Wednesday, September 23, 2026

Life Memoir of Elizabeth (Putman) Sovereen (1820-1895) of Norfolk County, Ontario

 I wrote an AI-assisted ABC biography for  my 3rd great-grandmother Elizabeth (Putman) Sovereen in ABC Biography of #63 Elizabeth (Putman) Sovereen (1820-1895) of New York and Ontario, based on my genealogical research over 38 years. 

I wondered what Elizabeth (Putman) Sovereen might have told her grandchildren in a life memoir in 1901. I requested Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.6 to "Please write a life memoir for Elizabeth (Putman) Sovereen based on the attached biography, as she might tell her grandchildren in early 1895." 

(AI Gemini Notebook Infographic for Elizabeth (Putman) Sovereen's life memoir)

The AI Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.6 memoir (edited for accuracy and completeness) is:  


Elizabeth (Putman) Sovereen's Memoir

As told to her grandchildren in early 1895

My dear grandchildren, you ask me to tell you about my life, and though my body is weary and my years are many, I am grateful to have these stories to pass along to you. Come, sit near me. Let me tell you of the life I have lived—for it is a long one, and I want you to know where you come from.

Early Life

I was born on the first day of January in 1820, in Wayne, New York. Yes, the very first day of the new year! My mother, Sarah (Martin) Putman, always said it was a sign that I would have a long life, and perhaps she was right. I was the first daughter, and the fourth child of eight—five brothers and sisters besides myself. My parents, John Pieterse Putman and Sarah Martin, had married about 1810, and we were a large, happy family in those days.

New York was still very much a frontier when I was a girl. My father worked hard, and we knew the simple life of early America. But my most vivid memories are of the day Father gathered us all together and told us we were going to move to Upper Canada. I was perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old. Canada! It seemed like the edge of the world to us then. But families were moving north in those days, seeking new land and new opportunities, and so the Putmans joined that great migration.

The journey was difficult. I remember the cold, the uncertainty, and my mother's steady courage as we traveled northward with all our possessions. We settled in Norfolk County, Ontario, in a place called Windham Township. The land was rich and fertile, though untamed. There were forests to clear, land to work, and a community slowly building itself from the wilderness.

Alexander and Our Family

It was in Norfolk County that I met Alexander Sovereen. He was a young man, born in London District just a few years before me—December 22, 1814, in Upper Canada. His parents were Frederick Sovereen and Mary Jane Hutchison. When I was twenty years old, on the third day of March in 1840, Alexander and I were married. I became Elizabeth Sovereen, a farmer's wife, and I began my life's work in earnest.

Those early years of marriage were full of hope and hard work. Alexander was a good man—strong, industrious, and faithful. We built our home together on the farm in Windham. We were both baptized into the Baptist faith, and our church became the center of our lives. I threw myself into the work of the farm and the work of bearing and raising children.

My first child was Mary Jane, born on Christmas Eve in 1840—such a blessing to begin with a healthy baby girl! I remember holding her, thinking about all the years ahead. But children came quickly in those days. By 1844, we had three living children—though the birth of each new baby also brought the fear that, like so many babies we knew, they might not survive.

Motherhood in those days was not as it is for you now. Every pregnancy was a danger. Every birth was a trial. And far too often, the babies did not live. I buried my Frederick when he was just three years old—April 1846. He had been such a bright, beautiful boy. The pain of that loss... I cannot adequately describe it to you. I held him as he slipped away, and I wept as I never had before.

But I had to go on. That is what we did in those days—we grieved, we wept, but we went on. There were other children who needed me. There was work to be done. Life demanded it.

The years between 1840 and 1867 blur together now in my memory. Twenty-seven years of bearing children, twenty-seven years of watching over their cradles, of hoping and praying each one would live. In all, I gave birth to fourteen children. Fourteen times I felt the pain of labor. Fourteen times I hoped for a healthy child. But the Lord called home six of them—some lived only days, some only months. Rosella lived not even a full day. Little Amart Ann made it to two years old before a childhood illness took her. Rachel lasted only fifteen months.

I learned to love them even knowing they might be taken from me. That sounds strange to you, I know, but you must understand—when you hold your own child, whether they live for a day or for forty years, you love them completely. The grief never fully leaves you. Even now, at seventy-five, I think of those small graves in Delhi Cemetery, and my heart aches.

But seven of my children lived to adulthood, and for that I praise God. Mary Jane, my firstborn, married James Abraham Kemp and gave me five grandchildren. She died in 1874, far too young at thirty-three, and that loss struck me deeply—to lose a child who had reached womanhood and motherhood herself. Gertrude married John H. Cole, and Sarah Adelaide married Frederick Hugh Crabb. Nancy Amelia wed Robert Charles Wheeler. Hattie—my dear Hetty—married Flavius Josephus Gillett. And my younger sons, Alexander Blake and Wilbert Melvin, also married and gave me grandchildren.

