writing

SNGF: School Records

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I’m having some Saturday Night Genealogy Fun (#SNGF), with help from Randy Seaver and his prompts! Feel free to join in.

Saturday Night Genealogy Fun: August 22, 2026

Prompt: “Do you have any records of your ancestors’ schooling, such as report cards, yearbooks, or photos? If so, please share one of them and what you learned about your ancestor(s) from the article.”

Introduction

Were you a good student? Would you want your report cards examined a hundred years later? I don’t know how my Grandpa felt, but he can be proud.

What I found

I am the proud caretaker of a nearly complete set of report cards from my grandfather, Gordon West.

Report cards, in Liberty Center, Ohio in the WWI era, were sent home monthly. Here is Grandpa’s first grade report card. Grandpa was an “Excellent” student in spelling, reading, and arithmetic, as well as effort, and a “Good” student in writing, language, and deportment.

I’m guessing that Grandpa’s excellent spelling skills came in handy later, working as a linotype operator at a newspaper for over 40 years!

Bonus

My great grandfather’s signature is on every month. For so many ancestors, I don’t have a single signature, but for Adam Grant West, I get a small glimpse of a father who regularly reviewed his son’s school reports.

Grab the Tidbits – They Matter!

I’m so glad Randy Seaver posted this prompt, and Lisa S. Gorrell suggested it! I’d nearly forgotten about these report cards and it was so fun and enlightening to look at them. A report card may seem like a small keepsake, but sometimes those little pieces of paper bring an ancestor’s everyday life closer than the “important” records do.

AI Disclosure

This post was created by me with the help of AI tools. While AI helps organize research, the storytelling and discoveries are my own.

SNGF: My first New York Hurricane

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I’m having some Saturday Night Genealogy Fun (#SNGF), with help from Randy Seaver and his prompts! Feel free to join in.

Saturday Night Genealogy Fun: August 8, 2026

Prompt: “Did extreme weather or a natural disaster ever affect you or your ancestor(s)? In what way(s)? How did you find this out? Describe one or more of the extreme weather experiences in your own life or in your ancestors lives.”

Introduction

In New York City, it’s a rare hurricane that makes it into town, and usually downgraded to a tropical storm by then. So, when they hit, they are memorable, if not usually severe. Dad taught us about preparing for a storm when I was in elementary school.

A Family Prepares Together

During Dad’s custodial time, likely an every-other-weekend visit, a hurricane was scheduled to hit us. This would have been about the mid-1970s. Fortunately, Dad worked to make precautions fun, while teaching us how to handle emergency situations.

We set up “camp” in the basement – this is long before the camping fad I’ve spoken about in earlier blog posts, and long before Superstorm Sandy showed just how dangerous New York basements could become during flooding.

We had blankets, pillows, food and water in the basement far from windows, and waited out the storm. It was an adventure, yet Dad specified precautions, so that we’d be able to take them ourselves when needed.

The storm itself was not memorable to young me, only the preparations – which is as it should be.

A Lesson Brought Back

Many years later, I was a consultant traveling to various clients. I was once at a client in Texas near the Mexico border. Severe weather, with the possibility of a tornado, was expected during work hours. We were in warehouses, nothing particularly safe. So, during that specific time, I went into the ladies’ room. Some colleagues chuckled, but I brought forth the “better safe than sorry” lesson from my childhood and emerged unscathed not long after. Many fixtures in the town showed tornado damage, but fortunately no one was injured.

If parents wonder if their lessons stick – yes, they often do.

AI Disclosure

This post was created by me with the help of AI tools. While AI helps organize research, the storytelling and discoveries are my own.

52 Ancestors: A Day in the Life

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A Day in the Life

I’ve adapted Amy Johnson Crow’s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge.
Each week I follow my children’s ahnentafel numbering to select the featured ancestor, ensuring no one through the mid–sixth generation is left behind.

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks: 2026 Week 31: A Day in the Life

What the Records Tell Me

My Week 31 ancestor is Alice Matilda Britton. Alice was born in Manhattan, New York, in 1882, and spent nearly all her life on Staten Island, New York. In the 1900 census, Alice is 17 and at home with her parents, occupation “Fireworks Factory Hand” (as is her younger sister), not employed for 2 months. She married in 1903 and had four children between 1904 and 1913. In 1910, as the mother to one living child, her occupation was “None.” In the 1915 New York State census, Alice’s occupation was “Housewife,” and on her 1917 death certificate, it was again “H[ouse]wife.” But what is the story behind the facts?

