Tag Archives: Family

Scrap–Salvaging A Family by Luanne Castle: A Must Read

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Have you ever picked up a book, not knowing what to expect, and become so wrapped up in the story and the writing that you just don’t want to put it down? That was my experience  reading Luanne Castle’s newest book Scrap: Salvaging a Family. From the first page until I finished it, I was spellbound.

Luanne has published four volumes of poetry and many poems and flash prose pieces1 in numerous publications, but I first encountered her writing through her genealogy blog, The Family Kalamazoo, and although Scrap is not about genealogy per se, it is about family history: how our parents and our grandparents and those before them all shape the people we become. In this memoir, we see how Luanne’s father was affected by his family history and how that in turn affected the author, his daughter.

The book is written in a series of short “flashes” of specific memories tied together into a revealing and heart-wrenching story of her relationship with her father, a man she both loved and feared. Her writing is clear and beautiful and although written in prose, the language is poetic. The images she creates are powerful and resonant.

Here are two examples, one showing how much she loved her father when she was a little girl, the second showing how much she feared him. Notice how she uses images of his arms in both, each image serving to evoke a specific emotion.

“A man throws his efforts into the project. A little girl, face like a cup, watched his Superman arms crank on the vise handle and tighten the grip. The girl is me, and the workbench, its surface scarred by hammer blows, belongs to the shoemaker’s elves that visit the man when I am asleep. He presides over the saw, aiming for the pencil line, sawdust falling away on each side as snow does from a plow. On the pegboard, pliers and screws line up by size like Goldilocks’ bears. I sit behind the man who is my father, the chilled concrete floor twanging my backside.”

In this second memory those arms she admired for their strength as she watched him work turn into something much more threatening.

“Daddy tickles me, and when I squirm away, giggling, he rolls me on the planked floor where we play wrestle. When I tickle him, he belly-shake laughs. When I don’t want to go to bed until it’s black outside, his joy dissolves fast and leaves an unpleasantness that charges to anger. I watch for the inside of his tanned arms. When I see the flash of their snake-white underbellies, I try to run. One of them catches me by the back of my shirt. The other pulls up my skirt and down my panties. Daddy raises that arm up above us before he smacks it down on my bottom.”

Those arms reappear many other times in Luanne’s memories, most often in ways that are threatening and angry. But I will leave it to you to read the book to see how the author’s story develops and how she learns to understand her father’s anger and where it comes from. I promise you that you will be moved to tears, some of grief, some of anger, and some of joy. There were even times I laughed. And there were many times that I sat back and re-read a page a few times over, marveling in the language, the depth of feeling, and the universality of some aspects of her story. Aren’t we all somewhat mystified by who our parents are and why they are the way they are? Luanne Castle had the courage to dig deeply enough to learn who her father was and why he was the way he was.

You can purchase the book here or here, and you can learn more about the author and her other works at her website here.

Luanne Castle’s story, “Garden Seasons,” was selected for Best Microfiction 2026. Her poetry and prose have appeared in Copper Nickel, River Teeth, Your Impossible Voice, JMWW, Grist, Fourteen Hills, Verse Daily, Disappointed Housewife, Lunch Ticket, Saranac Review, Pleiades, Cleaver, Moon City, Moon Park, Anti-Heroin Chic, Bending Genres, BULL, The Mackinaw, The Ekphrastic Review, Phoebe, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Gone Lawn, and many other journals. She has published four award-winning poetry collections.  Her ekphrastic flash and poetry collection Hunting the Cosmos is forthcoming from Shanti Arts in fall 2026.

 

 

 

 

 

  1. I was unfamiliar with the literary term “flash” until I started reading Luanne’s works. I asked her for a definition, and she sent me this explanation: “Flash–both fiction and nonfiction–is a prose story told in fewer than 1,000 words–and frequently less than 300 when it can sometimes be referred to as microfiction. Unlike short stories which can be up to 7,500 words, flash cannot contain unnecessary words and images. This does not mean that flash should not contain specific and important details. Finally, much is told by innuendo, by suggestion, and by placement of one image or phrase next to another.” ↩

In Memory of My Cousin Sue

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My cousin Sue, sailing. Courtesy of Lisa Wartur

I lost a dear cousin on August 25, 2025, my cousin Sue (Leyner) Wartur (1938-2025). Sue was my third cousin and also my half second cousin, once removed, making us double cousins. Sue’s grandfather Julius Goldfarb was my maternal grandmother’s first cousin. And Sue’s grandmother Ida Hecht Goldfarb was the daughter of Taube Brotman Hecht, my grandmother’s half-sister. Sue and I were doubly bonded by our mutual family trees.

