Thanks to Matt & Sarah M. for unearthing these two sites with links to genealogical information. It only goes to show that you never know where you might find a hidden clue.
September 13, 2018
September 13, 2018
Thanks to Matt & Sarah M. for unearthing these two sites with links to genealogical information. It only goes to show that you never know where you might find a hidden clue.
July 4, 2016
Michael and Betsy Feinberg would like to wish all those in military service, our veterans, and all Americans here and abroad a happy Fourth of July, 2016!
July 1, 2016
June 17, 2016
Margaret Fuller was my best friend. I was eight. She was eighty-three. She lived two houses down the hill from us. It wasn’t a very big hill, but it was a magnet for kids, steep enough for winter sledding and soapbox derbies. There were plenty of kids in the neighborhood to play with: the Bradshaw girls and Tommy at the bottom of the hill, Billy and Harley across the street, Sally, the unscrupulous older girl next door who always won my best marbles, and the blond pig-tailed twins who looked like they had stepped out of an ad for Dutch Boy paints.
Not one of kids was nearly as interesting or as exotic as Mrs. Fuller.
Her house was my sanctuary. She moved like a whisper in her carpet slippers and long, soft dresses. There was no hum from the refrigerator. She didn’t have one. Nor did she have a bathtub or a television or many electric lights. Instead, there was the soft glow of a kerosene lamp in the evening, the comforting, steady tick-tock of the ancient grandfather clock, and the reassuring creak of her rocking chair. On summer days, I might be presented with a glass of her homemade tomato-vegetable juice. When her arthritis wasn’t too bad, she would walk out in the back yard with me to admire the blossoms on her rose of Sharon.
The clock was wound weekly by the Colonial Bread man when he delivered bread in our neighborhood. A tin-lined oak icebox was at home on the screened front porch. I loved hanging around when the iceman delivered his big blocks of crystal-clear ice, carrying them to the icebox with giant tongs.
Margaret Fuller was a generation older than my grandmother, who relied on her for house-keeping and child-rearing advice. When my Aunt Margaret, who was named after Mrs. Fuller, cried inconsolably from the pain of teething, Mrs. Fuller gave her a whiskey-soaked rag to chew on, as the folks in Northern Ireland had done at the time she was born there in 1866. I later wondered if the medicinal use of whiskey was the reason my friend was so calm.
Mrs. Fuller had plenty of time to teach a little girl to play checkers and dominoes, solitaire, war, and Chinese checkers. She taught me how to play Country Gardens on the old pump organ in her parlor, probably the same organ my mother had played as a child. On top of the organ, keeping company with photographs of her two sons and late husband, was a large glass jar of seashells from a long-ago trip to Florida. Because I was a respectful and careful little girl, she let me take all the shells out and play with them. Next to helping Grandma pick raspberries in our garden, it was my favorite thing to do in the whole world.
When I was eight years old, Mrs. Fuller gave me the jar of shells. I was overcome. Never in my life had I dreamed of possessing such a treasure! That same summer, the July issue of National Geographic featured an article on the wife of Admiral Nimitz and her shell collection, with pages and pages of full-color photos. The serendipitous juxtaposition of Mrs. Fuller’s gift and the article ignited an unquenchable passion for the sea and its creatures. That was how my journey began.
By the time I was eighteen, I had a collection that encompassed not only seashells, but prehistoric shark’s teeth, dried seahorses and pipefish, blowfish, octopi, and other creatures in formaldehyde. When dead birds turned up in the refrigerator for an assignment in ornithology class, my mother was ready for me to move out of the house. I did. I moved to Ann Arbor, where I graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in plant biology and won the top honors in biology. Thank you, Margaret Fuller.
February 8, 2016
Pima County Library Online (E-Library): http://www.library.pima.gov
Genealogy: Links to 7 genealogy resources
Full issues of Time magazine back to 1923
A-Z listing of electronic resources
Reference USA – Business Development & Directory
Reference Shelf: Britannica, World Almanac
Library of Congress Chronicling America: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/
Good source for weather, gossip, hotel registry, public announcements & more
The People History: http://www.ThePeopleHistory.com Popular history for specific decades and years, including such things as the price of gas, popular songs, home prices, etc.