Imagining an Ordinary Monday

One might imagine the life of the mother in a working-class family around 1915. I asked Claude,

Tell me about what a typical day might look like for a 32-year-old housewife to an engineer in 1915 Staten Island, New York. She is the mom of 3 littles, ages 8, 4, and 1.

There were several iterations, but we ended up with an imagined diary entry for Alice.

[Note: The following is an imaginative reconstruction, not an actual diary. It draws on documented facts about Alice and her family, along with general knowledge of working-class household life in 1915. Her schedule, words, thoughts, and many domestic details are speculative.]

A Day in the Life: Alice, 956 Post Avenue, Port Richmond — Monday, September 13, 1915

A little imagined diary entry, written for fun — picturing what an ordinary Monday might have looked like for my great-great-grandmother Alice, wife of Henry, and mother to Harry (8), Walter (4), and baby Edith (2), on Staten Island’s North Shore in 1915.

5:40 in the morning.

Up before the bells of the Dutch Reformed Church even think of ringing. The stove wants coaxing this time of year — I laid the coal last night so it wouldn’t take so long, and still my hands are black by the time it catches. Henry likes his coffee hot and his eggs not runny, and he likes them both by twenty past six, so there is no dawdling in this house.

6:15.

Henry down and dressed for the office, collar starched within an inch of his life. He’ll take the Port Richmond car down to the St. George ferry same as always — I hear the trolley bell from the porch some mornings if the wind’s right. He kissed Edith on the head, told Harry to mind me, and was out the door with his coffee only half drunk, same as every day of our marriage. I do wonder what it is he does all day among those drafting tables in the city. He tries to explain it to me and I nod and understand perhaps half.

6:45.

Edith up and hollering for her breakfast, poor mite, as if I’d forget her. Walter trailing behind her in his nightshirt asking why he cannot go to school with Harry yet. Told him again — next year, next year — though at four I don’t think “next year” means very much to him.

7:30.

Harry off up Post Avenue to school with his lunch pail and a great deal of noise about it. I stood on the step and watched him to the corner, same as I do every morning, though he is quite put out that I still do this.

8:00.

Monday, which means washing, which means the whole morning given over to the tub and the board and my knuckles scraped raw by noon. Walter “helps” by handing me pins and getting underfoot in equal measure. Edith propped where I can see her, gumming on a crust. The water wants heating first, then the boiling of the whites, then the wringing, then the whole business hung on the line out back — and heaven help me if it rains before it’s dry, because then it all comes in and drapes over every chair in the kitchen.

11:30.

Down to Richmond Avenue for what we’re short of — a bit of meat from the butcher, a loaf, and thread, since I am nearly out and there is a tear in Harry’s school trousers that will not mend itself. Walter came along and had to be steered away from every shop window with anything shining in it. Edith slept the whole way in the carriage, bless her, which was the only peaceful quarter hour I had all morning.

12:30 in the afternoon.

Dinner for myself and the two little ones — bread, a bit of the cold meat from yesterday, and whatever Walter will consent to eat, which today was very little. Edith down for her nap after, and I sat a moment longer than I should have before the mending pile reminded me it was still there.

2:00.

Mending, and Walter’s trousers, and a hem let down on one of my own skirts. The house has that particular quiet of a nap-time afternoon — just the clock, and the wash still dripping out back, and Walter humming to himself over some game with his tin soldiers on the kitchen floor.

3:15.

Harry home from school, starving as always, full of some tale about a boy who got the strap for talking out of turn. Wanted to know would I write to his teacher about something or other — I told him to eat his bread and butter first and we’d see.

4:30.

Wash brought in, mostly dry, folded into the basket. Started the fire up again for supper. Edith woke cross and would not be put down, so I did the potatoes with her on my hip, which is a trick I have gotten rather good at this past year.

6:00.

Henry’s ferry gets in a little before six most evenings, and I listen for his step same as I listened for the trolley bell this morning. Supper on the table when he came through the door — I do try to have it so, tired as he must be from the city. He told us a little about his day, which is more than most evenings, and Harry hung on every word about the bridge works he’s drawing up.