The Farm

My work as a farm wife was never-ending. I churned butter—many pounds of it each week. I made cheese. I tended a large garden that provided vegetables for our table and for preserving. I raised poultry. I canned and preserved food for the long winters. I spun yarn and made cloth. I cooked three meals a day for a growing household—and later, when Alexander became an innkeeper as well as a farmer, I cooked for travelers too. I washed and cleaned. I did the laundry, drawing water from the well, heating it over the fire, scrubbing clothes on a washboard by hand.

This was women's work, and it was never finished. From dawn to dusk, there was always something that needed to be done. Some days I felt as though I might collapse from the exhaustion. But my hands kept working, and I kept going, because my family depended upon me.

Later In Life

The community of Windham Township became my home. The Baptist church was our center—Sunday services were sacred to us. We knew our neighbors, we helped one another in times of need, we worked together to build something lasting in this remote land. I remember when we first arrived, there was so little—just the forest and the sky and the promise of what we might build. Gradually, over the decades, it became a real community. Farms were established. A church was built. Roads were improved.

Alexander was a hard worker too. Beyond the farm, he became an innkeeper, which meant our home was open to travelers. That brought additional work for me, but it also connected us to the wider world. Travelers came through with news and stories from distant places. Our home became known as a place of hospitality.

Through it all, my faith sustained me. I believed that God had a plan, even when I could not understand it. Why did six of my babies die? Why did Mary Jane pass away before her time? These questions weighed upon me. But I trusted that my Heavenly Father knew what He was doing, and that one day I would understand. My Baptist faith taught me that this world is not all there is—that there is a better world beyond, where pain and loss are no more.

The censuses taken over the years capture glimpses of our life. In 1851, I was thirty with three children at home. By 1861, I was managing a household of nine people. By 1871, we had grandchildren coming along. And by 1891, Alexander was seventy-six years old, still farming with hired help, and I was seventy-two. We were blessed to live long lives and to see our grandchildren growing up.

Now I am at the end of my journey. My body is failing, and I can feel that the Lord is calling me home. I do not fear death—I have lived a full life, a hard life, a life full of both joy and sorrow. I have loved deeply, worked hard, and tried always to do right by my family and my God.

Remember This

I want you to remember this: Life is not easy. It never was, and I suspect it never will be. You will face hardship and loss. You will know grief that seems unbearable. But if you are faithful, if you work hard, if you love your family and serve your community, you will build something of lasting value. That is my legacy to you—not wealth or ease, but the example of a life lived with courage, faith, and love.

Take care of one another. Love your children, even when they break your heart. Be faithful to your God and to your community. Work honestly and with your whole heart. Preserve your family's stories, because where you come from matters. I am proud to be a Putman and a Sovereen, and I am proud to have brought so many of you into this world.

Now, come closer and let me hold your hand. Tell me your names again. I want to remember each one of you as I prepare to meet my Maker. You are my greatest treasure—not gold or land, but you, my children and grandchildren. That is what matters in the end.

I love you all. Remember me kindly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elizabeth Putman Sovereen passed away on March 17, 1895, in Delhi, Ontario, and was buried in Delhi Cemetery alongside her beloved husband, Alexander, who followed her twelve years later.

===========================

The Video Overview of Rebecca (Spangler) Carringer's life memoir, created by the Google Gemini Notebook AI tool, is on my YouTube channel, and below:   

This is historical fiction, based on my own genealogical research and family records. It is what Elizabeth (Putman) Sovereen might have told her grandchildren in 1895.  

I edited the Claude memoir text to correct minor inconsistencies and errors. Every large language model (LLM) AI tool writes descriptive text much better than I can write. The AI tools are very perceptive, insightful and inspiring, creating engaging text in seconds, including local and national historical events and social history detail when requested.

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Links to my blog posts about using Artificial Intelligence are on my Randy's AI and Genealogy page. Links to AI information and articles about Artificial Intelligence in Genealogy by other genealogists are on my AI and Genealogy Compendium page.

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

The URL for this post is: 

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post. Share it on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below. Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com. Please note that all comments are moderated, and may not appear immediately.

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Randy and Linda In Stockholm, Sweden in 1999 -- (Not So) Wordless Wednesday #934

 This is a priceless (to me) image in my computer file folders from the Seaver family collection:


This photograph was taken in August 1999 in downtown Stockholm, Sweden.  We were at the first stop of our three-week Scandinavian tour.  From here we went to Tornio, Finland; Helsinki, Finland; Tallinn, Estonia; Oslo Norway; Voss, Norway; and Bergen, Norway.  