Public Profiler: (English, Scottish, and Irish names in the U.K. in 1881 and 1998 http://gbnames.publicprofiler.org
The USGenWeb Project: http://usgenweb.org
This is a free site, and there is a section on nearly every county in the United States. These are maintained by volunteers and often contain information unavailable from other sources, as well as links to other helpful sites.
Baby Name Wizard: http://www.babynamewizard.com
Click on Name Voyager to see a graph of the frequency of a particular name from the 1880’s forward. (You may have to sign up at some point.)
Google Earth: https://www.google.com/earth/
Wikimedia Commons: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Main_Page
The Tornado Project: http://www.tornadoproject.com/alltorns/worstts.htm
e-Bay Look for books, photographs, counties
Books and Videos
Julia Cameron: The Artist’s Way, a Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity
James A. Owen: Drawing Out the Dragons: A Meditation on Art, Destiny, and the Power of Choice
Neil Gaiman: (With collaborator Terry Pratchett, he was the best-selling author in the U.K. in the 1990’s.) His 2012 commencement speech at the Philadelphia University of Arts can be seen on YouTube, and has also been adapted into a book, Make Good Art.
January 16, 2016
Imagine that your diet was limited to the ten bestselling grocery items: soda, cereal, frozen dinners, salty snacks, milk, laundry detergent, eggs, peanut butter and jelly, packaged deli meats, and breads. What if you were limited to today’s top ten bestsellers in the grocery category on Amazon: three kinds of coffee products, three kinds of coconut oil, three kinds of energy bars, and distilled water with added electrolytes. Unless you abhor fresh meats, fish, fruits, and vegetables, you would quickly tire of your diet, and you would probably develop health problems.
Now imagine limiting your reading diet to the New York Times bestsellers. If you compare those of 1950 to the bestsellers today, you’ll notice a difference. There’s a new category: mass-market fiction. On January 16, 2016, half of the top ten fiction titles were film tie-ins. In contrast, the bestseller list of October 1, 1950 included books by Ernest Hemingway, A.J. Cronin, Robert Penn Warren, Tennessee Williams, Evelyn Waugh, and Frank Yerby, all of whom became classic authors. Why the mass market approach and movie tie-ins today? Profit.
The Rise of the Independents. Book publishing has changed dramatically with the meteoric growth of print-on-demand and self-publishing. This is good news for small independent publishers and authors. It is also good news for readers who want variety and quality in their literary diet. It is not such good news for mainstream publishers, whose profits are eroding.
The Big Five. In an effort to survive indie competition, publishing houses have consolidated. In the U.S., just the Big Five remain. Instead of dozens of traditional publishers, we have only Simon & Schuster, Hachette, HarperCollins, Holtzbrinck-MacMillan, and Penguin Random House.
The French company Hachette gobbled up Time Warner’s book division in 2006 and Disney’s Hyperion Books in 2013. German mass media company Bertelsmann acquired Bantam Books, Doubleday, Random House, and Penguin. German publishing giant Holtzbrinck owns Farrar, Straus, and Giroux; Holt, Rinehart, and Winston; Macmillan, and St. Martin’s Press. CBS owns Simon & Schuster.
It is difficult for these traditional publishers to take a chance on a new author or one with no track record. It is no surprise many Big Five titles are tie-ins to films and television series. Authors who are already well-known have a tremendous advantage over indies in gaining the attention of such publishers, as do celebrities: mega-church pastors, politicians, and news anchors. The focus is increasingly on blockbusters to maximize profits, not on variety and choice for the reader.
Simon and Schuster publishes just 2,000 titles a year under 35 imprints, including Pocket Books and Scribner, giving even the best independent author only the slimmest chance of having a manuscript reviewed.
Independents Bring Quality, Variety, and Choice to Readers. Today, expert editing, proofreading, layout, and book design services are available to authors through small independent publishers and freelance services — services that were once available only through traditional publishers.
Independents are free to write whatever they want. They are not bound by the chains of political correctness or the whims of literary fashion. They are not subject to mainstream media bias. Because mainstream publishers often acquire the rights to a book, they can influence its content if they want to. Authors can now choose an independent publisher who lets them retain the rights to their own book. With a burgeoning number of independents, every author can find a publisher who is a comfortable fit.
