La Tienda Part II

Continuation from last week's post: La Tienda Part I

Crowding the back of the garage for over a year, the Tienda, stood unused and decaying. There was no  garage storage space and the office remained without a proper bookshelf. As much as my genealogy materials called out at me to be properly archived, I couldn't allow myself to spend thousands of dollars on a new bookcase. I felt stuck! Out of frustration, we decided to do the second best thing: unpack and put together the Mexican bookcase for use as garage storage. Not ideal, I admit, but better than letting the tienda continue to deteriorate the due to lack of maintenance and use.

A friend, who in turn hired three more friends and two large ladders, helped assemble the heavy shelves. The fixture looked completely out of place (sorry, I don't have a picture), housing balls, bicycle helmets and coolers, but at least we had somewhere to store our junk. It was not a pretty sight. The garage, overwhelmed by the sheer size of this bulky bookcase, remained only a tiny bit more functional and marginally less crowded.

Three weeks ago, everything came to a head, when I was leaving for the little league match. I needed a folding chair which was awkwardly placed on the bookshelf between a couple of elegant columns. In the process of squeezing myself between the car and the bookshelf, I knocked over three bikes. Though I hate to admit this in public, I just about lost it that day. My frustration with the garage just about boiled over and I could not believe that the garage would stay so tight and messy indefinitely.  I called my local version of Don Miguel, our trustworthy neighborhood handyman—Lincoln, and asked him to take a look at the garage and somehow find a place for a bike rack.

Lincoln, examined the situation closely. Since the bookcase took up eighty percent of the back wall of the garage, he suggested,  hanging the bikes from the ceiling.. This solution generated some problems and he questioned me about the bookcase which clearly looked out of place. When I relayed a briefer version this saga, explaining how there was no way to get the bookcase into its' intended destination, I noticed a sparkle in his eyes. He listen politely and then proclaimed: "I can do it. I can take it apart. I love this kind of delicate projects!"

"Really? Are you sure?" I asked in disbelief.

He took a few steps up and down the gigantic bookshelf, tapped the sides and examined the construction and then stated emphatically, that what I thought was impossible, could definitely be done. His plan involved pulleys to get the longer parts through one of the small third floor window, but he was confident quite confident it would succeed.

One of third floor office windows used
 to pull up the bookshelf. It is the smallest window
 in the house measuring about 2'x3.5'

I knew Lincoln was the man for the job! It took four days, one assistant and a lot of patience. He disassembled the old bookshelf into more than fifty smaller parts, three of which were eleven foot long. Lincoln even found a small bullet embedded into the ancient wood, which he extracted and handed over to me for safekeeping. Last week, after spending two unhappy years in the garage, the Mexican Tienda appeared like new—or more like—unharmed in my office!

My mission now is to bring the bookshelf to it's original glory. I spent the weekend, rehydrating the thirsty wood with oil and then stacking it with books and office supplies, some of which have been in boxes for as long as the Tienda spent in the garage. The garage is now empty and ready to receive proper garage storage shelves which Lincoln will build. Finally, the office has become a pleasant place to work! I bring you this post from my antique desk (a desk with its' own story). Every few minutes, I can not help but raise my eyes and glance with amazement at the miracle of having La Tienda here with me. The bookshelf is so large, that it now houses not only many of my books, but also most of the family photos albums and my genealogy files.  Best of all, it displays many photos of my ancestors as well as my descendants. For lack of display space, they were in storage for quite some time. These vintage photos have accompanied me along my genealogy journey and inspired my work and it is a wonderful feeling to be able to enjoy them again!

La Tienda, in the third floor office!

Lincoln had  the foresight to. when possible, use screws rather than nails, making disassembly easier in the unlikely possibility of needing to move the bookcase in the future. We are also adding a library ladder make the top shelves more accesible. I hope to replace the missing glass from the drawers which will bring back the transparent compartments to their intended use (see pictures below) and  I am on the lookout for matching drawer knobs. In leu of antique candy jars, I found some vintage looking ones and filled them with office supplies. They now sit in the jar niches.

