by Christine Adams Beckett
It seems appropriate, in light of Monday’s post, to reiterate that we all reside in One Full Circle. The tiny bit of genetic material that makes us different and interesting is also a manifestation of a trait that once enabled us to survive.
Four years ago, I began an e-mail correspondence with a man named Claude who lives in a tiny town in New Brunswick Canada, who was helping my family fill in the gaps of our family tree, a planned 50th anniversary present for my parents. He was an enthusiastic man who worked for a genealogical research organization, and could boast more than 200,000 names on his database. We were simply looking for more information about my maternal grandmother, who was born in Bathurst, spent some of her time in a Canadian orphanage before running away, working for a candy factory to feed herself, presumably, and ultimately marrying my grandfather. They relocated to Connecticut in 1926.
My grandmother was an earthy woman, who loved to tell tales about her background. She spoke Canadian French with her omnipresent sister whenever she needed to share a story with her, but not necessarily her other…
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