|*||Continual complaint as to need for names, dates and places.|
|*||Blank expression, sometimes deaf to spouse and children.|
|*||No taste for work of any kind except feverishly looking through records at libraries and court houses.|
|*||Has compulsion to write letters.|
|*||Swears at mailman when he doesn't leave mail.|
|*||Frequents strange places, such as cemeteries, ruins, and remote desolate country areas.|
|*||Makes secret night calls.|
|*||Hides phone bill from spouse.|
|*||Mumbles to self.|
|*||Has a strange far-away look in eyes.|
|*||Medication is useless.|
|*||Disease is not fatal, but gets progressively worse.|
|*||Patients should attend Genealogy work-shops, subscribe to genealogy magazines and be given a quiet corner in the house where they can be alone.|
|*||The usual nature of this disease is "The sicker the patient gets, the more they enjoy it."|
I, Flat Broke of the State of Poverty, being of unsound financial status do hereby make, publish & declare this to be my last Will & Testament to wit:
Item 1. I leave to my children namely viz: my sons, Gone Broke, Flat Broke Jr., Been Broke & Almost Broke, all my debts, both public and private to be shared equally.
Item 2. I leave to my daughters; Patience Broke, Never Broke & Going Broke the knowledge that I was always Broke and they will always be Broke.
Item 3. I leave to my beloved wife, Broken Hearted Broke, not one thing as I am Flat Broke.
Signed, Sealed, Published & Declared this 28 Day of January A. D. One Thousand nine-hundred and ninety-seven.
Flat Broke seal.
Witness our hands and seals:
To my wife, _______, I leave her her lover and the knowledge that I wasn't the fool she thought I was.
To my son, _______, I leave the pleasure of earning his own living, for twenty-five years he thought it was my pleasure.
To my daughter, _______, I leave one hundred thousand dollars, she will need it, the only good thing her husband ever did was to marry her.
To my partner, _______, I leave the suggestion that he find another clever partner at once, if he expects to stay in business.
To my valet, _______, I leave him the clothes he's already stolen from me.
I being of sound mind but weak in body want my bequeath carried out. Signed this day, April 28th, 1881.
So far today, God, I've done all right.
I haven't gossiped, haven't lost my temper, haven't been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish or over-indulgent.
I'm really glad about that.
But in a few minutes, God, I'm going to get out of bed, and from then on I'm probably going to need a lot more help.
A Bishop runs into to the Pope's quarters and says:
"Your Holiness, I have good news and I have bad news!"
Pope: "What's the good news?
Bishop: "Jesus has returned to earth! He's on the phone
and wants to speak with you!"
Pope: "... and the Bad News?"
Bishop: "He's calling from Salt Lake City!"
|*||Everything hurts, and what doesn't hurt doesn't work.|
|*||The gleam in your eyes is from the sun hitting your bi-focals.|
|*||You feel like the morning after and you haven't been anywhere.|
|*||Your children begin to look middle-aged.|
|*||You've finally reached the top of the ladder only to find it's leaning against the wrong wall.|
|*||Your mind makes contracts your body can't keep.|
|*||You look forward to a dull evening.|
|*||You turn out the lights for economic reasons.|
|*||You sit in the rocking chair and can't get it going....|
|*||Your knees buckle, but your belt won't.|
|*||You regret all those mistakes you made resisting temptation.|
|*||You're 17 around the neck, 42 around the waist, and 96 on the golf course.|
|*||Your pacemaker makes the garage door open when you see a pretty girl.|
|*||The little old gray-haired lady you help across the street is your wife.|
|*||You sink your teeth into a steak, and they stay there.|
|*||You have too much room in the house and not enough room in the medicine cabinet.|
|*||You know all the answers, but nobody asks the questions.|
|*||Your broad mind and narrow waist have exchanged places.|
Do you ever get disgusted
With "The Lurkers on the Lists"?
Why is it I've noticed...
The lurkers on the lists never contribute
And never explain...
They're takers, not givers
And the first to complain.
You never see their e-mail address
In a kind or sharing way...
You first know they belong to the list
When they ruin everyone's day!
The list may be going great, everyone family.
Lurkers just can't stand the warmth ... and have to send a flame,
To dampen spirits of others
And make them feel to blame...
For sitting on the family front porch
And conversing in a warm sharing tone.
And so the list gets dead again...
Cause lurkers want it dead as a bone.
Why they bother to belong is really beyond me
I wish someone would just explain
Why these folks sign on to genealogy lists
If their purpose is to complain!
Our elders are passing, one by one
Surely gone forever, until there are none.
Their bountiful memories, their knowledge of the past,
Soon will be lost, and beyond our grasp.
The past is prologue, so delicate to retain,
Slipping slowly from our grasp, til nothing remains.
For our elders are passing, so sad but true,
And with them their memories, and all that they knew.
It's urgent for sure, to record each thought,
Of every family elder, so its not for naught.
So generations remember the beauteous past,
We'll retain that knowledge, and ensure it will last.
There'll be no better time, than that right now,
To begin your quest, or to renew your vow.
So locate your elders, and schedule that meeting,
In light of the fact, that time is so fleeting.
"Some families can trace their ancestors back three hundred years, but can't tell you where their children were last night." - Unknown
"Always be nice to your children because they are the ones who will choose your rest home." - Phyllis Diller
E-mail contributions to Rob Nelson.
Nov 1, 2001