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Below is a small collection of tidbits I have collected. Most were sent to me through e-mail, and I do not know who is the original author.

If you know, please e-mail me so I may give the author credit. Most of all just relax, have a little fun and take a minute from the sometimes-tedious task of genealogy research!

 

I will add more as time permits…

 

 

Great Truths Children Have Learned

Doughboy Obit

Genealogy Pox

My forgetter’s getting better

I wish you enough

The 3-hol’r

I’m My Own Grandpa

 

 

 

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             By : Lee Wilkins       

My forgetter's getting better

But my rememberer is broke

To you that may seem funny but,

To me, that is no joke

 

For when I'm "here" I'm wondering

If I really should be "there"

And, when I try to think it through,

I haven't got a prayer!

 

Oft times I walk into a room,

Say "what am I here for?"

I wrack my brain, but all in vain

A zero is my score.

 

At times I put something away

Where it is safe, but Gee!

The person it is safest from

Is, generally, me!

 

When shopping I may see someone,

Say "Hi" and have a chat,

Then, when the person walks away

I ask myself, "Who the heck was that?"

 

Yes, my forgetter's getting better

While my rememberer is broke,

And it's driving me plumb crazy

And that isn't any joke.

 

 

 

 

 

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This is a wish that has been handed down from past generations. Usually offered as a farewell greeting.

 

Meaning:

 

I wish for you to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain you, enough sun to keep your attitude bright. I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more, enough happiness to keep your spirit alive. I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger, enough gain to satisfy your wanting, enough loss to appreciate all that you possess and enough "Hello's" to get you through the final "Goodbye."

 

                                          

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm My Own Grandpa

(Lonzo and Oscar)

 

It sounds funny, I know,

But it really is so,

Oh, I'm my own grandpa.

 

I'm my own grandpa.

I'm my own grandpa.

It sounds funny, I know,

But it really is so,

Oh, I'm my own grandpa.

 

Now many, many years ago, when I was twenty-three,

I was married to a widow who was pretty as could be.

 

This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red.

My father fell in love with her, and soon they, too, were wed.

 

 

This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life,

My daughter was my mother, cause she was my father's wife.

 

To complicate the matter, even though it brought me joy,

I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.

 

 

My little baby then became a brother-in-law to Dad,

And so became my uncle, though it made me very sad.

 

For if he was my uncle, then that also made him brother

Of the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my stepmother.

 

 

Father's wife then had a son who kept him on the run,

And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter's son.

 

My wife is now my mother's mother, and it makes me blue,

Because, although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too.

 

 

Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I'm her grandchild,

And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.

 

For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw

As husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa!

 

I'm my own grandpa.

I'm my own grandpa.

It sounds funny, I know, but it really is so,

 

Oh, I'm my own grandpa

 

 

 

 

 

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(Very contagious to adults)

Symptoms:

Continual complaint as to the need for names dates and places. Patient has blank expression, sometimes deaf to spouse and children. Has no drive for work of any kind except feverishly looking through records at libraries and courthouses. Has compulsion to write letters. Swears at mailman when he doesn’t leave mail. Frequents strange places such as cemeteries, ruins, and remote desolate country areas. Constantly online, searching for new GEDCOMS and transcribed records. Frequently complains of modem speed or lack of. Develops new language comprised of words such as, GEDCOM, Ahnefentafel and Tiny Tafel, File Transfer Protocol, Family History Reports. Now actually believes it is possible to build a tree. 

 

No Known Cure

Treatment:

Medication is useless. Disease is not fatal, but does get progressively worse. Patient should attend genealogy workshops, subscribe to genealogical publications and be given a quiet corner in the house where he or she can be alone undisturbed.

 

Remarks:

The unusual nature of this disease is the sicker the patient gets; the more he or she enjoys it!

 

 

 

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One of my bygone recollections, as I recall the days of yore, is the little house, behind the house, with the crescent over the door.

Twas a place to sit and ponder, with your head bowed down low, knowing that you wouldn't be there if you didn't have to go.

Ours was a three-holer, with a size for everyone.
You left there feeling better, after your usual job was done.

You had to make these frequent trips whether snow, rain, sleet or fog, to the little house where you usually found the Sears-Roebuck catalogue.

Oft times in dead of winter, the seat was covered with snow, t’was then with much reluctance to the little house you'd go.

With a swish you'd clear the seat, bend low with a dreadful fear, you'd blink your eyes and grit your teeth, as you settled on your rear.

I recalled the day my granddad who stayed with us one summer, made a trip to the shanty, which proved to be a "bummer!"

'Twas the same day my dad finished painting the kitchen green, he’d just cleaned up the mess he'd made, with rags and gasoline.

He tossed the rags in the shanty hole, and went on his usual way, not knowing that by doing so he would eventually rue the day.

Now granddad had an urgent call, I will never forget!
This trip he made to the little house lingers in my memory yet.

He sat down on the shanty seat, with both feet on the floor then filled his pipe with tobacco and struck a match on the outhouse door.

After the tobacco began to glow, he slowly raised his rear tossed the flaming match in the open hole, with no sign of fear.

The blast that followed, I am sure was heard for miles around and there was poor ole granddad just sitting on the ground.

The smoldering pipe was still in his mouth his suspenders he held on tight, but the celebrated three-holer was blown clear out of sight.

When we asked him what had happened his answer I'll never forget.
He said he thought it must have been something that he had recently "et !"

Next day we had a new one, which my dad built with ease with a sign on the entrance door, which read, "No Smoking Please."



Now that's the end of the story with memories of long ago, of the little house, behind the house where we went "cause we had to go!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Truths children have learned
1) No matter how hard you try, you can't baptize cats.
2) When your Mom is mad at your Dad, don't let her brush your hair.
3) If your sister hits you, don't hit her back. They always catch the second person.
4) Never ask your 3-year old brother to hold a tomato.
5) You can't trust dogs to watch your food.
6) Don't sneeze when someone is cutting your hair.
7) Never hold a Dust-Buster and a cat at the same time.
8) You can't hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk.
9) Don't wear polka-dot underwear under white shorts.
10) The best place to be when you're sad is Grandma's lap.

 

 

 

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