Tag Archives: sayings

All I Want For Christmas

All I Want For Christmas

  Is A New Surname

Dear Santa:

Don’t bring me new dishes,
I don’t need a new kind of game.
Genealogists have peculiar wishes
For Christmas I just want a surname.

A new washing machine would be great,
But it’s not the desire of my life.
I’ve just found an ancestor’s birth date;
What I need now is the name of his wife.

My heart doesn’t yearn for a ring
That would put a real diamond to shame.
What I want is a much cheaper thing;
Please give me Mary’s last name.

To see my heart singing with joy,
Don’t bring me a read leather suitcase,
Bring me a genealogist’s toy;
a surname with dates and a place.

~author unknown
(seen in Illinois State Gen Soc newsletter 1984)

Above posted at Twig, Tree and Treasure

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Twas The Day Before Yesterday

Twas The Day Before Yesterday

TWAS the day before yesterday and all through the branches,
NOT a name to be found, none of my ancestors.

THE Journals and Bibles were dusty and worn,
WHY should we care, these kinfolk are gone.

THE pictures of children and family, long ago dead,
ARE scattered, crinkled, and crammed under beds.

DAD in his chair, and I with a book,
HAD just settled back to give the TV a look.

WHEN out on the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my feet to see what was the matter.

ON the way to the window I tripped with a crash,
I tore open the curtains and looked through the glass.

THE sun in the sky was nowhere in sight,
THE clouds were so gray, it could have been night.

WHEN what to my wondering eyes should appear,
THE Mailman with packages, letters and cards of good cheer.

THE driver was grumbling while sorting his letters,
I knew in a moment, things had to get better.

THE size of one letter stood out from them all,
A distant cousin was asking about family, one and all.

THE names of Grandpa and Grandma, Great Grandparents all,
NEXT came my Father, my Brother, and Uncle Paul.

FROM cousins and uncles to aunts and nephews,
NIECES and in-laws, just to name a few.

SO thru the  many journals and photos, and stuff I possessed,
MY search for my ancestors slowly progressed.

WHILE up the family tree I gradually climbed,
MY ancestors names, I was seeking to find.

UPON that tree I have carved many a name,
THE branches of which, will never be the same.

THE tree is now filled with many I’ve found,
BUT in the search for others, now I am bound.

THE ancestors whose names, I have  written with love,
THE Lord has gathered to take to His Father above.

WITH so many names yet to be carved on that tree,
I have little time to waste on games and TV.

GATHERING names, photos, histories and places,
REQUIRES a lot of love, patience, and God’s good graces.

SOME were Farmers, Soldiers & such, Mothers & Fathers who struggled much.
SOME were Settlers, who traveled far, some Adventures, who followed the stars.

SOME were rich but most were poor,they came by ship, seeking more.
SOME died young, others old, many their stories yet untold.

I cried when I thought of those brothers and sisters,
FOR I am who I am, thanks to my ancestors.

MY family is but one branch on the Tree of Life,
A tree that grew strong through toil and strife.

ALONE, I’m just a bare twig or a stub,
TOGETHER we build a Family Tree of Love!

written by
Linnie Vanderford Poyneer
(written late one night after a long day of research)

Above posted at Twig, Tree and Treasure

Grandma’s Apron

Grandma’s Apron

When I used to visit Grandma.
I was very much impressed,
by her all-purpose apron,
and the power it possessed.
For Grandma, it was everyday
to choose one when she dressed.
The strings were tied and freshly washed,
and maybe even pressed.
The simple apron that it was,
you would never think about;
the things she used it for,
that made it look worn out.

She used it for a basket,
when she gathered up the eggs,
and flapped it as a weapon,
when hens pecked her feet and legs.
She used it to carry kindling
when she stoked the kitchen fire.
And to hold a load of laundry,
or to wipe the clothesline wire.
She used it for a hot pad,
to remove a steaming pan,
and when her brow was heated,
she used it for a fan.
It dried our childish tears,
when we’d scrape a knee and cry,
and made a hiding place
when the little ones were shy.
Farm produce took in season,
in the summer, spring and fall,
found its way into the kitchen
from Grandma’s carry all.
When Grandma went to heaven,
God said she now could rest.
I’m sure the apron she chose that day,
was her Sunday best.

Author Unknown

Above posted at Twig, Tree and Treasure