2 hours ago
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
There are lots of bits of information we "know" that we simply haven't processed. That was brought home to me yesterday when I received a real letter soliciting my assistance in creating our family tree. Until then, it had never truly occured to me that I am my oldest living relative.
Lately I've been become curious about my ancestors. Is it a function of aging? Every family has its own creation myths; hagiography believed by the teller is most always disdained by the listener and so it is in my family. Unrelated to (since I didn't know it was coming) the family tree search, earlier this month I began an ongoing email conversation with an man living in my grandfather's Irish village who may very well be kin. The village would be unrecognizable to my granddad, but some pieces of old tales are beginning to fit. I'm startled by how little I "know".
Two years ago I wrote about searching for my grandparents graves. It was a great start for the "Tree" project. I'll likely have to visit the Mormons to locate my earlier American family members; their Irish and German ancestors are safely tucked in the churchyards of the villages they lived and died in. I can't help but feel I'm recreating a wheel.