Ancestors

Emily has a school project coming up: report on the country of one of your immigrant ancestors.(Native Americans need not apply for this one.) Since I was bitten by the genealogy bug a few years ago, I have quite a bit on my Family Tree Maker software, so we sat down and looked through it. I realized that I had our maternal ancestors going back eleven generations, which is unusual for a maternal line. The last ones I have are Rebecca McClarn (McClaren), born in 1761, and her mother Margaret, last name and birthdate unknown. Since that's a Scottish name, Emily will wear a plaid skirt and present her maternal lineage, while passing out something Scottish and edible. Offhand, I can't think of anything besides haggis and oatmeal, neither of which seems suitable for the classroom, but we'll make a trip to the British Emporium and see if they stock anything from the north country.

Genealogy is like crack for me. I was up till two the other night chasing down more online leads. I literally can't allow myself to open up the software very often, because hours disappear.

I asked my parents to send over the three photos they have of my great-great, g-g-g- and g-g-g-g-grandmothers. I got them all cropped and ready to go, but poor Valera Irwin here has a problem:

Admittedly, she is not a handsome woman. She doesn't seem particularly happy either, but that's neither here nor there. The water spot just isn't doing anything for her. But with my new Photoshop skills, voila!

She's still not handsome, nor happy, but at least we can see her face. Whether that's a good thing is entirely a matter of opinion.

So, thank you Margaret, and Rebecca, and Margaret, and Valera, and Marinda, and Elenora, and Alice, and Ruth, and Claudette, and me, and Emily. For coming to this country, for raising strong women, and not least, for the mitochondrial DNA.