It is a myth that self-published work is of poor quality. Too many traditionally published books these days are not worth the paper they are printed on. The imprint of a well-known publisher is no longer a guarantee of quality.
Independents offer several advantages to the reader:
How You Can Help Your Favorite Author. Independent authors face a few problems. It is hard to get a review in a major newspaper. Most best-seller lists are limited to books from the Big Five. That means that many exceptional works never have an opportunity to be listed. Major book festivals often limit their panelists to authors who have been published through traditional channels. Finally, many of the most prestigious awards are limited to authors published by the Big Five. These obstacles can be overcome with the your help. Here’s how:
“Read, every day, something no one else is reading. Think, every day, something no one else is thinking. Do, every day, something no one else would be silly enough to do. It is bad for the mind to continually be part of unanimity.” Christopher Morley, writer (1890-1957)
RECOMMENDED RESOURCES FOR READERS
Goodreads is a site for readers to find books and rate or review those they have read. Although recently acquired by Amazon, the site has so far retained its original values and format. Registering is free.
Stevo’s Book Reviews Steve Brock is the former manager of Microsoft Network’s Books and Reading Community. He has a large following of book lovers who read his monthly list of recommended books. Steve’s list is a valuable resource for book lovers, as well as for online and bricks-and-mortar bookstores, and the acquisitions departments of academic and public libraries. Pageviews are running at over 250,000/month.
Tucson. Bookmans Entertainment Exchange With six stores in Tucson, Phoenix, Mesa, and Flagstaff, Bookmans is a bibliophile’s heaven. The stores are the size of a Barnes & Noble, and treasures await you in this Arizona chain for three reasons: three of the four cities are college towns; because Arizona is home to many snowbirds and transplants from other states, you never know what local history or genealogy books you might find from other states and other countries; and old books are generally in better condition because of the dry climate. Booksmans hosts book signings by local authors and sponsors many community events.
Tucson. Antigone Books is an eclectic and fun independent bookstore on Tucson’s 4th Avenue, where shops are one-of-a-kind except for a single Dairy Queen Franchise.
San Diego. Mysterious Galaxy is an independent bookstore with locations in San Diego and Redondo Beach. They specialize, but are not limited to science fiction, mystery, suspense, horror, and fantasy. Check their website for the fun events hosted by Maryelizabeth Yturralde and her pals.
Chatham, New York. The Chatham Bookstore The children’s section of this charming independent bookstore has a picture window that affords a view of the passing trains. If you’re in upstate New York, Chatham’s main street is a must. Big things come in little packages!
January 3, 2016
These are my iPhone souvenirs from 2015, all but one taken within walking distance. The only outlier is the photo of the torch cactus at the Arizona Sonora Desert Museum, a short drive away.
December 22, 2015
Jessica awoke to the tantalizing aroma of chocolate. She rolled over and looked at the clock. “Mom’s making chocolate cake at six o’clock in the ?? Awesome!!” She threw on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and dashed down two flights of stairs to investigate, convinced that Mom must have gone off the deep end. However, if making cake for breakfast was the result of a deranged mind, she was all for her mother being wacko. She’d willingly put up with Mom’s chemistry-experiments-gone-wrong and the occasional mother-initiated Noah’s flood in the kitchen if the flip side was having her favorite dessert before eating her vegetables.
I woke up to the sound of her footsteps pounding on the stairs. I heard a sharp intake of breath and then a scream. “MOM!!!” Had she fallen? Was she hurt?
I dashed to the top of the stairs, fearing the worst. I looked over the railing. There in the middle of the beautiful pale blue Chinese rug at the bottom of the stairs was Guinevere. She had a can of Ghirardelli cocoa by the throat and was trying to break its neck, shaking and spinning around like a centrifuge. An eight-foot circle of cocoa powder was evidence of her heroic efforts to protect the family from this monster. She was a chocolate Labrador, and like attracts like.