Closeup of a drawer missing glass & knob.
(Click to enlarge)

One remaining glassed drawer
with original knob. (Click to enlarge).

Closeup of the knob

Vintage style candy jars in niche.
(Click to enlarge)

When we purchased this Tienda, I had yet to discover my passion for family history. I knew that my great-grandparents owned a grocery store, but I spent little time pondering what the store may have looked like in the early 1920s, 1930s and 1940s. I never made a connection between this old Mexican grocery store display and my ancestors grocery store. But, as I was writing this post and contemplated the Tienda, I recalled a photo I came across recently. This amazing snapshot, printed as a postcard, is one of the few surviving photos the Bloomfield Market. In this unlabeled photo, taken around 1920, I am able to identify my great-grandfather, William Bloomfield who is standing behind the counter. To my amazement, behind him is what looks like a very large set of shelves, neatly stacked with rows of boxes, bottles and canned goods. It's difficult to tell from the photo, but it's quite possible that the vertical dividers are columns, just like the Mexican Tienda. Far away from Puebla Mexico, this vintage family photo, provides a glimpse of what the Mexican tienda would have looked like in its heyday. I am not sure what became of the New Hampshire tienda, but Minnie provides a small clue in her Memoir, Stored Treasures:

"We bought a grocery store from a friend of Will's (William Bloomfield). It was some ten miles from where his mother's store was located. She had some fixtures that she loaned us. So without any money, or experience, we were in business." (Stored Treasures, 137)

William Bloomfield, at the Bloomfield Market
Laconia, NH c1920
(Click to enlarge)

It's very likely that the loan included the fixtures in this picture and my guess is that they were returned to Freida Toby when William and Minnie moved to Houston. I don't believe any furniture from that period remains in the family. Though I'm not a big believer in destiny, I feel as if the Mexican tienda which now proudly sits in my office,  had a purpose in fighting it's way back into my home.

As of now, my children do not have much of an appreciation for our eclectic taste in rustic furniture. Hopefully, one of our sons will one day want to inherit this beautiful tienda. Thanks to this blog post, the bookcase, will come with a story!

Guest Blog on Geni.com: Who Should Write Our Story?

Guest Blog on Geni.com

Today I had the honor to guest blog on Geni.com once again! Geni.com is one of my favorite Family Tree websites. It's interactive nature is very conducive to connecting and collaborating with distant relatives. They are great at making genealogy fun! The Geni Tree has 62,000,000 profiles!!! Almost 40,000 people follow Geni on Facebook. Today, I shared with this large following my passion for recording personal stories. Have you ever thought about writing your own story? Is something holding you back? Maybe you should think again?

Check out my post: Who Should Write Our Story and join my Memoir writing challenge! Inspired by my a great group of women in my book club and Lisa Genova's book Still Alice. 

See other guest blogs I've written: 

10DayBookclub February 15th, 2012: Playing with the Memories of Time

Geni.com blog   March  30th, 2012:    How I Met the Bloomfields

Writing Prompt: First Driving Lesson! Yikes!

This weekend I took my oldest son for his first driving lesson! He is sixteen and just got his Learner's Permit. Watching him reach this milestone has been both exciting and scary at the same time, as I'm sure many of you can appreciate. I'm very proud of the young man he has become, and while part of me would like him to stay my little boy, the other is honored to accompany him on this very important step towards independence. Luckily, the RMV now publishes a pamphlet with tips for parents who are supervising teen driving. Unsure as I am at how to teach someone to drive, I am grateful for this informative booklet. Leafing through it, I learned some new recommendations such as safer ways to set rear view mirrors and how to best hold a steering wheel to avoid injury from an airbag (hands at 3:00 and 9:00 o'clock). Cars, technology and rules have changed in the twenty somewhat years since I first hit the road and—like with many aspects of parenting—I find myself learning something new as I re-live this landmark experience with my son.