Ida Hecht Goldfarb and Sue Leyner, July 1938. Courtesy of Sue Leyner Wartur.

I didn’t know Sue until March 2016 when I found Sue’s daughter Lisa while searching for descendants of my grandmother’s Goldfarb cousins. Lisa connected me with her mother, and immediately I felt like I had known both Sue and Lisa all my life.

We were bonded by more than just genetics. Although we never met in person, Sue and I exchanged many emails over the nine and a half years we knew each other. It didn’t matter that we never met in person (though I wish we had) because through those emails, we learned a lot about each other and developed an affection and a bond that you wouldn’t imagine two people who never met could share. We had one magical zoom in October 2023—seeing Sue’s face and hearing her voice made that bond even deeper.

Sue shared with me many photographs and stories about her beloved grandparents and all her cousins and their times together at the beach house owned by her grandparents. Over the years we learned that not only did we share DNA and a love of family history, but we also shared a love of the beach (Sue’s on Long Island, mine here on Cape Cod), a love for Italy, a passion for words and writing, and a devotion to Judaism. We agreed on politics and on the need for hope in a world filled with reasons for despair.

Sue adored above all else her husband Larry and her daughter Lisa. Here are some of Lisa’s favorite photographs of her mother.

Sue and Larry Wartur on the wedding day in 1959

Sue and Lisa

Lisa, Larry and Sue

Sue’s emails often made me laugh—-her sense of humor and of the absurd was delightful and insightful. And over those nine years we shared some heartbreaks as well. The illness and death of her beloved husband Larry, the deaths of both of my parents, and finally her own health struggles.

When Sue was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in March, she was determined to fight to survive and went through a long series of treatments. And then, just days after her oncologist had announced that despite all the odds, Sue was cancer-free, Sue collapsed while at synagogue and died a couple of days later from a brain aneurysm. The cruel irony of that has left all who loved her shocked and heartbroken.

Although I couldn’t get to Long Island for the funeral, I was able to watch it through the magic of the internet. It was one of the most moving and beautiful funerals I’ve seen because it was so filled with love and sadness. But mostly love. Everyone who spoke had obviously been forever touched by Sue and loved her deeply. Even the rabbi cried when talking about Sue.

I did not know Sue for most of her life, a life that was filled with so many accomplishments, adventures, and love. Please read the obituary below to learn more about her remarkable life. I can’t tell you how moved I was to see that Lisa, Sue’s daughter and my wonderful cousin, included me among the cousins who were mourning Sue.

https://www.easthamptonstar.com/obituaries/202593/susan-leyner-wartur

Sue, your memory will always be a blessing for me, and I know it will be a blessing for Lisa, Steven, Debrah, and all those family members, friends, former students, and others who loved and adored you.

Sue at the beach, her favorite place. Photo courtesy of her daughter Lisa Wartur

Six Days in Merry Old England

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We just returned from a wonderful trip to England where our daughter Maddy ran her eighth marathon and her first one outside of the United States. It was, as it always is,  a bit nerve-racking to think of her running 26.2 miles, especially alone and in a foreign country, but as always she came through, despite the unusually warm weather and the unknown city. We were delighted to see her at Mile 6 and then after she finished in St. James Park.

We are so grateful to Maddy for getting us to go to England, our first trip outside the country since COVID (and England was the last place we visited outside the US before COVID in 2019). We kept this tour focused on fun and new adventures, a tour of Notting Hill (and we’d watched the movie this winter together to refresh our memories) and a pub tour of SoHo.

Notting Hill tour:

Ben, our guide, in front of George Orwell’s house in Notting Hill

Banksy art in Notting Hill

Notting Hill—where parts of the Paddington Bear movies were filmed

Alas, Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts were not around…

SoHo pub tour:

Carlos, our guide, and most of the tour group enjoying one last beer

After Maddy left to return to Boston, we traveled north to Liverpool, fulfilling a definite bucket list item for me. I fell in love with the Beatles in February 1964 when I was eleven, and that love has never faded. Seeing where the four young teenagers lived and met and first played together was heartwarming and exciting. Little eleven year old Amy could not believe she played Paul’s piano or stood in the churchyard where Paul and John first met or met Pete Best’s nephew, who gave us a tour of the Casbah where the Beatles (with Pete, not Ringo) first played together as a band.