We never expected Guinevere to survive puppyhood. She tested everything for edibility. On a walk she did four times as much sniffing as she did walking. Her idea of vigorous exercise was fetching the Kong and immediately lying down with it, holding it in her mouth like Winston Churchill’s ever-present cigar. We theorized that she had been traumatized in the litter, pushed away from her mama’s teats by the other puppies. Hence her obsession with food.
She got into everything. One lovely summer morning I stepped outside to admire my irises at the height of their bloom. Every single flower head had vanished. Empty bread bags kept company with the remains of chocolate bar wrappers on the pantry floor. One day, Guinevere coughed up an entire Haagen Daz lid. At the time they were made entirely of plastic. How was it possible? I thought of a line from an old song: “She just opened her throat and swallowed a goat.” On another occasion, an entire avocado disappeared, including the thick leathery skin and rock-hard pit. The only evidence remaining was a teaspoonful of hard bits the size of peppercorns.
Keeping food at the back of the counter or in the middle of our extra-wide center island or on a high pantry shelf was not effective. How a chunky, seventy-nine-pound dog with a bum hind leg could reach those alpine heights remains an unsolved mystery.
We needed to find a place that defeated her prodigious mountaineering skills. Something the equivalent of Mount Everest. Aha! The top of the refrigerator! A new verb was born: to Guinevate, which meant to place something in an impossibly high spot, where even the lady of the house had to climb on a high stool to reach it. There’s no way for paws and claws to gain purchase on the slick side of a refrigerator.
Guinevere lived fifteen years and four months, the equivalent of 107 human years — off the charts for a Labrador. From Guinevere I learned four important lessons.
Guinevere’s parting advice as she crossed The Rainbow Bridge? “It’s beautiful to do nothing, and rest afterwards. Trust me.”
December 1, 2015
My husband wasn’t quick enough to mute the commercial that came on while he was watching the morning news last week, and I was subjected to a sales pitch from a financial planning institution. A mellifluous, reassuring male voice intoned something about “a well-planned life” over a visual of sixty-somethings — who looked like forty-somethings — cavorting barefoot in an idyllic lakeside scene of lush grass and large trees. Hypnotic romantic music played in the background.
Pick up a magazine like Worth, Forbes or Wealth, and you’ll see titles like “Life Well-Planned” or “Planning Properly for your Golden Years.” The latter is from ConsolidatedCredit.org, and the first sentence of the article is “Don’t be stuck working full time while others your age are enjoying their retirement.”
Having grown up in a farming community in a part of the country that is prone to blizzards and tornadoes, I’m astonished that people are so easily convinced that with the right planning, unpleasantness — even unhappiness — can be avoided. Of course, to plan properly, you need to spend money on expert advice.
When you live in the country and a blizzard is coming, you fill containers with water, lay in extra supplies, including candles, and make sure you have a means of getting to the barn to milk the cows. You don’t assume that you can control the weather or that the government can control the weather. On one occasion, my parents drove to work, and a blizzard struck so suddenly that they couldn’t get home for three days, even though they were only three or four miles from home. This wasn’t planned.
My favorite birding buddy, John, collapsed in the doorway of his apartment at the age of thirty-four, still in his martial arts clothes. He was one of the fittest people I’ve ever known, even considering doing the next Christmas Bird Count on his bicycle. His territory would have been Navajo County and he would have covered 150 miles. He died of an aneurysm in his brain. Not planned. My high school classmate, Mary, became suddenly very sick at the local hamburger joint and was rushed to the hospital. She had a brain tumor. Not planned.
The bottom line is that life can’t be planned. And that’s okay. The implication that a well-planned life will make you affluent and that guaranteed affluence will make you happy is simply wrong.
A Fox13now.com headline of November 21 says, “Money really can buy happiness, new Harvard study shows.” Michael Norton, a Harvard Business School Professor, has researched the “science of spending,” and he has the answer. Spending money on experiences like vacations, rather than electronics and such will make you happy. (Too bad for you suckers who don’t have enough money to travel. You obviously didn’t plan well.)
Norton contrasts buying big-ticket items, which he says can be stressful, to buying a vacation, which won’t be. For a lot of people in this country, a plane ticket from Phoenix to San Francisco to visit friends is a big-ticket item. For others, going out for dinner with friends is certainly not a small-ticket item.
