Birthmarks — physical, emotional, and generational — leave a long mark.
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Birthmarks — physical, emotional, and generational — leave a long mark.
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It’s January 8, where are you with your family history and genealogy New Year’s resolutions?
An awful record to read, but one we can’t ignore if we are to have a meaningful understanding of our past. Despite what the history deniers and erasers might think.
When your mom goes, it leaves a big hole in the family tapestry.
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Our history depends on how facts are recorded, and how they are preserved. For inspiration on how to do it properly, look no further than the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial and Museum.
The sad endgame for my grandfather, John Oliver Manson
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Understanding our family stories, writing them down, and getting anyone to pay attention takes a lot of friends.
This is NOT the story of my grandparents. But I wonder what ChatGPT means about how we will tell and research stories in the future.
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One of the comments I get most often when I tell the sad tale of my Italian immigrant grandparents and their lost 122 years in New York State mental institutions is, “That’s just an unbelievable story!” But….
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My grandfather and his son both won the Miami-to-Key-West powerboat race, 46 years apart. Or did they?
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My grandfather John Oliver Manson was never one to miss out on an opportunity to be in the press.
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Wait… my grandfather wasn’t born in Australia? Watch out for the family legends - and even official documents. Sometimes our ancestors just made stuff up.
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The first in a series of posts documenting my maternal grandfather, John Oliver Manson. This one is focused on a 1925 Phantom Kidnapping.
It’s time to modernize the privacy rules surrounding the health records of long-dead ancestors. Release the records!
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How do those in the genealogy, records, and archives biz think we should start future-proofing the contemporary documents, news, and pictures that are so critical to accurately remembering the past?
Thinking about publishing a family history book? Here are three lessons I learned.
Every year at Cape Hatteras, I go on a bike ride along a somewhat fixed path, one that goes first to the Cape Hatteras lighthouse, then past a tiny World War II British cemetery, and from there to a National Park Service campground immediately prior to Beach Access Ramp 43.
The only thing my father ever said about his Italian immigrant family was that his parents died in the 1930s, shortly after arriving at Ellis Island.
Except they didn’t.
Why do I spend so much time on family history? - Part One of series.
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Happy St. Patrick’s Day, Sarah. The only grandparent we ever knew.