Our first lesson, as recommended by my RMV teaching "bible," was actually a non-driving lesson. It  went well enough. I helped him familiarize himself with all aspects of the vehicle from the breaks to the tire pressure and everything in between. Are you wondering what all this have to do with genealogy? I'm getting there.

My New Bible

Our next lesson, took place in a deserted parking lot where my son got behind the wheel for the first time. I hope he will forgive me for disclosing the fact that he was petrified of driving. This somewhat irrational fear, originated at the age of ten when he crashed a golf cart into a tree, broke the windshield and remained quite traumatized. Last week, I practically had to drag him to the RMV to take the permit test. Part me thought: he's scared of driving, great! Driving is dangerous especially for teenagers. No rush. He can learn as an adult. But, as a mom, I believe my main job is to help him become independent. Driving is a huge part of independence and it's therefore also my responsibility to help him conquer this fear. Besides, I need him to drive! Having to pick him up from a late practice, while making dinner and picking up my two other boys, is just about killing me. This  actual first lesson was simple and aimed to instill confidence. We practiced starting and stopping, breaking and accelerating smoothly (at up to 15 miles an hour), and turning. I'm happy to report, he did beautifully. We didn't crash into any trees! By the end, he was beaming with self-confidence and belief that he will master this important skill.

As I complimented his figure-eights, he asked me a question which made me pause. "Was your first driving lesson like this mom? Did you do this well?" I thought about it. I racked my brain. But for the life of me, I couldn't remember my first driving lesson. "Really mom? How can you forget your first driving lesson?" he was shocked. "I know. I didn't crash, so it must have gone well," was my unsatisfying answer. I stopped myself from sharing with him my next thought: he probably won't remember this moment thirty years from now either.

This is where genealogy comes in.

William and Ethel Bloomfield (the "whinny,"
distracting tot) with the Model-T Ford.
Read more about Minnie's car accident
in Stored Treasures, A Memoir.

Significant events in our lives, such as bar mitzvah's, weddings and yes, getting our driver's license, are all part of our story. Many have long lasting affect on who we are. In the same way we enjoy re-living them with our children, they enjoy hearing and learning from past. But how many of us take the time to record these moments? It occurred to me, that my son's question, is a great writing prompt for my memoir project. Before he asked, I hadn't thought to include learning to drive in my own memoir or in the ones I'm challenging my friends and family to write, but I should. If my sixteen-year-old is interested, then other teens are interested as well. We can all relate to this almost universal. It also exemplifies cross-generational shared experiences and how they changed over the years. Most of our parents taught us to drive without a guide book. My mother, learned to drive at thirteen. How scary is that? (In 1961, it was legal to drive that young in Texas). My great-grandmother learned to drive as an adult, the early 1920s, when Ford made the price of cars accesible and my great-grandparents bought their first model-T (for about $200 dollars). She crashed, early on, shattering the windshield, while driving only fifteen miles an hour. She was distracted by her "whinny" five-year-old daughter. Things have changed. Minnie struggled with a distracting tot. My son has to learn to drive with the added distractions of cell phone and texting (which the pamphlet wisely recommends to power-off during driving lessons).

I thank my son for reminding me that it's both the milestones and the little things which make for great writing prompts. I also thank him for participating in genealogy without noticing and despite his stated "non-intrest." I hope that in thirty years from now, he will appreciate I documented his first driving lesson, and can share this post with his children. I promise to ask my parents about teaching me to drive. Maybe they can help jolt my memory so I can add a driving chapter to my own memoir.

Do share your first driving stories with us! Does it belong in a memoir?

LOVE 1920s Style

Minnie Crane

This romance involves suitors, love at first sight, cold feet and french toast! Minnie Crane, my great-grandmother and star of my book, Stored Treasures, A memoir, was twenty-four years old. New York City, as she described it, was a happening place.

"At the time, I had broken up with my former boyfriend. I was rather footloose and fancy-free. I was restless and tired of Hartford and its provincialism. So, I uprooted myself and in the spring of 1920, went to live in New York City for the second time in my life. New York City is a wonderful place for young people to live. There are many advantages: cultural, moral and physical." 

