Facebook and Formats

Because I've a few family members on Facebook, I've decided to try it out for sharing genealogy.  I decided to start with my William Mason Conner and share, wall post by wall post, everything I know about him on a PAGE.  I think it's going to also turn into a book, formatted the same way, as I'm liking it.  I share the DATA with a short snippet of what it does mean, or could mean.  Done simply, it could actually catch the eyes of non-genealogists.  We shall see.  So far, only one of my cousins is "liking" it.  But it's new.

I'm also trying to finish up the writing on the Mariani Family.  I was having trouble with the outline until I remembered that I'm an Excel Junkie.  I gave each person their own worksheet and plotted everything I know about them and where I know it from.  Then I pushed the SORT button and now I just write away.  I finished a chapter yesterday and hope to have the next one done this week.

I <3 Facebook and Excel.  Not necessarily in that order.

52 Weeks of Personal Genealogy & History - Weather

Growing up mainly in sunny California, the weather has not played much of a character in my stories or my life.  The exceptions to this would be the winter it snowed in the San Francisco Bay Area and my time spent living outside of California for that summer when we moved to Minnesota.

I really don’t have memories of the California Snow, but I do have photos.  This was taken at the Mariani Ranch in Portola Valley, California.

As to the stormy summer in Minnesota, I’m still not 100% clear why we moved there.  My dad’s brother, Uncle Ricky, lived there and I am guessing it was time for a change of scenery from our cramped home in Milpitas.  I do know that Mom kept her wits about her and stayed in California working, while we went on our adventure.  If things worked out, she’d come join us.  However, she really knew that come fall, we’d all be home in California.

She helped Dad pack us up in his truck and a U-Haul trailer and kisses us goodbye, as we began our week-long drive to Minnesota.  It was a wonderful adventure that I’ll never forget. 

The first storm I remember that summer began at just about the “Welcome to Nebraska” sign and tapered off at about the “Now Entering Iowa” sign. It rained and thunder-stormed the entire stretch of nothingness.

I remember finding an apartment in Milaca, Minnesota that first week we were there.  I had my own room for the first time ever.  I set it all up like I was a grown up and was very proud.  I remember going grocery shopping with Dad and Todd and getting bean sprouts and loving them.  We started growing our own on the countertop.  I remember swimming lessons and riding our bikes to Dairy Queen on the other side of town.  I remember the matinee movies that my brother and I went to with my birthday money every single week all summer.  I remember reading my Trixie Belden books and my Nancy Drew books non-stop.

I remember so much, yet one thing that stands out more than the others was the sirens.  Being from California, and ranch land at that, we weren’t used to sirens.  I remember being in our Milaca apartment one day and a siren going off for over a half hour.  This was in the days before car alarms, so we really didn’t know what it was.  We looked outside and no ambulances or fire trucks or policemen anywhere to be seen under the cloudy sky.  I remember noticing that despite the thunderclouds in the distance (we learned to recognize them), it was surprisingly calm.  We went about our business, cleaning house, reading, planting bean spouts, etc.

It wasn’t until that evening when we dined with my uncle and his family that we learned that it was a tornado warning and we really should have headed to the basement.  There wasn’t a touch-down that day, but to this day, I look at the sky when I hear a siren.

Treasure Chest Thursday- Great Grampa and Me

Thomas Orville Conner (who went by "Orville" much of his life because he hated being called, "Mr. O'Connor") was my great grandfather.  He was born in 1896 in Zero, Lucas County, IA and died in 1988 in Sebastopol, Sonoma County, CA.  And did a whole lot in between.

 I remember so many things about Great Grampa- the berries that he fed us, the cows he milked each day, his calm thoughtful presence.  And I remember sitting on his lap all the time and just snuggling. 

52 Weeks of Personal Genealogy & History - Pets

By far, the most memorable pet in our family was McDuff.  McDuff was my dad’s sister’s Labrador retriever and she needed us to take care of him for six months.  Grampa came to pick him up for Aunt Sue and Dad said, “No way.  McDuff stays.”  And he did.  For his whole life.  He died when I was 17.  He was brilliant, patient, loving and sharp as a tack.

McDoff was patient with children as well as with other dogs.  I remember when my brother got a black puppy, aptly named Fluffy, and Fluffy would teeth on Duff’s hanging neck skin.  Just teeth away and Duff would lie there patiently.  Something would catch his hear in the woods- a deer, another dog, a monster (our imaginations were active)- and Duff would run toward it, barking.  Fluffy would still be hanging on, waving there like a fluffy black neckerchief.  The two would come back minutes to hours later, Fluffy still hanging on.