Mural dedicated to Ringo down the alley from where he grew up

St Peter’s Church where Paul first met John playing with the Quarrymen at a church festival

Did you know there was a real Eleanor Rigby? She is buried in the graveyard at St Peter’s where John was a choirboy and where he first met Paul

John’s childhood home

The kitchen in John’s home

Outside John’s home

Paul’s childhood home

Paul’s backyard and outhouse

Paul’s piano (which I played!) where he and John wrote many of their early songs

George’s childhood home

Alley where George lived

Gate to Strawberry Fields

There are stones with quotations from John’s songs throughout Strawberry Fields

Inside the Casbah on a tour with the nephew of Pete Best, the original drummer for the Beatles

The Casbah stage

If you know the lyrics to Penny Lane, you’ll know what this store is.

Some of you have likely seen some of these photos on Facebook, but I wanted to share these with those blog readers who may not be on Facebook with me.

Special thanks to my cousin Mark Morreau, who met us in Notting Hill and helped us navigate the Underground back to our hotel, and to our tour guides in London and Liverpool, Ben, Carlos, and Dave.

My Grandson’s Bar Mitzvah

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This past weekend I had the overwhelming pleasure of watching my grandson Nate become a bar mitzvah. His utter joy in participating as an adult in a Jewish service—reading the prayers, the Torah, and the haftorah—was infectious. He didn’t just do this to fulfill his parents’ expectations or to please his grandparents; he did it with a full heart. His smiles, the vibrato in his voice, the way his body swayed to the music and the prayers all revealed just how much this all meant to him.

Although I could do little more than marvel and smile and cry a bit while I shared these moments in real time, in the aftermath as I processed it more deeply, I thought of all of Nate’s ancestors going back hundreds of years—all those for whom Jewish practice had been an anchor of safety and meaning in times of oppression, poverty, dislocation, and isolation.

Nate was carrying forward that thread of meaning, that connection to history and to community. He lives in a world where antisemitism still exists and where culture wars make identity even more fraught with danger, but also a world where he has more choices than his ancestors did. And he has chosen to embrace their traditions and carry them forward into the next generation not in a strictly traditional way, but in his own way, investing them with what is meaningful to him. I am both proud of him and excited for him as he now ventures forth into adulthood.

Watching Nate and being moved by his joyful adoption of these traditions and rituals has reminded me of my purpose in doing this research and in writing this blog: to honor and remember all those who came before me and to keep that history alive so that future generations will also honor and remember them and the traditions and rituals they followed.

Nate wearing the tallit that belonged to his great-grandfather Nathan, for whom he is named. Standing behind him is his grandfather Harvey, Nathan’s son.

 

An Amazing Day!

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No stories about my distant relatives today because my heart is too full with love and pride for my daughters to think about the past—though I realize and recognize that my daughters wouldn’t be who they are but for all those ancestors who came before them—all those who were brave enough and optimistic enough to take all those steps that made it possible for my children to be here. So forgive me for indulging today in parental pride as I bask in the glow of yesterday.

Yesterday was such an amazing day. Both of our daughters were at their very best. And as their parents, we were both excited and worried about how their days would go. Maddy was going to run her third Boston marathon (and her fourth marathon overall), and Rebecca was going to testify before a Congressional committee. How were we going to juggle both and be able to focus on each of them fully?

Well, fortunately Rebecca’s testimony was in the morning, and Maddy’s start for the marathon wasn’t until 11:15, so we were able to watch most of the Congressional hearing before Maddy even started to run. It was an exhausting but exhilarating day from start to finish.

Rebecca was asked to testify before the House Judiciary Committee on behalf of New Yorkers Against Gun Violence, the non-profit organization for which she is the executive director. The hearing was ostensibly called as a hearing to determine what could be done for the victims of violent crime in New York City, but as many of the Democrats on the Committee stated and as media outlets also recognized, it was actually called by the committee chair, Republican Representative Jim Jordan of Ohio, as an attempt to intimidate and punish the Manhattan DA Alvin Bragg for his office’s prosecution of Donald Trump. Since violent crime rates are higher in many places, including Ohio, than they are in New York City, it was obvious that this was a set-up, not a good faith investigation of violent crime.