I think she would be pleased to know, that it's still true today. I myself spent an adventuresome year in New York when I was twenty two. All of my first cousins (four of them) are in their twenties, and have moved to the Big Apple to follow their dreams. Like their great-grandmother before them, they flocked to the city in pursuit of work, studies, music and most of all—love.

Minnie immigrated to America in 1913 from a small shtetl in Russia called Belitsa (now in Belarus). When she first arrived, she joined her brother Harry in New York, got a job as a dressmaker in a factory, only to be called upon to support someone else's dream. Their younger brother Bernard, was coming to America with hopes to become a Doctor. The brothers met, and agreed that the only way to make this possible was for the five Crane siblings living in America (four brothers and Minnie) to pool their resources and live together under one roof. The three older brothers would work, Minnie would keep house, and Bernard would study. Minnie did not hesitate.  I don't know that she had a choice. Her brothers were the ones who bought her ticket to America. They were still supplementing her income. She spoke no English. And Bernard, the "baby," he was going to be a DOCTOR! Minnie put New York on hold and moved to Hartford. Despite the great sacrifice, she describes those years as some of the best of her life. She was able to go to night school, learn English and study to become a bookkeeper. Bernard graduated from High School and was the first in the family to go to college. In 1919, he headed to medical school at the University of Michigan.

Minnie, was once again free to pursuit her own dreams. She packed her bags and moved to New York.  Her studies had paid off and she got a great job as head bookkeeper for an interior design company. She boarded with a family and went to Columbia Extension school at night. She had many suitors. She even talks about dating several men at the same time. Then one day, everything changed.

Mary Kastelansky (Poczyna), was Minnie's best friend. Mary's cousin, William Bloomfield, was coming to New York for a visit. William must have been quite the eligible bachelor. He was thirty-three years old, tall and handsome. Minnie heard about William before he arrived. The Jewish matchmaking machine was in motion and I assume William must have known about Minnie as well. Despite high expectations—which often lead to disaster—sparks were flying from the start. William called looking for his cousin. Minnie answered and he politely invited her to join them for a night on the town. She stopped seeing all other suitors that very same week.

William Bloomfield

William was on a trip up north, after spending five years in Texas. Perhaps work was difficult to find, but it didn't seem like William had a job. Minnie went to work, and William would meet her for lunch. Then, he would wait for her to finish. When she had night classes, he would accompany her on the subway to Columbia. She would go to class and he would wait yet again. My favorite scene of those early days together, is them babysitting for Mary's baby. They fell asleep with baby Grace in the bed between them. I'm sure, this would have been quite scandalous back in the old country, but Minnie was no shtetel girl, she had transformed into a liberated young American woman.

Out of the blue, William got cold feet! With little warning, he announced he was moving to Pittsburgh for work. If William was here to defend himself, he may claim that he did not leave Minnie but really did need a job. Nevertheless, my grandmother was devastated. She couldn't sleep, she stopped eating and she just couldn't understand why he ran off like that. Deep down inside she wanted to believe he loved her, but he was gone. They wrote letters everyday. She clung to those letters, looking for an answers.

Ida Weiner (Pomerantz)

This is where my favorite character comes into the story. Aunt Ida! Every respectable Jewish family has an aunt Ida. Our Ida, Ida Weiner (Pomerantz) was William's mother's sister.  She was recently widowed and running a large produce business in Pittsburgh . She offered William a job, but William's mind was not on the job. Wise aunt Ida must have worried about William's fear of commitment. She called him in for a talking and asked:

"Willie what are you doing here? What's this business of daily letters?" 

She wanted to know if he loved this girl he was writing to. When he replied that he did, she told him to go back to New York and marry his Minnie, because if he didn't, he would "never be happy." Thank you aunt Ida!

William, sat down and wrote a long letter to his beloved. How I wish I had a copy of that letter. It arrived only a couple of days before his promised return. Minnie, tears streaming down her face, read and reread the words in disbelief. William was coming back to her. (Here is an important tip: do not throw away old letters! It does not matter if you can not read them because they are in Yiddish or some other foreign language. Interesting or not, set old letters aside. I wish my family had. We threw away all of Minnie's old letters when she died. I can almost bet that this cherished letter was among them).

