Thursday, December 11, 2008
A Genealogist's Christmas Eve
'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
The dining room table with clutter was spread
With pedigree charts and with letters which said...
"Too bad about the data for which you wrote
Sank in a storm on an ill fated boat."
Stacks of old copies of wills and the such
Were proof that my work had become much too much.
Our children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
And I at my table was ready to drop
From work on my album with photos to crop.
Christmas was here, and of such was my lot
That presents and goodies and toys I forgot.
Had I not been so busy with grandparent's wills,
I'd not have forgotten to shop for such thrills.
While others had bought gifts that would bring Christmas cheer;
I'd spent time researching those birth dates and years.
While I was thus musing about my sad plight,
A strange noise on the lawn gave me such a great fright.
Away to the window I flew in a flash,
Tore open the drapes and I yanked up the sash.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear?
But an overstuffed sleigh and eight small reindeer.
Up to the housetop the reindeer they flew,
With a sleigh full of toys, and old Santa Claus too.
And then in a twinkle, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of thirty-two hoofs.
The TV antenna was no match for their horns,
And look at our roof with hoof-prints adorned.
As I drew in my head, and bumped it on the sash,
Down the cold chimney fell Santa - KER-RASH!
"Dear" Santa had come from the roof in a wreck,
And tracked soot on the carpet, (I could wring his short neck!)
Spotting my face, good old Santa could see
I had no Christmas spirit, you'd have to agree.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings, (I felt like a jerk).
Here was Santa, who'd brought us such gladness and joy;
When I'd been too busy for even one toy.
He spied my research on the table all spread
"A genealogist!" He cried! (My face was all red!)
"Tonight I've met many like you", Santa grinned.
As he pulled from his sack a large book he had penned.
I gazed with amazement - the cover it read
"Genealogy Lines for Which You Have Plead."
"I know what it's like as a genealogy bug,"
He said as he gave me a great Santa Hug.
"While the elves make the sleighful of toys I now carry,
I do some research in the North Pole Library!
A special treat I am thus able to bring,
To genealogy folks who can't find a thing.
Now off you go to your bed for a rest,
I'll clean up the house from this genealogy mess."
As I climbed up the stairs full of gladness and glee,
I looked back at Santa who'd brought much to me.
While settling in bed, I heard Santa's clear whistle,
To his team which then rose like the down of a thistle
And I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
"Family History is Fun! Merry Christmas! Goodnight!"
Author unknown
Thanks to Mary Campbell
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
The dining room table with clutter was spread
With pedigree charts and with letters which said...
"Too bad about the data for which you wrote
Sank in a storm on an ill fated boat."
Stacks of old copies of wills and the such
Were proof that my work had become much too much.
Our children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
And I at my table was ready to drop
From work on my album with photos to crop.
Christmas was here, and of such was my lot
That presents and goodies and toys I forgot.
Had I not been so busy with grandparent's wills,
I'd not have forgotten to shop for such thrills.
While others had bought gifts that would bring Christmas cheer;
I'd spent time researching those birth dates and years.
While I was thus musing about my sad plight,
A strange noise on the lawn gave me such a great fright.
Away to the window I flew in a flash,
Tore open the drapes and I yanked up the sash.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear?
But an overstuffed sleigh and eight small reindeer.
Up to the housetop the reindeer they flew,
With a sleigh full of toys, and old Santa Claus too.
And then in a twinkle, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of thirty-two hoofs.
The TV antenna was no match for their horns,
And look at our roof with hoof-prints adorned.
As I drew in my head, and bumped it on the sash,
Down the cold chimney fell Santa - KER-RASH!
"Dear" Santa had come from the roof in a wreck,
And tracked soot on the carpet, (I could wring his short neck!)
Spotting my face, good old Santa could see
I had no Christmas spirit, you'd have to agree.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings, (I felt like a jerk).
Here was Santa, who'd brought us such gladness and joy;
When I'd been too busy for even one toy.
He spied my research on the table all spread
"A genealogist!" He cried! (My face was all red!)