7:00.

Baths for the three of them, which with only the one tub and water heated on the stove is its own hour of labor, but they come out pink and sweet-smelling and that is worth the trouble. Edith down first, fussing a little, then Walter, who wanted three stories and got one.

8:00.

Harry to bed with his lesson book, though I suspect more looking at the pictures than at his arithmetic. Henry in his chair with the evening paper, and myself finally sitting, with the mending basket that never truly empties, for perhaps three quarters of an hour before the fire needs banking for the night.

9:30.

To bed, though I don’t imagine I’ll stay there undisturbed — Edith has taken to waking once in the night this week, teething I think. Tomorrow is ironing day. I try not to think of it yet.

Goodnight from Post Avenue.

What “Housewife” Concealed

I cannot know whether Alice’s Mondays unfolded exactly this way. I do know that the records reduced her work first to “None” and later to “Housewife.” Behind those words were children to feed, clothing to wash and mend, water to heat, meals to prepare, and a household organized around school hours, ferry schedules, and Henry’s working day. The reconstruction is imagined, but the labor it represents was real.

Alice

AI Disclosure

I used Claude to help develop and refine the imagined diary entry in this post. The documented facts about Alice, her family, address, and occupations come from genealogical records. The schedule, dialogue, emotions, and many details of daily life are speculative. I reviewed and edited the final narrative.

Next Week’s Topic: Neighbors and Community

52 Ancestors: An Unexpected Strength

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An Unexpected Strength

I’ve adapted Amy Johnson Crow’s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge.
Each week I follow my children’s ahnentafel numbering to select the featured ancestor, ensuring no one through the mid–sixth generation is left behind.

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks: 2026 Week 21: An Unexpected Strength

Introduction

My Week 21 ancestor is Cywa “Sylvia” Bachrach.

As with her husband, Mordecai Gudelski, I never knew anyone who knew Sylvia, my husband’s great grandmother. But it’s clear to this generation that she left a lasting impression on her descendants.

When I first thought about “unexpected strength,” I imagined something visible: a crisis faced, a hardship overcome, a bold decision preserved in the records. But Cywa’s strength seems to have been quieter than that. It appears in what her children carried with them — not just across the ocean, but into the names they gave their own daughters.

Discussion

The records are sparse when it comes to Cywa. Although I have located birth records for some of her siblings, I have not yet found hers. What I do know is that she married Mordecai Gudelski in 1855 in Suwałki, Congress Poland, when they were both 19 years old.

She died in Suwałki in 1900.

Sylvia had nine children that I know of, and I’ve tracked six of them emigrating, likely pushed by the pressures many Jewish families faced in the Russian Empire: violence, instability, military conscription, and limited opportunity. What stands out to me is that of the six children I’ve been able to track, five named daughters Sylvia. (Yes, we always have to clarify when talking about “Cousin Sylvia.”)

Cywa must have had a tremendous impact on her children for them to honor her so, especially since I have not seen the same naming pattern for their father. I keep coming back to those daughters named Sylvia. In a family scattered by emigration, distance, and uncertainty, her name became a kind of thread — carried across oceans and into the next generation.

How hard it must have been to bid goodbye to child after child as they left for another continent, knowing she would likely never see them again. Cywa’s strength may not appear in the records as a bold public act. It may have looked quieter than that: raising children, surviving uncertainty, and letting them go when leaving may have been their best chance.

I cannot prove that every daughter named Sylvia was named directly for her, but the pattern is hard to ignore. Her name kept reappearing. That feels like its own kind of testimony.

We may not know much about Cywa “Sylvia” Bachrach’s voice, personality, or daily life. But her children remembered her. They carried her name forward. And sometimes, in genealogy, that is where strength reveals itself — not in what was written down, but in what a family refused to forget.

AI Disclosure

This post was created by me with the help of AI tools. While AI helps organize research, the storytelling and discoveries are my own.

Next Week’s Topic: A Name With Meaning

SNGF: 10-4, Bumblebee

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10-4, Bumblebee

I’m having some Saturday Night Genealogy Fun (#SNGF), with help from Randy Seaver and his prompts! Feel free to join in.