This next love scene feels like a scene from a movie. It's a Sunday morning in October of 1920 and Minnie Crane has been checking her watch every few seconds since the crack of dawn. She's been wandering the city endlessly. She arrives at Grand Central Station with hours to spare and she sits on a bench in the grand hall, staring at the huge clock and the travelers coming and going. Finally, she heads to the track and waits for the Pittsburgh train. It takes forever to arrive and then as the trains empties, she begins to doubt herself. Maybe he had another change of heart. Maybe he's not coming? Finally, William appears. Six foot tall and handsome, he embraces the petite Minnie and they walk off into the sunset. Fine, that's really cheesy. I'll let Minnie tell you:

"So the train finally arrived. After being sure he wasn't on the train, there he was, embracing me in his wonderful tender arms and kissing and hugging me again and again. Oh how beautiful he looked to me! I thought my heart would burst with happiness. 

Over toast and coffee, he burst out, 'Let's get married. I'll meet you at the office for lunch, and we'll go to city hall.' "

Minnie and William Bloomfield 1942
shortly before William Died

William Bloomfield was the love of Minnie's life. They spent twenty-two wonderful years together until he died suddenly. Where is the French Toast you ask? The wedding was simple. There was no party, no cake and no photographer. After the ceremony (which Minnie insisted had to be performed by a Rabbi and not at city hall), they went to their favorite cafeteria and had their usual: french toast. (Here is another tip: if you are planning to write a memoir, don't forget to mention places by name. What I would give to know the name of William and Minnie's favorite cafeteria). From then on, every 23rd of October, they celebrated their anniversary with french toast.

That's all, I will share today from Minnie's Memoir. To learn more about Minnie's beautiful story you'll have to read my book,  Stored Treasures, A Memoir. It's the story of a young woman's coming of age. The love story between Minnie and William is at the heart of the book most appropriate for a Valentines day post! I dedicate this post to my cousins Matt and Dan and their fiances Hannah and Lauren, all of whom have found love in the great city of New York.

Happy Valentines Day! If you have a favorite love story to share from your family's history please share with us!

"In Everything I Do"

Elizabeth singing "In Everything I Do"("B'chol Ma'ssai") written by Karen Davis
 and accompanied by her father.

This beautiful melody and song, "In Everything I do," has been playing over and over in my mind since I first heard it at the Kranowitz reunion eighteen months ago. Elizabeth, is my third cousin, whom I met for the first time during the reunion weekend. Prior to the reunion we were barely aware of each other's existence. I'm not sure she realizes, but that moment, captured on my iphone—that song—has left a  extremely strong impact. It left a particularly powerful impression on me. It transformed the way I view genealogy.

I see genealogy as many things. Mostly I feel it's a gift, or—as my great-grandmother wrote in her journal—a treasure. So powerful are her words: "I stored up many treasures in my life on this earth," that I based the title of her memoir, Stored Treasures on them. Minne Crane, my great-grandmother, in those two words,"Stored" and "Treasures," captures the process of genealogy. Studying family history, is truly a treasure hunt. Each aspect of the work we do, tracing our lineage back in time, continually surprises us with hidden delights. Elizabeth, reminded me that sometimes, the treasures of genealogy are not hidden in the past, they are right here in the present.

Let me explain. Searching for roots is a personal journey—at least, that is what I believed when I embarked. For me, it was almost a selfish need to extinguish an unquenchable thirst for knowledge about where I come from. I have been described as many things, including: well centered, hardworking, persistant, self confident but never spiritual. I think of myself, as a woman who is very comfortable with who she is. Therefore, I often ponder why understanding my family's past has become so important to me? Who knows? Maybe it's a type of mid-life crisis? After all, I did hit forty when I became a genealogy geek. Researching my ancestry may not be an identity crisis, it clearly has deepened my sense of who I am.

