Yes, it happened. I finally caved and purchased a year’s (World) subscription to Ancestry, yesterday.
I had ideas of all the people I could look for in the census records of the United States, the United Kingdom and Canada, among the other extensive collections. I would disprove all the fish tales, verify the unknowns and tend to the withering tree that I call my research.
My perfect plan was to begin after work on Friday (today May 16th 2014), stay up late (I don’t work Saturday) and see how many relatives I can “discover!”
Last night before bed, I had told MiLady Rabbit that she too can use the subscription for her to find ancestors in Manitoba. She smiled.
FAST FORWARD: Friday morning
I left for work. Late Friday afternoon, I returned home.
I booted up my computer, opened up my web browser, logged into my account and stared at the empty search fields for over twenty minutes!
It was unbelievable, I couldn’t remember a single name that I wanted to look for!
My mind was blank!
“You should’ve made a list, Dearie,” Nostalgia scolded, walking over to see what I wasn’t doing.
“I did,” I told her.
“Well,” she said with her hands fisted on her hips, “Where is it?”
“I don’t know.” I looked around my ‘uncluttered’ — quotation marks included at MiLady’s insistence — desk, it was gone!
“Did you write it with pen and paper?” the Old Banshee continued, as MiLady looked on. “Or did you go paperless?”
[BRAIN DRAIN]
“Uhhhh, I don’t remember,” I replied wide-eyed, looking down at the floor.
“Did you have a pen in your hand,” MiLady asked softly, “Or your cell, when you thought of the first person that you wanted to look up?”
I stared at my girl’s genuinely concerned face and my eyes lit up!
“My cell!” I exclaimed, jumping up to dig my hand into my pants’ pocket. “I had … my … cell?”
I withdrew my hand, it was empty.
“Dialing!” MiLady giggled.
[SILENCE]
“It’s on vibrate, isn’t it?” Gia said disgusted.
MiLady and I nodded, before the Old Banshee left upstairs muttering that August wasn’t coming fast enough.
“So much for Family Night,” I whispered to my wife.
MiLady smiled wide and told me that I was nasty, then asked how to use my online subscription.
Setting her in front of my computer, I confessed, “It’s easier if whoever you are looking for is dead.”
“Okay. Your Gramma Rabbit died when?”
We plugged in the values and hit the “search” button.
One document appeared.
Grams’ marriage to Papa John!
“Oh, that’s so cool!” MiLady quipped, looking up at me. “Now what?”
Slowly, the left side of my mouth curled into my trademark smirk.
My wife was about to be heavily exposed to the incurable virus known as “genealogy,” from which there is no known cure.
Your Roots Are Showing Dearie! 