Saturday Night Genealogy Fun: May 9, 2026

Prompt: “What automobile models did your ancestors have?  Pick an ancestor and share something about their cars.”

Introduction

My father Bob Anderson’s first car after the divorce needed to be a cheap workhorse, so he could travel hundreds of miles every other weekend for custodial time (then called visitation), and he had little cash to spare. He found a yellow/orange two-door Vega. It looked very much like this one except orange with a black horizontal stripe.

Figure 1 A Chevrolet Vega similar to Dad’s, though his was more orange and had a black horizontal stripe.

Discussion

There were three of us, ages 3-8, and we sat in the backseat (no child seat laws at that time) because the front seat had no seat belts, but the back seat did. Dad used a CB radio much like I use Waze now but for two-way communication. With Citizens Band, everyone chose a nickname or handle, and Dad was Bumblebee, because of the car. (Later he got a silver car and was happy to change his handle to Silver Shadow.)

Those car trips went on for a decade. I’m amazed Dad was able to do it. Later, Dad was so burned out from driving, and I generally handled the long-ish trips. But I have very fond memories in that car and the ones that followed (anybody remember the K-cars?) because they enabled family time.

A “Weekend Fathers” newspaper article featuring Dad and one of the cars that followed the Vega. Seeing Dad described that way in print still stops me, because those exhausting weekends were not abstract to us. They were how he stayed present.

Looking back, those cars were never just transportation. They were how Dad kept showing up, one long weekend drive at a time. 10-4, Bumblebee.

AI Disclosure

This post was written by me with the help of AI tools for organization and editing. The memories, family details, and reflections are my own.

52 Ancestors: A Question the Records Can’t Answer

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I’ve adapted Amy Johnson Crow’s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge.
Each week I follow my children’s ahnentafel numbering to select the featured ancestor, ensuring no one through the mid–sixth generation is left behind.

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks: 2026 Week 19: A Question the Records Can’t Answer

Introduction

My Week 19 ancestor is Jennie Felder Frank.

As far as I can ascertain, Jennie immigrated from Austria to New York in 1887, when she was probably in her late twenties. I have never located anyone from her natal family in the United States. That absence has become the question at the center of this week’s post:

What did Jennie leave behind when she emigrated?

Jennie married Joseph Frank in January 1888, only a year or so after her arrival. Her marriage record says her parents were Joseph and Rosie, that she was twenty-four, and that this was her first marriage. Later records suggest she may have been closer to twenty-nine. Whether the discrepancy was accidental, practical, or intentional, it reminds me how little the records can tell me about how Jennie understood herself at that moment.

Her brief time in New York as a single woman makes her harder to trace. I do not know where she lived before her marriage, who helped her settle, or whether she arrived with friends, relatives, neighbors, or no one at all. I have not found members of her Felder family nearby. That silence makes me wonder whether her immigration marked a true separation from the people who had known her first.

Even her father’s name shifts across the records. Her marriage record names him as Joseph. Her death certificate names him as James, and the informant did not know her mother’s name. Her tombstone, however, preserves her Hebrew identity: Sheindel, daughter of Avraham Yosef.

Those clues suggest a sharp break between the old country and the new. In America, she became Jennie Felder Frank: wife, mother, widow, and grandmother. But before that, she was Sheindel, daughter of Avraham Yosef, born into a family and a world I can only glimpse.

So my question for Jennie is not only what she brought with her, but what she had to leave behind: family, language, customs, memories, expectations, perhaps even a version of herself that never fully made it into American records.

Closing

The records can tell me that Jennie crossed an ocean, married Joseph Frank, raised three children, lived with her daughter Anna after Joseph’s death, and was buried in Washington Cemetery. They cannot tell me whether she missed the people she left behind, whether she expected to see them again, or whether she spoke of them to her children. That is the question I would ask her: when you began again in New York, what part of your old life stayed with you?

ChatGPT, 04May2026

AI Disclosure

This post was created by me with the help of AI tools. While AI helps organize research, the storytelling and discoveries are my own.

Next Week’s Topic: At the Cemetery

52 Ancestors: Unexpected

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Unexpected

I’ve adapted Amy Johnson Crow’s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge.
Each week I follow my children’s ahnentafel numbering to select the featured ancestor, ensuring no one through the mid–sixth generation is left behind.