The dramatic growth of emphasis on self in our society is disheartening. The media encourages us to be jealous of our neighbor’s retirement and embarrassed that we are still working. It encourages us to worry constantly about our image, our weight, our clothes, to focus on ourselves because we deserve it. It demeans the satisfaction and value of doing useful, meaningful work, of having a passion so strong that retirement is not something you would willingly choose.
Until Woman’s Day was sold to Fawcett in 1958, the magazine’s emphasis was on developing skills that would contribute to the happiness and well-being of your family and community. (In the old days, the class that taught cooking and sewing skills was called Home Economics for a reason. In farm communities, women’s contributions were as economically important as men’s.) Today the same magazine has articles with titles like “These Holiday Toys Will Make Your Children Smarter,” and “Woman Seeks Revenge on Cheating Husband by Secretly Selling House.” We even have a magazine called Self. Today you’re in a competition to make your children smarter than your neighbor’s, and seeking revenge is glorified.
When we decide that helping others will make us happier, we join an organization and volunteer a little of our time. Or we pay our taxes, confident that we’re enabling the government to take care of everyone. Or we give our money to charity. Except in structured ways, we don’t get personally involved.
We’re chasing happiness in the wrong place. When I was in grade school, we cooked Sunday dinner for six people, even though there were only five in our family. The sixth person was Mrs. Fuller, who was in her mid-seventies and had arthritis. I would help carry dinner down the hill to Mrs. Fuller’s and deeply enjoy the pleasure she had in her meal. When my classmate Mary’s house burned down, people in the community got involved in building a new house for her family, who had come to town as migrant workers from Tupelo, Mississippi. In our little town, we each felt a responsibility to reach out personally to those in need or in grief.
My birding friend John left a legacy: by his example, he inspired others to be kind and generous. Although his ancestors were German, he had a Native American heart when it came to reverence for animals and plants and the earth. Maybe if he’d planned better, he would have spent his energy and his money trying to find out what might be wrong with him. (He had no symptoms and no warning.) Instead, John spent his energy and money helping others.
As for Mary, she survived and married the orderly who wheeled her into the operating room. He fell in love with the young lady who had her head shaved for surgery. He fell in love with the beauty in her heart.
I wonder what those people are doing who are “enjoying their retirement” while you slave away. Perhaps they have become obsessed with an expensive active lifestyle, planning to stave off death. But what are they really doing?
The happiest people I know are the ones making a difference to others. My friend Bill teaches continuing education classes, in spite of health problems resulting from exposure to Agent Orange. Another friend who is a “retired” teacher, volunteers in a literacy program several mornings a week at the local elementary school. My friend Dr. Berkeley continued seeing patients until she was in her nineties. Would she be jealous of those who were living a well-planned retirement? I think not.
I laughed aloud when I came across a title in the Summer 2010 issue of Wealth: “A Well-Planned Exit Strategy.”
My message to everyone this holiday season is two thousand years old: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Empower someone this season. Really focus your attention on someone: a child, a friend, a stranger. Just for a few minutes actually listen, instead of waiting for them to stop talking so you can talk. If you know someone who is housebound, stop by and keep them company for a little bit. No need to take a gift; just be present with them. Share both the sorrows and the joys of others. Write a letter to someone this season, to just one person. Not just a card. Think about how wonderful they will feel to get a real, hand-written letter. The best things in life really are free.
November 23, 2015
Forget astrology and reading the messy entrails of sacrificial animals. Data mining is the answer. I’m so excited to bring this awesome new resource to your attention.
No forms to fill out. No long questionnaires like you get in the doctor’s office. Data miners already know all about you from your online browsing patterns. These beneficent folks are not spying on you; they just want to help you to a better life by using sophisticated software to figure out what you need before you need it, and without your having to think, which is such an energy drain.
I have found out so much about myself with this (almost) free and uncannily accurate method of self-analysis, medical diagnosis, and fortune-telling.
I had no idea that I lived in such imminent danger, and that people I don’t know care about me so very much. For example, they are going to make my bathing safer by installing a walk-in tub. How they will fit that into my small RV is a mystery, but maybe they have a deal with the manufacturers of Dr. Who’s Tardis, and they can make this place bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.