Seated in a conference room at the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York City, amongst the Kranowitz descendants, I listed in awe to Elizabeth sing. This prayer, turned song—which she sang first in Hebrew, then English—was an amazing conclusion to an incredible reunion. Listening to that song, I realized two very important things. The first, my great-grandmother, did not just send me on a voyage into the past when she challenged me to search for lost treasures. The wise grandmother that she was, she understood the value of family, and of the present. What she learned from the past, she utilized to constantly improve her life. The past and present are inseparable. The family reunion—particularly the song, "Everything I do"—reminded me of that small pearl of knowledge. The second, while advancing genealogical work is extremely important, sharing the legacy with the family and beyond, is the gift that keeps giving.

William Crane with his wife Luba (Elizabeth's
great-grandparents)
and son's Fred, Maurice and Robert (Elizabeth's
grandfather).

Most of the weekend, Elizabeth was fairly reserved and quiet. She seemed like a lovely young women, but no one realized she could sing. Her branch of the family had lost contact with our extended family for many years. Elizabeth's grandfather had a falling out with his dad, and eventually,  lost touch with everyone. What we learned at the reunion was, that Elizabeth and her brother, grew up feeling like they had no relatives at all. They barely knew their grandfather and never met any of his Crane (Kranowitz) cousins. One of my original goals for the reunion was to have every branch of the family represented. Their branch was a particular mystery. I search for them high and low with only names and an old defunct address to go by. Eventually, I found Elizabeth and her family through good old google. I contacted her dad, Kendall and invited him to join the on-line tree and come to the reunion. He was thrilled!

William Crane in WWI army uniform
Getting ready to leave for the front.
1917, Hartford CT
(This is a photo I recently discovered
 in my aunt's attic). 

Kendall, his wife and children are all musicians. They fit in quite well with the rest of the Kranowitz descendants, as the musical gene is heavily expressed throughout. Elizabeth and her brother, were amongst the most engaged of the twenty year-olds present. Isolated from family for so long, they could not get enough of the stories about their grandfather and great-grandparents. Kendall  recalled what lead to the family rift so many years ago and was grateful for the warm welcome he and his family received.

Musical as we all are, the family hosted a sing along on Saturday night. Kendall pulled out his trombone and dazzled us with his skill. Elizabeth, sang along with the rest of the gang. When the crowds thinned, her dad encouraged her to share a song. She was a little intimidated to sing in Hebrew. Their family's had left traditional judaism generations back, but most of the rest of the family is Jewish. We encouraged her to sing anyways, and then she sang. This first performance was as haunting and beautiful as the encore she gave the following day—in front of a packed house—adjourning the reunion. To a stunned crowd, she unveiled her stored treasure.

The song is a very powerful prayer. The message, taken from Psalms 139: be true to everything you do, resonated with all of us who listened to her sing. Elizabeth, who knew little of her Jewish ancestry, was singing a prayer in Hebrew, to her newly discovered Jewish relatives. Amazingly, it's very much the message our common ancestors brought to America when they immigrated a hundred years ago. While most of the family is not religious, the traditions and prayers—so powerful for our ancestors—are very much respected. Elizabeth, part of the Non-Jewish minority in our family, brought to us a universal prayer. As we prepared to return home to our daily routines, she reminded us of the unexpected hidden treasures found all around us, not only in the past, but right here in the present.

Thank you Elizabeth for not letting me forget an important fact: genealogy makes us aware of the past, in order for us to live a better present and prepare for the future. Thanks for everything you do!

Do you have a stored treasure you would like to share? How has genealogy changed your life?

Is the Art of Diary Writing Lost Forever?

With all the twitting, facebooking and blogging, are we as a society losing the art of journal writing? Does anyone keep a diary anymore? Does it matter? Can a blog replace a journal or a diary? I have spent much time pondering these questions as I foray into the blogging universe?