I remember an Easter Sunday, waking up to go hunt for Easter eggs in the acreage of our front yard.  I donned my coat and rain boots over my pajamas and grabbed my basket.  Upon opening the front door, though, we couldn’t step down, as there was a pile of beautifully dyed egg shells that McDuff had “retrieved” for us.  He smiled up at us proudly.

When he was older and when we’d moved from ranch, McDuff slept in my room, which was next to the kitchen.  I remember the sound of him coming to bed like it was yesterday.  I would hear the clicking of his toes on the hardwood floor as he rounded the corner and then his head butting into my door to lodge it open.  He’d waltz in, lie down with a happy groan and then we’d both drift to sleep.

Sympathy Saturday - Nana and Her Douche Bag

I was thinking about my grandmothers today.  Both Gramma (Signa) and Nana (Maxine) were loved so much that we named our first child after them (Signa Maxine).  In honor of Sympathy Saturday, I decided to share this writing I did about Nana in 2001.  Nana was my mom’s mom, Ethyl Maxine Shelton born to good ol’ Cora Shelton. 

I miss my Nana. She made me laugh like no one else did. She wasn't very fun when I was a kid, but when I got older, she became a good Nana. I don't think she was particularly fond of children... But she liked me when I grew up a bit. I remember the first time I realized that Nana was cool and fun. It was after Grampa Hal, my step-grandfather, had passed away and Nana used to come stay with us for a month or so at a time. Nana slept in my room with me. I had to GET my room clean before she came, but she would KEEP it clean the whole time she was there. I'd leave my dirty clothes on the floor and Nana would actually have it laundered and hung up for me when I came home.

I didn't think this part was all that cool, but what was cool was that Nana would play cards with me and talk to me like I was an adult. She came for Christmas when I was in high school. The week before Christmas, I had a date with this guy that I actually didn't know was a date (so I still say that I've never been on a date). I thought we were going to check out Christmas Tree Lane as friends, but this guy didn't think that and I didn't realize it until at the end of the evening he asked me for a "second date" to go out on New Year's. I was flabbergasted by the ludicrousness of having gone on a date without knowing it with a guy that I thought of as just a friend.

So I said I had to stay home with my grandma on New Year's.

And because lying made my stomach hurt, I DID stay home with Nana on New Year's. Todd spent the night at a friend's house and my parents went out for the evening. But Nana and I stayed home and sat at the kitchen table playing cards and talking.

Nana told me about how she was a model before she married my grandfather. She was a fancy clothing store model in San Francisco. They didn't have mannequins; they had Nana and others like her walking around wearing the clothes. Then she met my grandfather and gave it all up for a life of luxury. (snicker)
Nana told me about a time when she took the bus to see my grandfather. She said that back then douching was a big deal and all the "ladies" had douche bags. For reals. Well, Nana got on the bus and walked to the back with her carry-on and as she got towards the back, the bus driver braked and the suitcase flew open and Nana's douche bag came out and rolled all the way to the front. She was mortified but not as mortified as I was when I had to have Nana explain to me what a douche was.

That story stayed with me for many reasons, not the least of which the fact that Nana brought a douche bag with her to see my grandfather.

Nana loved Marc. And she teased him mercilessly. You know that dark spot on jeans right at the crotch? Where the material meets and therefore never fades, despite numerous washings? Well, when Nana was sick, near the end, we went to visit her in the hospital. She was so sick and so tired and yet she looked at Marc and said, "Did you wet your pants, Marc?" And she wouldn't let go of teasing him about it.

Nana ate the weirdest foods. She'd mix all the leftovers together and eat it. Beans, jello, corn and gravy. Whatever. She had the hugest appetite of anyone I ever knew and was a teeny tiny woman. She must have eaten at least 6 meals a day.

And Nana would watch her "programs" and rant about them every day. Days of Our Lives was one of her favorites, I remember.

One time, also in high school, my friend and I took a weekend trip to see her. It was about a 2-hour drive to her house, which was a long car trip for two teens who just got their licenses. She and I stocked up on snacks (barbecue potato chips and a six-pack of Diet Coke) and hit the road at about 6am. Nana had our room (the livingroom with a fold out couch) ready and told us that she wanted us to pretend it was a hotel. She'd be our maid and our front desk. She had brochures for us of things to see and do around town, maps, and tons and tons of snacks. It was like she knew we had fun just pretending to be on a real vacation and gave us that and even more. At 16, getting room service, even if it was by your nana, was a great treat.

Anyway, Nana died the day after Mother's Day last year. It was past her time to go, but I sure wish she were still around so I could get her to tell me the douche bag story just one more time.