As Rebecca said in her testimony, if the committee and Congress were truly concerned about victims of violent crime, then they would be focused on taking actions to prevent gun violence. She stated:

“To make a significant change, we need bipartisan support in Congress to fight violent crime and make our communities safer.  Congress can combat the national gun trafficking crisis plaguing New York City and the state by passing federal gun reform laws that are modeled after New York State’s.  We need to close loopholes in the federal background check system, protect victims and survivors of domestic violence, strengthen extreme risk protection order laws, promote safe storage laws, crack down on ghost guns and hold rogue, reckless gun dealers accountable.  Our federal, state, and local governments need to invest more in community violence intervention and prevention programs, invest more in housing, healthcare, and education.  Our state and our cities need more funding for victim services. And Congress must support and fund federal law enforcement efforts to investigate gun crimes and hold the highest drivers of crime and gun trafficking accountable.”

You can see Rebecca’s full opening statement here.

Rebecca faced questioning by the members of the committee, both Democrats and Republicans, and was steadfast in her position and persuasive in articulating the position that it is the easy access to guns that leads to most violent crime, not the actions of a prosecutor’s office. Surrounded by other witnesses hand-picked by the Republicans to pursue their political agenda, Rebecca stayed calm, resolute, and professional. We couldn’t have been prouder.

Meanwhile, as we were watching Rebecca on my laptop, we were also keeping our eyes on our phones and the Boston Athletic Association app that allows people to track runners in the marathon. Maddy started the race at 11:18 am, and we began to track her progress. You can imagine our excitement and our stress—both daughters testing themselves in challenging and extraordinary circumstances.

Just as last year and the year before, we were staying at the Lenox Hotel in Boston where Maddy is now the general manager of the restaurants. She has worked there for over 16 years, starting as a host and working her way to the general manager’s position. She is passionate about the hospitality business, making sure that all guests receive the best service and feel welcome and appreciated whenever they come to one of the restaurants in the hotel. As we had lunch in one of those restaurants and walked through the lobby and stood outside to watch the runners crossing the finish line a few hundred feet away, over and over we heard from everyone, “We love Maddy.” From the servers in the restaurant to the hotel staff to the many “regulars” who eat there often, we heard how wonderful Maddy is to everyone.

And then, as we tracked the app and watched her progress, we stood outside in the cool and sometimes rainy weather, waiting anxiously to see her finish the race. We watched as she made her paces through Hopkinton, Ashland, Wellesley, Natick. We saw her pace slow a bit as she ran up and down the hills of Newton—the infamous Heartbreak Hill. And then we saw her gain speed again as she went through Brookline and finally crossed the Boston city line. My heart was pounding as I saw her turn right on Hereford Street and then left for the final stretch down Boylston Street. And then there she was, smiling, jubilant, and seemingly unfatigued by the 26.2 mile run.

And then there was the excitement of seeing her return to the hotel and the loud cheers and hugs and flowers and love that greeted her—not only by us, her parents, but by all those friends, co-workers, and guests who were there to cheer for her and support her.

What a day! These are the days that you dream about when you have children—the days that make all the worrying and hard work and sleepless nights worth it. The days that make you grateful for the gifts your children have given you with their passion, their love, their strength, and their commitment to being good and kind people determined to make the world better in many different ways.

 

 

Blumenfeld Cousins Hanukkah Zoom

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Last Thursday I was fortunate to be able to Zoom with thirteen of my Blumenfeld cousins—Omri, Richard, Jim, Steven, Milton, Kenny, Alan, Debbie, Simeon, Simone, Matthew, Max, and Michael. Some members of the group had known others for their entire lives; others of us had never met in person or otherwise before the Zoom. Most of the group are my fifth cousins—we are all descended from Abraham Katz Blumenfeld and Geitel Katz, who lived in Momberg, Germany, in the late 18th and early 19th centuries.

We span the globe—Omri from Israel, Richard from Switzerland, and the rest of us from the eastern seaboard of the US from as far north as Maine all the way to Florida. We come from a range of backgrounds—some of us (like me) having roots in the US since the mid-19th century, many of us the children of Holocaust survivors, and three of us born outside the US, one in Israel, one in Canada, and one in Italy. Our religious backgrounds also range from Orthodox Judaism to Christianity. Almost all of us fall into the Baby Boomer generation.

Yet despite our differences, our commonalities far outweigh those differences. We were moved by Omri’s lighting of the Hanukkiah from Israel and our combined voices singing Maoz Tzur. We shared stories of our own lives and the lives of our parents and grandparents. We found much to talk about and to learn from each other, including family heirlooms and family history. For some, learning that they had cousins, albeit distant, was a wonderful revelation because their own family story had not been connected to the larger Blumenfeld family tree.