When was the last time you kept a diary? I myself was only a sporadic journal writer. As a child—well intention as I may have been—I meticulously inaugurated scores of blank notebooks, intended as dairies. The endeavor would rarely amount to more than ten entries, with only one exception—a beautiful, japanese style embroidered journal—a gift form my uncle Larry Bogdanow (may he rest in peace). I recently unpacked this ancient relic and reread it for the first time in about thirty years. Reading my diary was like opening a small window into my eleven year old world. Back then, I approached journal writing like many girls my age. I dated each entry and then predictably began: "Dear Diary", proceeding to write to my diary as if I was speaking to a best friend. Anne Frank and Judy Bloom's Margaret clearly influenced my stylistic techniques of journal writing. This prized possession of mine was a very private and the only thing I regretted about this particular journal, beautiful as it was in my eyes, was that it did not have a lock and a key. To protect the privacy of my most inner thoughts, resorted to hiding the diary under my mattress. In the diary, I describe the need absolute privacy was the only way to keep my writing completely honest with myself.

One of Minnie Crane Travel Journals and
my diary from when I was eleven.

How many children today keep a diary? None of my kids ever attempted writing one. Does gender influence journal writing? After all, I am card holding member of the Parents of Three Boys Club. Jeff Kinney's, Diary of a Wimpy Kid series, probably boosted diary writing among children today as much as Anne Frank Diary did generations earlier. But did the craze stick? Can diary writing compete with an elementary schooler's aspiration to facebook? For all the obvious reasons, I was thrilled to foment journal writing and purchased two copies Diary of A Wimpy Kid, Do It Yourself, for my for my sons upon their insistance. Sadly, both remain mostly blank and continue to collect dust on the bookshelf. Granted—this could be the equivalent of my own multiple failed attempts at writing a diary—but frankly I doubt they will show interest in writing a diary ever again. As they have grown, facebook has provided an outlet for the need to record what they are doing everyday. Each to a different extent, uses facebook to share with intimate circle of hundreds of friends, what they are up to on a daily basis. Is posting a facebook status the equivalent of a daily? Do one hundred and forty character tweets count as journal entries?

Call me old fashioned, but I believe something very important is being lost. I'm certainly not a technophobe. On the other hand, blogging for the first time in 2012, does not qualify my as a forerunner in the use of new technology. Yet, finding my great-grandmother's journals a few years ago, stirred something very powerful in me. It not only lead me to publishing her memoir, but it rased my appreciation for the documentation of our lives to another level. To find those lost journals, I sent my family on a treasure hunt, to forage crowded attics and dig through overflowing drawers. A hundred years from now, what will my great-grandchildren find as they go searching for clues about their past.  Certainly some may argue, that electronic records, have a better chance to survive, than a diary did a hundred years ago. After all, the cloud will not be destroyed in a house fire, a hurricane, a flood or even a war. Many hard copies of books, documents, photos or precious diaries have been lost to such catastrophes. While ten years ago, electronic files were easily lost as computers crashed or floppy disks became obsolete, today internet giants promise an infinite cloud to store our books, music, photos and documents. But will the cloud save my blog into the next century and beyond? Will my facebook profile be accessible to my descendants once I pass. What will this tell them about who I was?

What legacy will these snippets of our lives leave behind? In my interest in the genre of women's memoir written by their descendants I recently discovered a wonderful book by Barbara Anne Waite,  ELSIE: ADVENTURES OF AN ARIZONA SCHOOLTEACHER 1913-1916. Barbara chose to tell her grandmother's story in the "Wild West" by weaving together Elsie's diaries, letters and her own insights into Elsie's years in Arizona. The resulting book, shares many similarities to my great grandmother's story. One striking difference is how both women Minnie and Elsie, only eight years apart in age, chose to record their lives in a very different fashion. Minnie recorded her memoirs, many years after the fact in a long narrated fashion. Elsie kept a diary, compulsively recording short snippets of her day over a period of three years. Her entries are often not much longer than a tweet. So reminiscent of a facebook update are her entries, that I dare to name Elsie the predecesor to facebook. To get to know Elsie as a woman, one must read between the lines, very much in the same way, my great-grandchildren may have to do, if they are lucky to come across and gain my facebook profile. The difference is, that Facebook updates are meant publicize personal feelings, while diary entries are usually private and intended only for the author's eyes—at least until they die. Studying both will provide a picture into someone's personality. Schools and employers have been known to peek into facebook pages to gain insight into a potential recruit's character. Facebook has a policy to memorialize profiles which they created mostly to help mourners communicate with their loved one's on-line community. I don't believe their intention was to leave a legacy for generations to come, but is reassuring to know the records are maintained.

