Walt Whitman

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Invasion of Gray Squirrels

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Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner

Before you read my article, hop over to “Dinner with the Dunhams,” to read one of the most hilarious stories ever written about family gatherings.

This month’s genealogical challenge, posed by Jasia of The Carnival of Genealogy at Creative Gene, is to write an article answering this question: “If you could have dinner with four of your ancestors who would they be and why?”

Since my female ancestors have posed some of my more difficult research moments, I’d invite only the ladies in my family tree to dine with me.  I’d ask all of them to help me in the kitchen, and it would be fun to see how they might react to my “modern conveniences.”

The only female ancestor I knew personally who also happened to be an amazing cook was my maternal grandmother, Addie (Ryan) Manning.  She taught me that it was not the ingredients in the bread that made it wondrously light, but rather the amount of air that you added to it during the “kneading” process.  “Grammy” had many practical secrets to being a good cook, and so she would definitely be my first invitee.

My second guest would be Anna Bradley who married my 3rd great grandfather Enos Smith.  At least I THINK her maiden name was Bradley.  Not only am I unsure of her heritage, but she was married to another one of my brick walls.  She probably would not have time to eat much of her meal because I would be quizzing the daylights out of her.

My third dinner guest would be Eleanor Urin, my 8th great grandmother.  She lived with her first husband William Urin on the Isles of Shoals, off the coast of New Hampshire, in the late 1600s.  The Shoals is a rocky and harsh place to visit, and it is mind boggling to me that she not only resided there, but she also raised children there. She would probably have some unique seafood recipes to share.

My fourth and final invitee would be my maternal great-grandmother Mary (Lyons) Manning. She was born in County Galway Ireland, and ran a boarding house in Manchester, New Hampshire for several years. Not only could she share her special Irish recipes, but she could help me to understand how the city has changed since the late 1800s.

I’m sure that these four special female ancestors would enjoy some unique entertainment, and so I would ask the three “Kings of Geneablogging“–Craig Manson, Terry Thornton, and Randy Seaver–to perform a Valentine’s Day themed dance.  They’ve been practicing very hard, and  you see what they’ve been up to in the video below.  The entertainment will surely be the most memorable part of their visit.

Janice

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He Taught Henry Ford How To Dance: Swanzey New Hampshire’s Benjamin B. Lovett (1876-1952)

Much is known about Henry Ford–as an inventor, developer of the production line, and history lover. He also was a collector of antique furniture, clocks and violins. What is usually not known about him is that he loved old-time dances. Henry Ford desired intently to bring back the knowledge of dances from his youth–quadrilles, contra dances and round dances.

During his travels Henry Ford found Benjamin B. Lovett and his wife Charlotte who had been teaching “New England social dancing” in Massachusetts for several years. Ford invited the Lovetts to Dearborn, Michigan to help organize dances for the Fords–for his executives and for the Village school students. They did so for twenty years. Continue reading

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"Now Is The Winter Of Our Circumvent," by B. Elwin Sherman

First, the term:  “winter driving.”


 
This beggars its own description, because it will never mean the same thing to two people.  First, you must define “winter,” and for some of us this means the end of late summer; for others it's the beginning of early spring.  Then, “driving.”  A wide-open application with so many interpretations, it could easily be called an interpretation with too many applications.
 
Unlike our neighboring state of Massachusetts, there is no such thing as a “typical New Hampshire driver.”  Granite State motorists are a paraphrase of the old changing weather adage:  “If you don’t like the way we’re driving, wait a minute.”
 
That said, there must be some semblance of a winter driving standard to be applied here, so let's just say that the shortest distance between two points is not always a state line.  Maine drivers will know what this means, especially those who live in Massachusetts and sport Vermont license plates (an inside New Hampshire joke).
 
The expression: “You can’t get there from here,” is thought to have originated in Maine.  Not true.  It was first uttered by a New Hampshire motorist (me) who once tried driving from here, (east-west to Maine across New Hampshire's north-south geographical grain) and failed to get there after encountering a highway sign that read:  “Warning: Route 117 Does Not Stop.”
 
Thus, winter driving in New Hampshire is something to be avoided, and this is how Florida was populated.
 
But, however you define it, when vehicular navigation during snow season must be done, there are a few tips:
 
Before going anywhere, check the weather report.  This insures that you'll be stranded in two feet of “passing snow showers,” prompting me to report another pet peeve, when it comes to our softening of the language:  Whatinheck is a “snow shower?”  Is it snowing or raining?  The first time a meteorologist up heah tells me to watch out for blowing “rain drifts,” I'm moving to Orlando, where they know what that means.
 
The New Hampshire Department of Transportation maintains that there is “no technical distinction between a 'road' and a 'highway.'”  We know better.  During a winter storm, if you're driving more than a hoot n' holler but less than a fair piece, you keep to the highway, unless you're headed to Maine and don't care what happens when you can't stop where you can't go.
 
Yes, there's also a difference here, in winter, between a “state” road and a “town” road.  One has potholes full of salt; the other has potholes full of potholes.  We won't even mention “frost heaves,” which deserve not only their own humor column, but another humorist.  I've never found anything funny about broken axles, or having one's upper and lower teeth suddenly inverted, especially when one doesn’t even have dentures.
 
If you're traveling anywhere more than a klick away, (for the military-minded among us), up to and including a hellingone, (for the bumpkins) especially if you eschew the main highway for a back road, you should prepare for a worst case breakdown scenario and bring all the essentials for survival:  blanket, flashlight, cook stove, and a shovel suitable for digging an overnight snow cave.
 
These days, yes, a cell phone would help, unless you're in an unreceptive area.  In this neck of the woods, that's every obstruction between you and this neck of the woods, beginning with that tree your car is leaning against.  But, if you can get your call through, it will also allow you time to snap some keepsake photos of your snow cave during your all-night tow truck vigil.
 
Skidding.
 
Ah, we all remember this mantra from driver's ed class.  Say it with me, all together now: “TURN IN THE DIRECTION OF THE SKID.”   This is supposed to be an instinctive move, like knowing without thinking about the difference between how men and women button.  If you're not reflexively reaching for your buttons right now to quick-see if you're a righty or lefty, then you're wearing a sweater.  And, if you are, you're suddenly unsure, for the first time in your life, which side the buttons are on.  I rest my case.
 
Too late.  While you've been fiddling with your buttons, (often the reason for sliding into a ditch) you've just slid into the ditch, because turning in the direction of the skid has always seemed counter-intuitive to me, unless one is in the grip of a fight-or-flight reaction, where an innate human response directs one to face the danger, in this case, the oncoming neck of the woods.
 
If you do find yourself stuck in the Nor'easter of Route 117, whatever you do, don't try to stop.  When driving in winter, stopping is a dangerous maneuver, and should not be attempted.
 
This means that you've arrived to find yourself sitting in your driveway and not going anywhere.  Don't fret over it.  You could never get anywhere from there, anyway.
 
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Syndicated humor columnist B. Elwin Sherman is still not stopping his car in Bethlehem, NH.  He can be reached via his website at: elwinshumor.com.  Copyright 2008 B. Elwin Sherman.  All rights reserved.  Used here with permission.
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