the presence
of angels with us and with our children as they played happily together,
enabling us to accomplish the work we had committed to do</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">We bonded with these
great men and women of the past. We</span><span style="color: #292728;"> </span><span style="color: #010000;">pondered their lives and contemplated our own. We became
more accepting of ourselves as we recognized the value of our ancestors' daily
struggles and resulting strengths</span><span style="color: #292728;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">We felt it an honor to be a part of this sacred endeavor.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #010000;">Towards the end of the summer</span><span style="color: #292728;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">Beth and I felt an
increasing urgency to finish the work. Though</span><span style="color: #dbd2d0;">.</span><span style="color: #010000;">Grandma's plan was to give them as Christmas gifts</span><span style="color: #0d0c0b;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">she feared she would
not be around when </span><span style="color: #010000;">December
came. Her health was deteriorating day by day</span><span style="color: #141312;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">and
she called us often to check our progress</span><span style="color: #4b4749;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">Finally we
set a date to take them to her. Though it seemed we could not possibly finish
in time</span><span style="color: #141312;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">we knew that we could not fail her</span><span style="color: #353233;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">We dropped everything else and worked continuously for three
days and nights to finish</span><span style="color: #4b4749;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">The last night</span><span style="color: #141312;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">we slept in shifts to prepare for the eight-hour drive to her
home in Las Vegas, Nevada. </span><span style="color: #010000;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #010000;">When we arrived, she was being cared for
by her family members</span><span style="color: #141312;">, and we
were greeted by our sister Brenda, who is a nurse that specializes in hospice
care. O</span><span style="color: #010000;">ur car was loaded
with boxes of photocopied pages of family history, but we were saddened to find
that Grandma had taken a sudden turn for the worse</span><span style="color: #141312;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">She faded in and out of consciousness and was very weak</span><span style="color: #141312;">. </span><span style="color: #010000;">We felt a strong desire to be close to her, and we started
laying out our papers on her bedroom floor to collate</span><span style="color: #141312;">. Round and round her bed we went to
pick up each story in order. Soon, though, h</span><span style="color: #010000;">er steady stream of family visitors necessitated moving our
operations to the dining room table where we wrapped each copy of the thick
book of loose leaf pages in plastic wrap, ready for distribution to Grandma’s
family members</span><span style="color: #141312;">. We knew
that she could not wait until Christmas to give her gifts, but as always, her
children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren were a high priority. She was determined to follow through on this project. She had made it hers as
well as ours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #010000;">We tiptoed in to tell Grandma that the
books were ready. She smiled and thanked us in a </span><span style="color: #141312;">w</span><span style="color: #010000;">eak
voice. She was aware of what we were doing, though her usual supervisory
tendencies had been curtailed.</span><span style="color: #353233;">
A few days l</span><span style="color: #010000;">ater</span><span style="color: #141312;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">as we drove back to our homes in Utah, we grieved at the
knowledge that we had said our earthly goodbyes to our beloved grandmother. It
seemed that we had facilitated her passing in finishing the task she was so
intent on completing. She was waiting for us, we told each other. In less than
a week, she was gone. At her funeral</span><span style="color: #353233;"> </span><span style="color: #010000;">family members received their Christmas presen</span><span style="color: #141312;">t</span><span style="color: #010000;">s from Grandma earl</span><span style="color: #141312;">y, </span><span style="color: #010000;">and our
sadness was tempered by the knowledge that our offering </span><span style="color: #141312;">t</span><span style="color: #010000;">o the Lord and to her posterity </span><span style="color: #141312;">i</span><span style="color: #010000;">n
her behalf</span><span style="color: #141312;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">her famil</span><span style="color: #141312;">y </span><span style="color: #010000;">Book
of Remembrance</span><span style="color: #141312;">, </span><span style="color: #010000;">had been </span><span style="color: #141312;">"w</span><span style="color: #010000;">orth</span><span style="color: #141312;">y </span><span style="color: #010000;">of all acceptation" </span><span style="color: #141312;">(</span><span style="color: #010000;">D&C </span><span style="color: #141312;">1</span><span style="color: #010000;">28</span><span style="color: #141312;">:</span><span style="color: #010000;">25</span><span style="color: #141312;">). <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #010000;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #010000;">March 21, 1998, revised September
11, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-91774720322886587952013-08-13T15:56:00.000-06:002013-08-13T15:56:15.112-06:00Surfing the Web<div class="MsoNormal">
Here are some wonderful links to good stuff. Check out these treasures.</div>
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A new book about remembering<br />
<a href="http://www.eerdmans.com/Products/6897/the-spiritual-practice-of-remembering.aspx">http://www.eerdmans.com/Products/6897/the-spiritual-practice-of-remembering.aspx</a></div>
