Read to the bottom for How to Use this Blog . I have been exploring genealogy since I was little, listening to all the stories told by Aunts Connie and Helena, Cousins Ann and Howie and Maurietta, Uncles Leonard and Arthur. There were m ore dead people in the stories than live ones, and they were lots more fun. This was way before it was anyone's hobby, when I was the only one who was interested. Sneaking into the Archives underage and running around graveyards. I was lost to the present, either reading books about Pilgrims or building stories in my head. Always asking, asking, asking. "How is he related to us? Who is their mother? What was her name, and her name, and her name? " While Aunt Anna said, "I don't want to find out anyone was arrested for stealing sheep." Now I find I know more stories about more people than anyone else. And I have more photos of other people's grandparents than anyone else, thanks to a mother who started taking pictures wh...
I couldn’t help him. Not with all my family tree charts, genealogy how-to books, and CDs of the Social Security Death Index. Oh, I had ideas, and methods, but none of that helped. My ancestors were traced back 200 years, and I couldn’t get his to the first generation. His mother. My first husband started searching for his birth mother when he was a teenager. Together, we searched on and off thru the 18 years of our marriage, in between the babies, jobs, and houses. These are the facts we had after decades of research: His birth name, birthdate of 1962, birthplace of Manhattan, all confirmed. A letter with “non-identifying information” from the adoption agency: she was a tall brown-eyed brunette Protestant, he a tall blue-eyed blonde Catholic. We knew people who had found their birth mothers, who had found “non-identifying information” to be complete fabrication, lies made up by the agency to entice adoptive parents to choose certain children. So we didn’t know how much, or which parts,...