"Tonight I've met many like you", Santa grinned.
As he pulled from his sack a large book he had penned.
I gazed with amazement - the cover it read
"Genealogy Lines for Which You Have Plead."
"I know what it's like as a genealogy bug,"
He said as he gave me a great Santa Hug.
"While the elves make the sleighful of toys I now carry,
I do some research in the North Pole Library!
A special treat I am thus able to bring,
To genealogy folks who can't find a thing.
Now off you go to your bed for a rest,
I'll clean up the house from this genealogy mess."
As I climbed up the stairs full of gladness and glee,
I looked back at Santa who'd brought much to me.
While settling in bed, I heard Santa's clear whistle,
To his team which then rose like the down of a thistle
And I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
"Family History is Fun! Merry Christmas! Goodnight!"
Author unknown
Thanks to Mary Campbell
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Larry Beachy Summarizes His Family's Thoughts on Global Warming
I promised to summarize the global warming letters that I received.
Basically everyone agreed that we are having global warming. What is
causing it and how to treat it we disagreed upon. Some felt in spite
of best efforts here in North America we can't do anything about it,
because other countries, ( China and Russia and don't forget the
sheep in New Zealand) will keep pouring pollutants into the
atmosphere. So with out saying it we all agree that we need to work
on a global solution. ( The United States has failed to sign the
global agreement to stop pollutants.) Will the reduction in fossil
fuel and lower emissions make a difference? Will better and stronger
environmental laws and controls help?
Here we were divided. Some felt the present government has brought
us to the present conditions, others felt keep the government out of it.
Brad wrote and interesting letter with footnotes backing up his
opinions and a great illustration of thinking on two or three levels
not just the surface. I was going to print his letter but because of
the length of this family letter I will be glad to forward his letter
to anyone who would like to read it.
My take on the issue is that we are witnessing a more than normal
global warming - more than in the past history of the universe. We
can't place blame or give up on trying to do something about it. We
must accept responsibility for being our Brothers keeper and each of
us need to do our part. Good environmental practices are not only
good for the future they are also good for us- now. My parents
admonished me always to try to do good, if you make an error at least
you are trying to do the right thing!
Basically everyone agreed that we are having global warming. What is
causing it and how to treat it we disagreed upon. Some felt in spite
of best efforts here in North America we can't do anything about it,
because other countries, ( China and Russia and don't forget the
sheep in New Zealand) will keep pouring pollutants into the
atmosphere. So with out saying it we all agree that we need to work
on a global solution. ( The United States has failed to sign the
global agreement to stop pollutants.) Will the reduction in fossil
fuel and lower emissions make a difference? Will better and stronger
environmental laws and controls help?
Here we were divided. Some felt the present government has brought
us to the present conditions, others felt keep the government out of it.
Brad wrote and interesting letter with footnotes backing up his
opinions and a great illustration of thinking on two or three levels
not just the surface. I was going to print his letter but because of
the length of this family letter I will be glad to forward his letter
to anyone who would like to read it.
My take on the issue is that we are witnessing a more than normal
global warming - more than in the past history of the universe. We
can't place blame or give up on trying to do something about it. We
must accept responsibility for being our Brothers keeper and each of
us need to do our part. Good environmental practices are not only
good for the future they are also good for us- now. My parents
admonished me always to try to do good, if you make an error at least
you are trying to do the right thing!
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Larry Beachy story "The Best Place on Earth"
Funny, freezing water doesn’t feel that cold. Instead it burns or maybe a better description would be to say it stings!
Yes, sting is the best word to describe the freezing river water rapidly seeping through my layers of clothing.
I had to get back to the surface in spite of my now heavy, soaked, hunting clothes.
Long underwear, football sweat shirt, hooded sweat shirt, topped off with a flame orange safety vest. Heavy canvas pants, double thickness to prevent the Multi flora Rose thorns from penetrating the skin. Heavy rubber -leather combination boots, now acting like weights wanting to suction into the muck on the bottom of the Elkhart River.