My only regret is that in the midst of all the warmth, laughter, and stories, I forgot to take a screenshot of all of us on Zoom together. You will have to use your imagination. But here at least is a chart showing the descendants of Abraham Blumenfeld and Geitel Katz to the sixth generation (for most of us, our parents’ generation). It’s quite remarkable to see just how many people one couple generated through their children, grandchildren, and so on.

Overall, it was a wonderful hour for me—to share with those I’ve found through my research (or who found me through my blog or through other cousins) is the best reward of doing family history research. It helps to keep me motivated to continue the search.

UPDATE! Both Omri and Matthew did capture a screenshot of at least part of the group, so I can add these to the post.

Thank you to all who joined in. And I hope all my cousins, friends, and readers had a happy and meaningful holiday, whichever one you celebrated, and I wish you all a new year filled with love, peace, light, and meaning.

 

 

The Boston Marathon 2022

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As a mother, I have been blessed with many days that have brought me immeasurable joy and pride—the days my daughters were born, their first words, their first steps, their first days of school. Watching them perform on stage in theatrical and musical performances. Bat mitzvahs, graduations, a wedding, and the births of my grandchildren. Those are the big events. Then there are so many smaller events that have filled my heart with so much love and joy—when they’ve done something kind to a friend or family member, when they’ve made someone smile, when they’ve made me laugh until tears roll down my face. Being their mother has been a constant source of joy and pride.

Yes, there were and still are moments that I get exasperated with them. There were times I’ve lost my temper or said something too harsh. Times I was in too much of a rush or under too much stress to be as patient or attentive as I should have been. And there were times they also didn’t behave as I might have wanted them to. But overall being a mother has brought me the greatest challenges and the greatest rewards of my life.

Yesterday was one of those days of immeasurable joy and pride just as last October 11 had been when Maddy ran the Boston Marathon for the first time. Yesterday she did it again. Of course, I am proud of her determination and her hard work and her accomplishment of running 26.2 miles on one of the hardest marathon courses in the world. But it is more than that. So much more than that.

Maddy works at the Lenox Hotel in Boston, a beautiful old hotel with so much style and class that it puts any other hotel to shame. And it happens to be located just a block away from the Marathon finish line. It is the perfect place to watch the thousands of runners as they finally reach their goal after hours of running. You are a witness to all their excitement, exhaustion, and elation as they see that finish line in front of them. And so, of course, we stayed at the hotel to watch and to witness Maddy’s completion of the marathon for the second time.

From the moment we entered the hotel on Sunday night, we were treated like VIPs. Everyone told us how proud they were of Maddy, how excited they were, and how much they loved her. From the top management of the hotel to the woman who came to clean our room, we heard over and over again how kind she was, how special she was. What more could a parent ask for?

And then we waited and watched as the participants passed the Lenox. First, the amazing grit and determination of the wheelchair and hand-cycle participants, then the awe-inspiring runners who were pushing a loved one in a wheelchair through the racecourse, then the elite runners arriving in just over two hours, and then wave after wave of runners from all over the world of all ages.

The fourth wave were the runners who ran for charity, not based on a qualifying time, and in my mind, they are the most important of all. They are not doing it solely for the athletic challenge, but to make life better for others at the same time.

Maddy was in that fourth wave. In the three times she has raised money in order to run in the Marathon (the first time cancelled because of COVID), she has raised close to $50,000 from friends and family for the Boston Medical Center, a non-profit 514-bed academic hospital in Boston; its mission statement states that the hospital is “driven by a commitment to care for all people, regardless of their ability to pay, providing not only traditional medical care, but also programs and services that wrap around that care to enhance overall health.” Maddy’s ability to raise that kind of money for the hospital is a testament to how many people care about her and support her efforts.

As we waited for Maddy to approach the finish line, we tracked her on the Boston Athletic Association app. She was running with her friend Mo, and they stopped to send us a selfie they took as they passed the halfway mark at 13.1 miles—their big smiles glowing with pride and happiness. Maddy’s oldest and dearest friend Anna traveled from western Massachusetts with her family to stand along the race route to cheer Maddy on and give her a hug. Our cousins in Newton waited along Heartbreak Hill to cheer her on as well.

Anna and Maddy

And then we saw on the app that Maddy was crossing Mass Avenue and then turning onto Hereford Street and finally on to Boylston Street, just a few blocks away from where we were standing. We noticed that Mo was now trailing her just a bit and later learned that Mo had graciously told Maddy to run ahead—perhaps to get all her glory alone as she passed us, arms high, smile beaming, with her co-workers and friends and her parents yelling and screaming her name as she ran by and then crossed the finish line.

