WRITINGS and
RECITATIONS
BY VARIOUS FAMILY MEMBERS AND OTHERS
Many family
members often recited or wrote articles or poems that have been passed down
through the generations. These pages contain some of those writings. We have
also added some that have touched our lives.
This Story was written by Sylvia (Shoults) Baughman about Alda (Shoults)
Weekley, her brothers, sisters, cousins and friends and the Shoults bridge. WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT
In the early days of electricity, it was not uncommon for the electric to
go off and remain off for extended periods. One such occasion, prompted Alda
Shoults Weekley to write of her experience without electric and her story was
published by the "Ohio Farmer" newspaper.
Alda Shoults Weekley wrote a lot in her later years. One of those articles
may have come from a text entitled "Twenty Years Ago".
Another of Alda's articles was found in December 1955 among her papers.
She had dedicated it to a Williard Murphy.
* Bill Weekley, son of Alda and John recited many such poems often to
nieces and nephews, even in his 90's; poems such as the following:
OLD CAR
One parked car with piston rings,
One rear wheel, one front spring.
Has no fenders, seats or tank,
Runs ESSO gas and hard to crank.
Carburetor busted half-way through,
Engine missing, it's on two.
Three years old, four in the Spring,
Has shock absorbers and everything.
Radiator busted, got some leaks,
Differential drive sure does leak.
Ten spokes missing, front all bent,
Tops blown off, ain't worth a cent.
Got lots of speed, runs like a deuce,
Burns either gas or tobacco juice.
Tires all off, often runs on the rims,
But she's a good lizzy for the shape she's in.
AND
Lord Bless us and bind us
And tie our hands behind us
And hide us under the bed
Where the devil can't find us.
AND
God Bless this house from thatch to
floor.
Two apostles guard the door.
Four good angels watch my bed.
Two at the foot,
And two at the head.
OTHERS
******
Why do we do Genealogy?
The following article was posted on a list.
The Story Tellers
We are the chosen. My feelings are in each family there is one who seems called
to find the ancestors. To put flesh on their bones and make them live again, to
tell the family story and to feel that somehow they know and approve. To me,
doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life
into all who have gone before. We are the story tellers of the tribe. All
tribes have one. We have been called, as it were, by our genes. Those who have
gone before cry out to us: Tell our story. So, we do. In finding them, we
somehow find ourselves. How many graves have I stood before now and cried? I
have lost count. How many times have I told the ancestors you have a wonderful
family you would be proud of us? How many times have I walked up to a grave and
felt somehow there was love there for me? I cannot say. It goes beyond just
documenting facts. It goes to who am I and why do I do the things I do? It goes
to seeing a cemetery about to be lost forever to weeds and indifference and
saying I can't let this happen. The bones here are bones of my bone and flesh
of my flesh. It goes to doing something about it. It goes to pride in what our
ancestors were able to accomplish. How they contributed to what we are today.
It goes to respecting their hardships and losses, their never giving in or
giving up, their resoluteness to go on and build a life for their family. It goes
to deep pride that they fought to make and keep us a Nation. It goes to a deep
and immense understanding that they were doing it for us. That we might be born
who we are. That we might remember them. So we do. With love and caring and
scribing each fact of their existence, because we are them and they are us. So,
as a scribe called, I tell the story of my family. It is up to that one called
in the next generation to answer the call and take their place in the long line
of family storytellers. That, is why I do my family genealogy, and that is what
calls those young and old to step up and put flesh on the bones. ( Unknown
Author )
"Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the aged,
sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and the wrong. Sometime
in life you will have been all of these." Author Unknown
LIFE'S CLOCK
The clock of life is wound but once
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop
At late or early hour.
To lose one's wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one's health is more
To lose one's soul is such a loss
As no man can restore.
The present only is our own,
Live, Love, Toil with a will,
Place no faith in "Tomorrow" -
For the clock may then be still.
Author Unknown
"I bargained with Life for a penny,
And Life would pay no more,
However, I begged at evening
When I counted my scanty store.
For Life is a just employer,
He gives you what you ask,
But once you have set the wages,
Why,you must bear the task.
I worked for a menial's hire,
Only to learn, dismayed,
That any wage I had asked of Life,
Life would have willingly paid."
Author Unknown
COPYRIGHT: Information on these pages is available
for non-commercial use only and may not be reproduced in any format for profit.
Walter R. Peterman
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