Written by Wayne Hand

Alas, my elusive kinsman, You've led me quite a chase,
I thought I'd found your courthouse. But the Yankees burned the place.

You always kept your bags packed, Although you had no fame,
And just for the fun of it, Twice you changed your name.

You never owed any man, Or at least I found no bills,
In spite of eleven offspring, You never left a will.

I'm the only one looking, Another searcher I can't find
I pray (maybe that's his fathers name), As I go out of my mind,

They said you had a headstone, In a real nice shady plot.
I've been there twenty times, And can't even find the lot.

You never wrote a letter, Your bible we can't find,
It's probably in some attic, Out of sight and out of mind.

First you married a Smith, And just to set the tone,
The other four were Sarahs, And everyone a Jones.

You cost me two fortunes, One of which I did not have,
My wife, my house and Fido, God, how I miss that Yellow Lab.

But somewhere you slipped up Ole Boy, Somewhere you left a track,
And if I don't find you this year, You can bet that I'll be back.

May 25 1875 to March 26 1889

Sad are our hearts, our home is lone,
Since Emma from our threshold's gone
To kindred dear, to schoolmates true,
Dear Emma, we all mourn for you.

No Doctor's skill, no human power,
Could stay death's hand or parting hour;
But suffering no more racks your breast,
Your work is done- you are at rest.

Yes, Emma, you are free from pain,
Our loss is your eternal gain -
For here on earth you'll ne'er return
While we are left to weep and mourn.

We cannot think you are gone for aye
While we toil on and watch and pray;
We feel you are in that home above
Where all is joy, and peace, and love.

We'll greet you here on earth no more
Until we meet on yon blest shore;
But in that world so bright and fair
We some day hope to meet you there.

( Written by Mrs. Nancy Whitemore )

I found this little poem at an auction in Lee County IL. It was in an old hand made, beat up frame and some flowers had been around it. It was lying on a table with a lot of other rejected items that no one wanted to buy. I picked it up and removed the printed poem not knowing what I was going to do with it. Emma was only 14 at the time of her death and she must have been someones very beloved daughter and friend. Having three much loved children of my own I can't imagine the heartache of every losing one of them. I've placed it here so Emma can be remembered. I hope it has touched your heart as it did mine.

A census taker walked up to a woman who was sitting on a porch. After introducing himself, he said, "How many children do you have?"

The woman answered, "Four." The census taker asked, "May I have their names, please?" The woman replied, "Eenie, Meenie, Minie, and George."

Confused, the census taker said, "May I ask why you named your fourth child 'George'?"

"Surely, because we didn't want any Moe."

Genealogy - You Gotta Love It!

My family coat of arms ties at the back ... is that normal?
My hobby is genealogy, I raise dust bunnies as pets.
A family reunion is an effective form of birth control.
After 30 days unclaimed ancestors will be adopted.
Genealogy: Tracing yourself back to better people.
Only a Genealogist regards a step backwards, as progress.
Always willing to share my ignorance ...


Come, look with me inside this drawer, In this box I've often seen,
At the Pictures, Black and White, Faces proud, still serene

I wish I knew the people, These strangers in the box,
Their Names and all their memories, Are lost among my socks

I wonder what their lives were like, How did they spend their days?
What about their special times. I'll never know their ways

If only someone had taken time, To tell who, what, where, or when,
these faces of my heritage, Would come to life again

Could this become the fate, Of the pictures we take today?
The faces and the memories, Someday to be passed away?

Make time to save your stories, Seize the opportunity when it knocks,
Or someday you and yours could be, The strangers in the box


I read of a man who stood to speak. At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone. From the the end.

He noted first her date of birth. And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all, Was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time, That she spent alive on earth...
And now only those who loved her, Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own; The cars...the house...the cash,
What matters is how we live and love, And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard... Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left, That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough, To consider what's true and real,
And always try to understand, The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger, And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives, Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect, And more often wear a smile..
Remembering that this special dash, Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy's being read, With your life's actions to rehash...
Would you be proud of the things they say, About how you spent your dash?

Written by Wayne Hand

I saw a family portrait, Hanging on the wall
Of grandpa's dead and gone, Of uncles big and small.

Now God has a sense of humor, I'm here to tell you all
For what he's done to my Kin, Heaven help us all.

There's Uncle John's huge ears, Set to catch the wind,
And James' one and only eye, And Fred's a'drooling grin.

Grandpa was a beauty, With a large and bushy beard
Sticking out from off his face, Where small creatures seem to live

Now theres assorted Warts and, Humps and bumps, that grow
Just anywhere--accented by body, shapes and all that extra hair.

Not counting Limbs grow askew, Noses the size of a chimney Flue
You should see the ones they choose, To wed and bed and say I do.

Now why do I cry, you ask, Why curse the things that be?
Because every one of my Family's, Traits have all shown up in me!