We then waited for her to return to the hotel, her home away from home, the place where so many who love her were waiting to cheer her accomplishment. As she walked in, the DJ played “Eye of the Tiger,” and the crowd cheered and applauded and then allowed us, her parents, to give her the first hugs.

And then, as she was being hugged and greeted by others, she noticed that the 95-year-old owner of the hotel was also in the lobby, sitting in a wheelchair, waiting to see her. Maddy went over and gave him a hug and spoke to him, and my heart almost exploded with pride and emotion.

So yes, yesterday was one of those days you dream of as a mother when you are raising a young child and hoping that they will grow up to be hard-working and determined and kind and generous. That they will be filled with joy and self-confidence. And most importantly, that they will be loved and loving.

I am so blessed that both of my daughters have fulfilled those dreams for me in so many ways. Rebecca, through her work fighting against gun violence and as a loving and devoted mother, wife, daughter, sister, and friend, has also given me many days of intense joy and pride. And yesterday was only one of the many days when Maddy has brought tears to my eyes with her kindness and love and joyfulness and her determination to do her best at whatever she does.

But yesterday—well, yesterday was one of those truly special days that I will always cherish.

My Mother

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To my readers.

I will be taking some time off from blogging. My mother died on Friday, February 11, 2022, and I need to take care of myself and my family. I will likely post something soon about my mother, but for now I leave you with a few photos of my beautiful, wonderful, beloved mother. I already miss her more than I can express.

Thanks for your support.

Amy

Florence Goldschlager 1931

Florence Goldschlager, c. 1944

Florence and John Cohen 1951

 

My mother and me, c. 1954

My parents

 

 

July 2021: Scenes of the Outer Cape

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I will be taking a break for the first two weeks in August, so I will leave you with some of the highlights of July in Wellfleet. See you soon!

Low tide at Indian Neck Beach:

A hike over Uncle Tim’s Bridge to Cannon Hill

My garden:

My cats:

After the storm:

Long Nook Beach in Truro, the ocean beach we frequented when I was a child:

That’s it for now. See you in August when I will return with stories about a whole new branch of the family tree!

One Thousand Posts

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This is the 1000th post I’ve published on this blog. It all started almost eight years ago when my cousin Judy Ruzicka, a Brotman second cousin, suggested that instead of emailing my research discoveries to all the Brotman cousins, I create a blog where people could subscribe and see my research. I had at that time read and followed a few blogs, but had never thought about creating one. Judy did the initial setup on WordPress, and I started to publish. Haltingly at first. Posting one census record or death record and adding a few words.

This was my first post. No commentary or analysis, just an image.

Bessie was Joseph's second wife and mother of five children

Bessie Brod Brotman Moskowitz—the first image I posted back in September 2013

And then it grew. I started realizing that I could tell stories about the relatives I was researching. I could put together narratives, and when I started doing that, I could see where I had holes in my research or where I needed more sources. And suddenly I found that I had more than my Brotman cousins reading along. I had other bloggers reading as well. And I started reading their blogs, and that gave me ideas for my own research and my own writing.

From there I discovered I could share my blog on Facebook and connect with more researchers and learn even more about family history research. The blog became a bigger and bigger part of my life. I at one point was posting three or four times a week and writing posts that were sometimes 3000 words. But I then learned that sometimes too much is too much. People didn’t want to read that much in one day or that often. So I cut my publishing schedule to twice a week and my post lengths to about 1000 words.

Then the best part started to happen. Cousins started to find me through my blog. Someone would Google their grandfather’s name or their great-grandmother’s name and find them mentioned on my blog. They would contact me, and I would learn more about that part of my family—often leading to photographs, letters, documents, and memoirs and memories. The blog itself became a way of advancing my research. Today I have connected with well over 200 living cousins, many because they found my blog.

Joseph Brotman’s headstone, the avatar I use for WordPress and for my blog

So as I post Number 1000, I wanted to stop and recognize and thank all those who have supported this endeavor by reading, commenting, sharing, and finding my blog. From Judy Ruzicka, who started it all, to all the family members, friends, and fellow genealogy and other bloggers who read the blog—whether periodically or regularly—thank you for giving me this platform to share and expand my family history project.

Now—on to post 1001! I will be taking a break to spend some time with my kids, but I’ll be back in a couple of weeks.