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks: 2026 Week 15: Unexpected

Introduction

My Week 15 ancestor is Edith Makey West. When I thought about the theme “Unexpected,” I realized that her life was shaped by unexpected mothering in many forms: first when her aunt stepped in after her mother’s death, then when a stepmother took on that role, and later when Grandma herself helped raise my generation.

Discussion

We say, “It takes a village to raise a child,” but it really did in many ways. Grandma’s mother died when she and her siblings were young children, and her mother’s married, childless sister, Aunt Edith, stepped in to help raise the three of them. Grandma remained very fond of Aunt Edith and Uncle Peter for the rest of her life. Aunt Edith died relatively young, but my uncle remembered Uncle Peter, so clearly the families remained close.

Once Grandma’s father remarried, he and his new wife brought the children back and informed them, “This is your mother now.” Grandma did, in fact, treat the woman as a mother, including caring for her after Grandma’s dad passed away. When Grandma told me family stories, she would mention, “My mother” and I would clarify that she meant her stepmother. (Not to be mean, of course, but I wanted to attribute the family stories to the right person.)

Finally, after my mother left my father and took us with her, she went home to her parents. Grandma helped raise us while my mother secured her footing, returned to the workforce, gained financial stability, and generally settled into single parenting. I never, ever heard Grandma issue the slightest complaint about all this new responsibility for a retired couple.

Summary

Grandma once told me, while recounting the family history, that the men in her family had it tough. I told her I thought the women did too; they were simply expected to endure, adapt, and keep going.

What feels most unexpected to me is not a hidden record or a family story proven true, but the way mothering kept taking new forms in Grandma’s life. After losing her own mother, she was cared for by Aunt Edith. Later, a stepmother took on that role in the household. And when her own daughter needed help, Grandma stepped in to help raise the next generation. In the end, the unexpected discovery is that in our family, mothering was not always about who had the title, but about who showed up.

Walter, Harry, and Edith Makey

AI Disclosure

This post was created by me with the help of AI tools. While AI helps organize research, the storytelling and discoveries are my own.

Next Week’s Topic: A Quiet Life

SNGF: From Ohio to New York: A Family Turning Point

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From Ohio to New York: A Family Turning Point

I’m having some Saturday Night Genealogy Fun (#SNGF), with help from Randy Seaver and his prompts! Feel free to join in.

Saturday Night Genealogy Fun: April 4, 2026

Prompt: “Family stories are often about “Turning Points” and “Major Decisions.” This week, please describe a “Turning Point” in the life of one of your parents (or for both of them, or for grandparents).  Describe the decision, and discuss the outcome of it.”

Introduction

My grandfather’s decision to move to New York City during the Great Depression is one of the most courageous choices I’ve seen in my family history. If he hadn’t made that leap, my grandparents might never have met.

Discussion

Gordon West was born and raised in Liberty Center, Henry County, Ohio, a very small town. He was a talented musician and played the organ in a movie theater until the arrival of “talkies” put him out of work.

During the Depression, Grandpa went to work for a friend who ran a printing press – he worked without pay to learn the trade. After trying unsuccessfully to find work in Detroit, about 100 miles away, he made an even bolder choice: he went to New York City. As far as I know, he had no friends or contacts there, yet he found work as a linotype operator at the Staten Island Advance. For housing, he rented a room at a woman’s boarding house, and she thought he might be a nice young man for her niece’s stepdaughter – my Grandma.

They married in 1935 and he worked for the Staten Island Advance until he retired in 1972 after 41 years’ service.

The Great Depression was a terrible thing, but it did bring my grandparents together.

Staten Island (N. Y.) Advance, August 23, 1972, page 25

Challenge

Small changes can make a big difference. What butterfly effect have you seen or experienced?

AI Disclosure

This post was created by me with the help of AI tools. While AI helps organize research, the storytelling and discoveries are my own.

SNGF: Not Every Memory Fits in a Shadowbox

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I’m having some Saturday Night Genealogy Fun (#SNGF), with help from Randy Seaver and his prompts! Feel free to join in.