Diaries did not directly morph into blogs, though blogging may be a fairly closer analogy to journal writing than facebooking. Like journals, blogs come in a large variety of forms and functions. Their purpose though, is certainly different than diary writing. Or is it? Journals were mostly private and personal. At times they were published into books, much like blogs do today. Some blogs are posted publicly—to the world at large—while others are private, accesible by invitation only. While providing some privacy, the virtue of sharing the blog, changes the intention from a look inward to a form of communication. How will generations from now, gain access to these private blogs? Will the internet hosts of these blog understand the needs of family historians hundreds of years from now and declassify them?

Most of us have given up letter writing long ago for the faster more efficient e-mail.  Millions have moved away from books and into electronic readers. As a society, we bankrupted film manufactures, local photo shops since no one prints photos any more. Today photo libraries live in a virtual cloud and are displayed in electronic frames. As a genealogist—who studies personal histories—I worry about the future of all these forms of communication and documenting of our lives. Most of all, I am struggling to let go of diaries. What if facebook goes out of business? What if the cloud is not economically viable. I want to believe that today's younger generations still poses a need to connect with their inner-selves privately. Once, this seemed to be an innate human necessity which was popularly accomplished through diary keeping. Maybe the need for privacy has changed, someone will invent an iDiary and bring it into this rapidly electronic, paperless world. I hope that the internet will permit future generations to sift through its' vast cob webs, making hidden treasures more readily available than ever before. After all, it's the stored treasures of our past we might want to uncover someday.

Are you still writing a diary? Have your kids every written one? Do you think it's important? Share your thoughts! Write a comment!

How Does Looking Into the Past Help Discover Who We Are Today?

Stored Treasures, a Memoir is my personal quest into the past. Not just any past—my past. True, not exactly my past, but my family’s history. My husband and children, struggled to understand this obsession I developed. Warning! Genealogy is extremely addictive. “Mommy, when are you going to finish your research?” asked the youngest of my three sons, late one evening as he was trying to pull me away form the computer screen. He had a very good point? It was his bed time after all, and instead of spending quality time with him, during his last few waking moment, here I was slapping away a the keyboard. How does one explain to a ten year old, that investigating our past is a never ending project? 

I stepped away from the computer, tucked my son to bed, and thought about how the need to understand the past has changed my life. As far as addictions go, my research into our roots, is a healthy one. The good news for me, I’m not alone in this obsession. Turns out, there are almost twenty million Americans actively researching their roots and a hundred million more have interest in doing so. But why are some of us fascinated with the past, while others focus on the future? Is learning about where you come from truly essential for the present?  I believe it is.

The best way I found to explain my infatuation with the past, was to write a book.

Honestly, the book was not intentional. I set out to make a family tree, as a Bar Mitzvah project with my son. The task seemed simple, yet the more names we filled in, the more I names I realized I didn’t know. I began digging. I removed cob webs from boxes nearly forgotten at the back of attics. I wrote and called long lost relatives, and I learned the cob webs can be removed very quickly on the internet. I made some amazing discoveries. I uncovered much more than names. I found holocaust records, travel documents, photos taken more than a century ago and much more. But the most amazing of all, was my great-grandmother’s journals. 

The first time I read Minnie’s journals I knew that I uncovered so much more than what I was looking for. I found a way to explain to the world, why looking into one’s past, is how we connect to the present and find a direction for our future. 


Are you a genealogy junky? How did you get hooked? Do people around you understand your quest? Do you want to start researching your family history but don't know how? Share your story!