Disregarding the Sec of State for these United State’s dumbness, it shapes to be a Thanksgiving Day.
Have a good one. You and yours.
I have a choice of several tid-bits today. I’ve opted to go with another story from Housekeepers recent visit.
She’s maintained for many years that she doesn’t need a computer. Many of her employers have and use computer, to include the Library in her home town. Then her hubby’s sister died and left them a computer.
For several months thereafter Housekeeper would bring up the subject of a computer, the costs and etcetera. I’d show her on mine, how to use a mouse, what this or that was. Mean while, her hubby started playing games on their computer (not hooked to the net).
Housekeeper first said that hubby was spending an inordinate amount of time playing game, then complained that he was neglecting work projects playing game on the computer, then gave up mentioning hubby and the computer completely unless asked.
That sounds familiar.
Then the two of them began, when Housekeeper hired on to the Library, using the terminals in the library. They used them shopping for parts for their various hobbies and then clothing, and then . . . well, one may suppose how that progressed.
This past visit Housekeeper indicated she had been searching for her parentage on the computer at the library.
As I get many writing ideas from researching others backgrounds from such searches, I asked Housekeeper her fathers last name and her maiden name. She indicated she was more interested in her mothers side – which I allowed as normal, using my mothers interest in her side of the family and the time and effort she expended researching it.
A phenomenon which as I’ve grown older I’ve found more prevalent, having assumed the female taking the male genealogy.
Anyhow, Housekeeper indicated that she could use my help in researching hers and gave me her mothers name, her grandmothers name and her great-grandmothers name. She then added a caveat.
The birth certificates for my great grandmother, Housekeeper said, show no fathers for the her two daughters.
But, Housekeeper, that means you’re a bastard; I exclaimed.
No, she said, that means my grandmother was a bastard. I had a father.
Then she asked if I would help her research.
Which, knowing my mind set, I agreed to. Not, however, without telling Housekeeper that perhaps my statement was true.
From the reaches,