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Another study about why kids who know where they come from
are healthier<br />
<a href="http://blog.worldvitalrecords.com/2013/07/31/the-ancestor-effect-and-other-benefits-of-genealogy/?lead=email&leadtc=wvr201308nl_n">http://blog.worldvitalrecords.com/2013/07/31/the-ancestor-effect-and-other-benefits-of-genealogy/?lead=email&leadtc=wvr201308nl_n</a></div>
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Biff Barnes revisits this classic essay <a href="http://www.storiestotellbooks.com/blog/questions-about-writing-memoir-or-family-history-read-this.html">http://www.storiestotellbooks.com/blog/questions-about-writing-memoir-or-family-history-read-this.html</a></div>
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How to write a memoir <a href="http://theamericanscholar.org/how-to-write-a-memoir/#.UgqpnJLVB8G">http://theamericanscholar.org/how-to-write-a-memoir/#.UgqpnJLVB8G</a></div>
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Lynn Palermo’s always valuable Armchair Genealogist. Sign up
for her newsletter. August edition features how to creating a writing notebook.<br />
<a href="http://www.thearmchairgenealogist.com/">http://www.thearmchairgenealogist.com/</a></div>
Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-51736160654148930872013-08-12T09:21:00.001-06:002013-08-12T09:24:20.623-06:00Vacation Writing<div class="MsoNormal">
To write, go on vacation. You can either stay home or
travel, but I've found it most important to take some time out. Set a
time and place for relaxing, thinking and letting the thoughts come to the
surface. Often I throw away the first thoughts and words that serve to prime
the pump of memory. But I keep coming back to the writing spot and make a time
to meet myself there.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyX7O3pIT1Qs2iaxESLzShSeyrRwtw8lD6-PBhlakLjCCzZj9I8zSe25fmBJNJIuomHZqzBxzFfNzMwFNorQqwxi-jYpswTUF6G8tSZK8VTpYnBRtDfYZBrR4hIAP5DN6XxOqvCrh1Tv4/s1600/IMG_0311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyX7O3pIT1Qs2iaxESLzShSeyrRwtw8lD6-PBhlakLjCCzZj9I8zSe25fmBJNJIuomHZqzBxzFfNzMwFNorQqwxi-jYpswTUF6G8tSZK8VTpYnBRtDfYZBrR4hIAP5DN6XxOqvCrh1Tv4/s320/IMG_0311.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deer friend from Cub River Canyon, Idaho</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's like the deer I keep meeting this week in the cabin in
Idaho where I'm staying. Every day when I go out for a walk, she's
there. Sometimes she runs away through the trees as soon as she hears my
footsteps on the gravel. Sometimes she stays there for a short look. One day
she looked for a long long time while I stayed as still as I could. She lowered
her head a little and looked at me for awhile longer. She was mostly hidden by
the leaves and the shade, but I could still see her. Then she lowered her head
even more and looked again from a different perspective. Finally she moved off
a little ways into the underbrush, then turned and gave me another long stare.
I didn't have my camera with me that day.</div>
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When my camera is out, she seems to back off more quickly.
So do the butterflies I attempt to capture in a photo. But like my memories,
even though they are not exactly replicated in a photograph, the deer and the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1903155319355504366" name="_GoBack"></a>butterflies and the grasshoppers and the wild turkeys are
stored in my mind and may peek shyly out of my writing when the time is right. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAD0O5VN7rTsqolrineAgOscEZmjHFGnMmXSVanqM4W98PVMGjnhVxmyRdhVXDXAp9YmwuCh7typjhB_bY9Xa_v81oQxfvHPN2vuT6DMfa6Tjb3Gq11OeDuUOpsAi2Nhse1krkYq5I30I/s1600/2013-07-20+12.36.51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAD0O5VN7rTsqolrineAgOscEZmjHFGnMmXSVanqM4W98PVMGjnhVxmyRdhVXDXAp9YmwuCh7typjhB_bY9Xa_v81oQxfvHPN2vuT6DMfa6Tjb3Gq11OeDuUOpsAi2Nhse1krkYq5I30I/s320/2013-07-20+12.36.51.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Driving along the road I spotted this piece of machinery<br />
that spoke to me of my Johnson roots in Preston, Idaho</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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It's summertime and the living is easy. Schedule a vacation
from the everyday and let the memories come out of the scrub oak to meet you.</div>
Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1903155319355504366.post-15101430787224074292013-07-21T18:40:00.000-06:002013-07-21T18:46:47.234-06:00My Sister Gets Born!<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here is a piece of my autobiography. I was only two at this time, but these feelings are recorded in my heart as "meditative memory." </span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQrnGORXNOKXsiZjyPfIZeRlD35TDSbFczlPMGcmyhIQEydgXpT_lfZpI8wc4zn4aVMC8Kg1STeI4BLasxfFKyUuR_v0hJzPbJdh95faDbObq7eky8nuJCR2cTQOyn0Ts-cKGjxD6RaI/s1600/1949.11+Jill+and+Joy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQrnGORXNOKXsiZjyPfIZeRlD35TDSbFczlPMGcmyhIQEydgXpT_lfZpI8wc4zn4aVMC8Kg1STeI4BLasxfFKyUuR_v0hJzPbJdh95faDbObq7eky8nuJCR2cTQOyn0Ts-cKGjxD6RaI/s320/1949.11+Jill+and+Joy.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister and I </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Today my mother and my baby sister are coming home! I can
hardly wait to see my little sister. She is too little to play so I am going to help my mama take care of her. Her name
is Jill. Daddy and I get in the car and he drives us to the hospital to get Mama
and the new baby. Mama comes out of the hospital and she is riding in a chair
with wheels on it. The nurse is pushing her. Mama is holding my little sister. She <i>is</i> little.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Daddy takes the baby and Mama gets into the car. I really
want to hold the baby, but Mama and Daddy say I have to wait until we get home.
At home I sit on the couch and Mama puts her pillow on my lap and then she puts my baby sister on top of the pillow. When I look at her, I love her. I love her so much. The love is so big
that I know I loved her from before we came here. I’m so glad to see her again.
I missed her. I’m sad too. There are hard things here and I don’t want her to
get any hurts. I’m her big sister and I will take care of her. </span></div>
Joy Stubbshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13341576269996953891noreply@blogger.com1