52 Weeks of Personal Genealogy and History- Restaurants

Week 16. Restaurants. What was your favorite local restaurant as a child? Where was it located, and what was your favorite meal? Did you know the staff personally? What is your favorite restaurant now?

When I was a child, restaurant outings were rare.  When we went, it was an event.  Not like how my children are with restaurants- We didn’t need crayons and coloring pages to keep us occupied; we were mesmerized by the glamour of letting others take our orders and wait on us.  Seeing as how this is exactly what Mom did at home for dinner, I can’t explain it, but that is just how it was.

During a particularly wonderful time in my life, we lived in a small town in Northern California called Platina.  Here is a map to Platina:

Due to the size of our town (population 50), there really wasn’t a restaurant.  HOWEVER, every once in blue moon (only not even as often as that), we’d venture out of “town” and on one such excursion, we found a delightful restaurant in the big city of Weaverville, California.  I don’t remember anything about this restaurant, except that for dessert, they had Champagne Sherbet.  And we loved it so much, that went back several times.  And our family still speaks of the Champagne Sherbet as if it contained only proper nouns because that is how good it was. 

Friend that it is, Google showed me links to recipes for champagne sherbet, but having to make it myself would definitely take the proper out of those nouns…

Civil War

This is the year 2011.  150 years ago, many of our ancestors fought in the Civil War.  It is difficult to imagine that a mere 150 years ago, our country fought itself in a most UN-civil way.  But in pondering the mess of it all, I began to wonder if any of my ancestors crossed paths.  In order to analyze this, I opened a handy-dandy Excel spreadsheet and put three ancestors across the top- one of my mom’s, one of my dad’s , and one of my husband’s.  Down the side, I put the months from January 1861 through September 1865.  And then I plotted their time in the War using regiment histories.  When I was done, I cross-referenced the data to find commonalities. 

Imagine my surprise to find out that in September 1861, my 3^rd great grandfather and my husband’s 2^nd great grandfather were both in St. Joseph, Missouri.  One came from Illinois and one from Ohio.  But both were in St. Joseph, Missouri guarding and operating the railroad.  And my husband and I met 124 years later in sunny California.  Did they nod at one another?  Shake hands?  Share a drink? 

Miles Price m. Emaline Markham	Kilbourne Smith m. Martha Perry
Harriet Price m. William Conner	Luella Smith m. Stephen Fisher
Thomas Conner m. Anna Konst	Kilbourne Fisher m. Neva Koschina
Pierre Conner m. Signa Felt	Kilbourne Fisher m. Millicent Jarone
Harry Conner m. Marilyn Badgley	Marc Mascot m. Deborah Conner
Deborah Conner m. Marc Mascot

The very next month, my husband’s same grandfather and my 2^nd great grandfather on my other side marched together to Springfield, Missouri.  Did they walk near one another?  Did they complain to one another about the terrain?  Did they tell jokes to pass the time?

John Shelton m. Laura Wilkinson	Kilbourne Smith m. Martha Perry
Cora Shelton m. Myra Hulse	Luella Smith m. Stephen Fisher
Ethyl Shelton m. Charles Badgley	Kilbourne Fisher m. Neva Koschina
Marilyn Badgley m. Harry Conner	Kilbourne Fisher m. Millicent Jarone
Deborah Conner m. Marc Mascot	Marc Mascot m. Deborah Conner

A couple of years later, in September of 1863, my parents’ ancestors met up and actually fought together in the Battle of Chickamauga in Georgia.  Considering that this battle was a loss to the Union and had the second highest number of casualties in the war, it’s amazing that my two grandfathers survived, returned to their homes in Indiana and Illinois and raised children who would eventual raise the children who would raise the children who would raise me.

Miles Price m. Emaline Markham	John Shelton m. Laura Wilkinson
Harriet Price m. William Conner	Cora Shelton m. Myra Hulse
Thomas Conner m. Anna Konst	Ethyl Shelton m. Charles Badgley
Pierre Conner m. Signa Felt	Marilyn Badgley m. Harry Conner
Harry Conner m. Marilyn Badgley	Deborah Conner m. Marc Mascot
Deborah Conner m. Marc Mascot

Finally, toward the end of the war in June of 1865, both Miles Price and Kilbourne Smith were together again in Nashville, TN.  Did they perhaps remember one another from their time on the St. Joseph Railroad?  Did they greet each other with smiles and joy (and perhaps surprise) that each managed to make it out of the War alive?  Did they toast to the end?

If I could, I think I’d want to have dinner with these three someday.  I’d like to hear their war stories and get a chance to thank all of them for fighting for the country we have now.  And for letting Marc and I exist.