I had to get back to the surface in spite of my now heavy, soaked, hunting clothes.
I still had my Mossberg 410 shot gun clutched in my hands. My mind raced, trying to come up with a solution in a short period of time, as I descended to the bottom of the river. I knew the hole in the ice that I had just fallen through was somewhere above me. I knew I had to get my feet on the bottom and kick hard to get back up.
The current pulled me further away from the broken jagged hole somewhere above me.
There, I felt the bottom, and I kicked hard trying to kick forward to compensate for the current that had dragged me away from the hole.
My head hit the ice hard and momentarily I was stunned. By whipping my head backwards and pressing my forehead hard against the ice I sucked in air.
I had never smelled anything so putrid and rancid- as the air under that ice. Immediately I felt nausea creeping into my stomach. I tied hard to stay in that little air space by jamming my head against the ice but the current pulled me back towards the main body of the river.
I once saw a movie where a man fell through the ice and managed to return to the surface and fired his 12 gauge shotgun, blowing a hole in the ice to provide enough air for him to save himself.
I was only carrying a 410 rabbit gun and besides the idea never crossed my mind. At 13 years old I wanted to live and I wanted air, no matter how bad it smelled.
I had to go back down and push off again once my feet hit the bottom. Going down was easy now. I was thoroughly soaked and my boots with their thick felt liners were full of water.
I struck bottom once more and kicked hard, pushing upward and forward. My eyes were wide open and I could see light ahead in the narrow space between the water and the ice.
Back down and kick forward.” Dear God guide me “I prayed. Up again and it seemed the light was closer but it was off to my left. Back down again, don’t panic, look for the light, and breath. This time the light was brighter but still out of reach.
How long had I been under? How long until the humane body of a young boy stops functioning? I truly can’t recall that my hands and legs were not working. Only one thought was cemented into my brain. Kick and breath.
Finally the hole miraculously appeared over my right shoulder. Every movement was now in slow motion. My shotgun stock slipped up through the hole. The barrel extended across the hole. I hung there with head extended both hands clasped around the gun stock. Sucking fresh air, like a newborn taking its first breath.
Just my old red bone hound, and I had gone hunting that morning. Every year the river would flood and fill the low ground, driving all the rabbits up on the islands. As soon as it was frozen over, Pal and I would go in for a day of great hunting. I knew there was no one else around to call for help.
I managed to use my shotgun to lever my self on to the ice. Finally I was lying prone and I could move spread eagle away from the hole and current below.
Once on high ground I stood up only to find I was rapidly becoming incased in ice. My hunting cloths were glazed, as the ice quickly formed.
The nearest refuge was over a miles down river. A small packing house was located on the edge of the river just outside the bottom land and the owners had a little bungalow that they lived in while operating the slaughter house. I started running or I should say sloshing towards the slaughter house.
Now I hurt. My hands throbbed. I stopped and swung them wildly in circles like my scoutmaster had demonstrated if we had cold hands. It didn’t help. I ran as hard as I could and I could feel the ice on my sweat shirt rubbing my neck. Finally the old lane appeared as depressions in the snow. I renewed my efforts and gradually the bungalow filled my vision. Mr. Chapman, the owner, had spotted me in the lane, and had the back door open for me.
“My Got, Son, getch your Freezin Arse in chere”, he said in his German accent.
Within just a few minutes I was buck naked in a wash tub of water on my hands and knees. Butch Chapman was a medic in WW2 and he said the cold water would prevent frost bite. His wife wrapped me in woolen blankets and gave me hot tea. Finally I stopped shaking! I was alive!
At that moment, at that place, that little kitchen in the little bungalow located in the bottom ground of the Elkhart river, was the greatest place a 13 year old could ever find.
Thanks Larry, Great Story!
Yes, sting is the best word to describe the freezing river water rapidly seeping through my layers of clothing.
I had to get back to the surface in spite of my now heavy, soaked, hunting clothes.