All recollections of my military service have escaped. It must have been that hypnotherapy session I had last year that wiped it from my memory. Unfortunately, that means that I’m about to loose my USAA insurance. Having forgotten I was in the military, I must have forgotten to update my insurance. But who am I loosing my insurance on? Some unsuspecting healthcare provider, about to be swallowed by the jaws of a redtape-asaurus? Just askin’. I don’t like to loose anything dangerous on anybody.
I have three pay slips coming to me from a job I had in New South Wales, Australia. They need some of my bank information to do the transfer. Gosh! I don’t remember that place at all. Maybe I’m getting Alzheimer’s.
I’m sure I sent my resume to Middlesex Textiles in London, not Australia, as per their urgent request. They need a sales rep in the United States. They said they’d be glad to employ me to handle the sales & payroll administration to their agents and clients in the USA. Am I supposed to be a sales rep or do payroll? This is getting confusing.
At any rate, Middlesex is ready to send me $300 in salary every Friday, if I’m interested. Their English and spelling seems a little odd. And I thought that Mma was a salutation used in Botswana. Are they now using it in London as well? I’m getting more worried about the Alzheimer’s.
Oh my gosh! What a relief. Fat is not my fault! I had no idea. I thought I was just eating too much. I’m so glad I don’t have to give up my ice cream with chocolate sauce and peanuts.
They suggest I keep my brain active by enrolling in an online class in Excel basics. I know I suck at MS Excel, but how the hell did they figure that out? Do I just look stupid? I’d better take my profile picture down from Facebook.
I didn’t know I needed treatment for my diabetes. I didn’t know I had diabetes. Must have forgotten that too. I wonder if I’ll live until Thanksgiving.
The crime statistics I check periodically must be out of date. ( I’d better alert City-Data.com. They need to update their stats.) It seems that I need a hidden camera. There’s a risk of a child predator in my area. I wonder if it’s a dog-child predator, since all the children in my neighborhood under thirteen have four legs and wag their tails.
A chunk of blue ice or a packet of marijuana is going to fall on my RV in the near future. How do I know this? I know this because they are giving me a coupon for a complimentary three-night stay at a Marriott, and it expires in ninety days. I’m going to print it out and keep it in my possession at all times – just in case. I did read in the local paper that a family down in Nogales had a falling packet of marijuana make a fairly large hole in the roof of their carport last month.
If I am injured in the next ten days, however, they’re giving me a $500 gift card for Walgreen’s and a $50 gift card for CVS. That’ll pay for a s**tload of bandages. Boy am I lucky they thought of this.
I’d better hustle up and enroll in that 50% off roof repair deal so I can save money after the blue ice incident. I think I’d better delay taking advantage of the savings on solar panels until after the roof is fixed.
They are offering me a Copperwear Knee Brace at a great price. But once I get rid of the fat-that’s-not-my-fault, and I get-skinny-without-exercise, I won’t have any more knee pain. On the other hand, such a purchase would support the copper mining industry. I feel it’s my civic duty to bring more jobs to Arizona.
I’m getting really worried about my memory. I can see from my emails that I once was able to read Kanji characters and speak Portuguese, Rumanian, Dutch and French. I remember the French, but not the others. I remember Spanish, but I never get anything in Spanish. Is that why they want me to watch their Rosetta Stone demo? To help me restore my linguistic expertise? Maybe I have a multiple-personality disorder.
But honey, am I ever coming into the money! I just found out this morning that I own an IBC hotel. Another thing that slipped my memory. I can be one of the first independent hotels to opt into new, private channels of captive demand and make my customers keep coming back. Hmmm. Maybe the ten emails I got from hookers this week is part of their marketing plan. Maybe there’s a link. Hire a hooker, get more reservations. I’ll have to get in touch with Sharona, Aida, Annice, Brinn, Sallyanne, Barbette, and Loreen right away. And once I find out where my hotel is, and get acquainted with the manager, I can get him 30-day free access to a Russian-Bride opportunity as a perk of the job.
Oh my! Just this minute they just sent me information on how to end my Alzheimer’s, confirming my self-diagnosis. It must be legit because it’s an “as seen on CBS.” Guess I’ll try it.