That is Linda and I enjoying the sun, the breeze, the swcenery, and bottled water after our dinner at this outside restaurant. I have no memory of the name of this restaurant.  

NOTE:  I used the MyHeritage photo tools to sharpen and colorize this image.

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The URL for this post is:  

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post. Share it on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below. Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com.    I moderate all comments and they may not appear immediately - please write only one comment.

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Tuesday, September 22, 2026

Genealogy News Bytes -- Week of 16 to 22 September 2026

   Welcome to Genealogy News Bytes, posted on Tuesday afternoon for the past week, where we try to highlight the most important genealogy and family history news  items that came across our desktop since the last issue.    


1)  Genealogy Research and Family History News Articles:








*  Pirates: A True (and Surprising) History [Family Tree Magazine]


*  Massachusetts Has First State Normal Schools [New England Historical Society]



2)  DNA Testing and Genetic Genealogy

3)  Genealogy Book/Magazine Notices and Reviews:

 Book Review: Echoes in the Blood [GenealogyAtHeart.com]

*  WDYTYA Magazine: October 2026 [Anglo-Celtic Connecti9ons]

4)  Genealogy Software/Web Apps/Mobile Apps

 Field Notes - Mapping Tool #5 [Jason Duncan - webjmd]


5)  New or Updated Genealogy Digital Record Collections:






*  325 online Canadian newspaper links added to The Ancestor Hunt [The Ancestor Hunt]

6)  Did you miss the last post in this series?  See Genealogy News Bytes - Week of 9 to 15 September 2026.


                          =========================================


Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post.  Share it on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below.  Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com.  
Note that all comments are moderated, and may not appear immediately.

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Using Artificial Intelligence To Create Images and Animation

My devoted readers know that I love to use Artificial Intelligence to create stories and graphics, and I often take time to make funny stories or graphics, usually about myself.

In the past two weeks, after seeing what my friends and colleagues on Facebook have done, I created:

1)  AI asked ChatGPT5 "Create an infographic for What you know about me?" and uploaded a recent photograph, and it created:


2)  My Facebook colleagues also came up with a Sketchbook idea, so I asked ChatGPT5 to "Create a Sketchbook infographic about me and my work."


That has many of the same features as the first infographic, just expressed differently.

3)  Some of my Facebook friends suggested making an Action Figure card using a photograph of yourself.  So I asked ChatGPT5 to "Show me what I'd look like as an action figure. It should be in a clear blister pack and look like like a collectible action figure with small, themed accessories and a matching colored cardboard backing. The product should look like a small retail toy" and uploaded an image created with the MyHeritage Time Machine feature of a Historian:

4)  But I noticed that there was no real "Action" there, so I asked ChatGPT5 to "Create a swashbuckling genealogist as an action figure? He might be fighting through a stream of land deeds or probate records in a county office" and the result was:


That's better!!!  

But wait.  Steve Little posed on Facebook today about Meta/Facebook's new Muse.ai tool that can create animation of an image (I know, other tools do this too, but I wanted to test out Muse.ai).

5)  I asked Muse.ai to eliminate eveeything but the swashbuckling Randy image and "Can you animate the genealogist -- swinging the sword, dancing, etc." 

Of course it can (the bonus is it added audio to the 10-seconde video):


6)  And my real-life friends wonder what I do all day holed in my genealogy cave!  

I'm still having great genealogy fun with my AI assistants, who have a great sense of humor and skills that I don't dream of having. 

None of these requests take very long - several minutes to create an image and video. I usually request them on the spur of the moment.

Everything I've done to date the past three years has been with FREE Artificial Intelligence tools.

My motto has changed now -- "Life is short, do genealogy first and celebrate with ice cream."

7)  What does your Action Figure look like?  Can you use AI to create images of an imaginary you?  And a short video?  Explore! Have fun!!  Amuse yourself (and your friends)!!! Maybe this should be a Saturday Night Genealogy Fun topic!

                    ==============================================

Links to my blog posts about using Artificial Intelligence are on my Randy's AI and Genealogy page. Links to AI information and articles about Artificial Intelligence in Genealogy by other genealogists are on my AI and Genealogy Compendium page.


Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post.  Share it on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below.  Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com. Note that all comments are moderated, and may not appear immediately.

Subscribe to receive a free daily email from Genea-Musings using www.Blogtrottr.com.

Emily and Lyle’s Story: The Honeymoon and Back To Work, June 1918

 Here is the latest chapter in the story of the courtship and early married life and times of my maternal grandparents, Emily Auble and Lyle Carringer, who married in June 1918. The background information and the list of chapters of their life together are listed at the end of this post.  This is historical fiction with real people and real events, and is how it might have been.