Saturday Night Genealogy Fun: March 21, 2026

Prompt: “March 21 is National Memory Day.  How can we celebrate, and participate, in the day?  I asked AI tool ChatGPT how, and it suggested “Capture a Memory Before Its Gone;” “Rescue and Identify Old Photos;” “Record a Oral History;” “Organize One Small Thing;”  “Share a Story With Family;” “Visit or Virtually Honor Ancestors.””

Introduction

This week’s Saturday Night Genealogy Fun challenge, from Randy Seaver, marks March 21 as National Memory Day and invites us to consider how we might celebrate and participate. The suggestion was to come up with our own ideas, and as I thought about it, I realized I’ve already been doing this in different ways, even if I didn’t call it that at the time. You probably have as well.

Discussion

One of the most tangible examples sits right in my home: a shadowbox holding my great-grandmother, Alice Britton Makey’s, initialed fork. (Blog about it here.) It’s a small, everyday object, but preserving it, and the story behind it, felt important. It gave her a physical presence, something I could see and point to. But as meaningful as it is, I also know I can’t fill my house with shadowboxes. Not every memory can live that way.

Some memories are better experienced than displayed.

I was reminded of that by a relative (Helen Denny Woodman, author of The Descendants of Henry Denny, 1758-1839, also my ancestor) who, while caring for her husband as his memory declined, would sit with him and go through old family photo albums. Those albums weren’t just records – they were invitations. They allowed him to reconnect, to recognize, to feel something familiar even as other memories slipped away. That idea has stayed with me, and it’s inspired me to create albums of our own family trips – not just to document where we’ve been, but to make it easier to revisit those moments together.

And then there are the memories you can hear.

When I had an old cassette converted (blog here), I discovered a recording of my father reading a poem he had written. Hearing his voice again was something no object could replicate. It wasn’t just preservation; it was presence. For a few minutes, he wasn’t just someone I remembered. He was there.

Thinking about National Memory Day in this way, I’m struck by how many forms memory can take. Some are physical, like a fork in a shadowbox. Others are shared, like turning the pages of an album. Still others are almost intangible, like a voice carried forward through time.

Not every memory fits in a shadowbox – but that may be the point. Memory isn’t meant to live in just one form. It lives in the ways we choose to hold on, to revisit, and to share.

A cassette tape hand-labeled "New poem readings"

AI Disclosure

This post was developed with the assistance of AI tools to help organize ideas and refine wording, while preserving my original reflections and voice.

SNGF: My Genealogy Day

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I’m having some Saturday Night Genealogy Fun (#SNGF), with help from Randy Seaver and his prompts! Feel free to join in.

Saturday Night Genealogy Fun: March 14, 2026

Prompt: “How was your genealogy day?  Tell us about it – what genealogy-related activities did you do today, yesterday, or another day this past week? Researching, summarizing, transcribing, analyzing, writing, etc.”

Introduction

I’m going to be selective in choosing my “day.” I choose Saturday, March 14, 2026, the day this prompt was posted.

Discussion

It turned out to be a particularly full (and satisfying) day.

I started an IGHR course: Genetics for Genealogists: Fundamentals of DNA. I consider myself a lifelong learner and tend to take courses for the joy of learning, not always with a specific end goal in mind. That said, I do try to pursue at least one genealogy-focused educational experience each year. In the past, that’s included GRIP, NGS courses, the Boston University certificate program, and various study groups.

This year, I somehow ended up with two IGHR courses on my radar; both virtual and spread over several weeks. (Not my first IGHR courses… just my first this year!) The DNA course is clearly going to be challenging, which makes it all the more exciting. I developed a solid foundation in genetics through BU, but I know I still have gaps, especially when it comes to chromosome browsers and related tools.

In addition to coursework, I also worked on a blog post: Favorite RootsTech Session, after finally completing my RootsTech 2026 playlist.

And finally, I spent time working on the ancestors book I’m creating for my children. Saturday’s focus was disambiguating Matthew Kearney – a task that required careful sorting and attention to detail.

Summary

All in all, it was a very productive genealogy day. And honestly, those are some of the most fun days of all.

Challenge

Take a moment to tally up the different genealogy tasks you’ve worked on recently. You might be surprised (and impressed) by how much you’ve accomplished.

AI Disclosure

This post was created by me with the help of AI tools. While AI helps organize research, the storytelling and discoveries are my own.