Long underwear, football sweat shirt, hooded sweat shirt, topped off with a flame orange safety vest. Heavy canvas pants, double thickness to prevent the Multi flora Rose thorns from penetrating the skin. Heavy rubber -leather combination boots, now acting like weights wanting to suction into the muck on the bottom of the Elkhart River.
I had to get back to the surface in spite of my now heavy, soaked, hunting clothes.
I still had my Mossberg 410 shot gun clutched in my hands. My mind raced, trying to come up with a solution in a short period of time, as I descended to the bottom of the river. I knew the hole in the ice that I had just fallen through was somewhere above me. I knew I had to get my feet on the bottom and kick hard to get back up.
The current pulled me further away from the broken jagged hole somewhere above me.
There, I felt the bottom, and I kicked hard trying to kick forward to compensate for the current that had dragged me away from the hole.
My head hit the ice hard and momentarily I was stunned. By whipping my head backwards and pressing my forehead hard against the ice I sucked in air.
I had never smelled anything so putrid and rancid- as the air under that ice. Immediately I felt nausea creeping into my stomach. I tied hard to stay in that little air space by jamming my head against the ice but the current pulled me back towards the main body of the river.
I once saw a movie where a man fell through the ice and managed to return to the surface and fired his 12 gauge shotgun, blowing a hole in the ice to provide enough air for him to save himself.
I was only carrying a 410 rabbit gun and besides the idea never crossed my mind. At 13 years old I wanted to live and I wanted air, no matter how bad it smelled.
I had to go back down and push off again once my feet hit the bottom. Going down was easy now. I was thoroughly soaked and my boots with their thick felt liners were full of water.
I struck bottom once more and kicked hard, pushing upward and forward. My eyes were wide open and I could see light ahead in the narrow space between the water and the ice.
Back down and kick forward.” Dear God guide me “I prayed. Up again and it seemed the light was closer but it was off to my left. Back down again, don’t panic, look for the light, and breath. This time the light was brighter but still out of reach.
How long had I been under? How long until the humane body of a young boy stops functioning? I truly can’t recall that my hands and legs were not working. Only one thought was cemented into my brain. Kick and breath.
Finally the hole miraculously appeared over my right shoulder. Every movement was now in slow motion. My shotgun stock slipped up through the hole. The barrel extended across the hole. I hung there with head extended both hands clasped around the gun stock. Sucking fresh air, like a newborn taking its first breath.
Just my old red bone hound, and I had gone hunting that morning. Every year the river would flood and fill the low ground, driving all the rabbits up on the islands. As soon as it was frozen over, Pal and I would go in for a day of great hunting. I knew there was no one else around to call for help.
I managed to use my shotgun to lever my self on to the ice. Finally I was lying prone and I could move spread eagle away from the hole and current below.
Once on high ground I stood up only to find I was rapidly becoming incased in ice. My hunting cloths were glazed, as the ice quickly formed.
The nearest refuge was over a miles down river. A small packing house was located on the edge of the river just outside the bottom land and the owners had a little bungalow that they lived in while operating the slaughter house. I started running or I should say sloshing towards the slaughter house.
Now I hurt. My hands throbbed. I stopped and swung them wildly in circles like my scoutmaster had demonstrated if we had cold hands. It didn’t help. I ran as hard as I could and I could feel the ice on my sweat shirt rubbing my neck. Finally the old lane appeared as depressions in the snow. I renewed my efforts and gradually the bungalow filled my vision. Mr. Chapman, the owner, had spotted me in the lane, and had the back door open for me.
“My Got, Son, getch your Freezin Arse in chere”, he said in his German accent.
Within just a few minutes I was buck naked in a wash tub of water on my hands and knees. Butch Chapman was a medic in WW2 and he said the cold water would prevent frost bite. His wife wrapped me in woolen blankets and gave me hot tea. Finally I stopped shaking! I was alive!
At that moment, at that place, that little kitchen in the little bungalow located in the bottom ground of the Elkhart river, was the greatest place a 13 year old could ever find.
Thanks Larry, Great Story!
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