And now we are up to 20 June 1918, and the wedding day is over, and the honeymoon starts now.

I asked my AI Assistant Anthropic Claude to tell the story of Emily and Lyle on their honeymoon and the days after 19 June 1918 (I offered helpful suggestions...).  

             (AI Google Notebook Infographic -- The Honeymoon and Back To Work, June 1918)


Emily and Lyle’s Story – The Honeymoon and

 Back To Work, June 1918


The Day After — Ocean Beach

They woke late on Thursday, by the standards of Lyle's usual PX schedule, and took a leisurely breakfast in the room before dressing and making their way, mid-morning, back to 30th Street to collect Austin's automobile, as arranged the day before.

Austin handed over the keys with a few brief instructions about the choke and a piece of advice about the route to Sunset Cliffs Boulevard that Lyle only half-listened to, eager as he was to be on the road with his new wife beside him. Della sent them off with a small basket of rolls and fruit "in case the diner's line is long," which it was not, but which they appreciated all the same on the drive out.

Ocean Beach in late June was bright and busy once the morning low clouds retreated westward, the Pacific exactly as cold as Lyle remembered from the previous summer's outings before he'd enlisted, and they left their shoes on the sand and waded in together, laughing at the shock of the water, Emily's skirt pinned up with the same pragmatic efficiency she'd shown at La Jolla months before their engagement. They swam properly for a while once the cold had lost its power to surprise them, and afterward lay on the warm sand drying in the sun, Emily's head on Lyle's shoulder, both of them entirely unhurried in a way that neither had experienced together before — no trolley to catch, no Liberty Pass expiring, no three o'clock deadline pulling at the edges of the day.

"This is what it's like now," Emily said, watching the waves. "No clock."

"There's always a clock," Lyle said. "Mine starts again Friday morning."

"Not today, though." She turned her head to look at him. "Today there's no clock at all."

They ate lunch at the small diner near the pier — the same one from the year before, the same tomato soup and grilled cheese that had sustained them on their courting days, eaten now as a married couple with Lyle's new ring catching the light when he reached for the salt.

In the afternoon they drove back toward town, stopping first at Harrison Avenue to change clothes and then at First and Hawthorn to collect Georgia, who was waiting on the porch with her good coat already on and an expression that suggested she had been ready for some time and was pleased, though she would not have said so directly, to be included in the day.

"How was the water?" Georgia asked, settling into the automobile's back seat.

"Cold," Emily said. "Perfect."

"I assumed as much," Georgia said, and that was the whole of her commentary on the matter, though she reached forward and briefly squeezed Emily's shoulder in a gesture that said considerably more than the words had.

Dinner at 30th Street that evening was quieter than the wedding celebration had been — just the family again, Della's cooking, the particular comfort of an ordinary evening made extraordinary by what had happened the day before. Austin asked about the automobile's performance on the way to the beach with the specific interest of a man who cared about such things, and Lyle reported that the choke had behaved exactly as described, which pleased Austin considerably.

By the time Charlie collected them again — his chauffeuring duties apparently extending through the full length of the honeymoon, a fact he mentioned with theatrical long-suffering that fooled no one, least of all himself — the June evening had settled into the particular gold-then-grey light that San Diego did so well, and Lyle and Emily returned to the U.S. Grant for their final night as newlyweds still officially on honeymoon, before Friday morning and the ten-hour shift and the whole ordinary architecture of married life reasserted itself.

The Last Honeymoon Night

The second night held less of the wonder of the first — not because it mattered less, but because wonder of that particular kind arrives once and then settles, appropriately, into something steadier and no less precious for being familiar. They talked again, more easily now, already building the private shorthand of two people who have decided to spend every remaining night of their lives in the same room. They spoke of the house on Harrison Avenue, of Georgia's move still to come at month's end, of Lyle's Monday shift and Emily's own return to Marston's later in the week, of the whole ordinary future stretching out ahead of them, made extraordinary simply by being shared.

"Tomorrow we go back to it," Emily said, as the lamp burned low. "The clock starts again."

"It does," Lyle agreed. "But we go back to it together now. That's the whole difference."

"It's a considerable difference," Emily said, and settled against him, and they slept their second night as husband and wife with the bay dark and quiet beyond the window, and Monday waiting, unhurried, for its turn to arrive.

Friday

The honeymoon was over early on Friday morning – Lyle needed to go to work at the PX on the base by 7 a.m. They ate a quick breakfast at the hotel cafe, Emily kissed Lyle goodbye, and Lyle caught the trolley to Balboa Park to work. Emily had the day off from work, and she walked to visit her mother at Hawthorn Street. Emily worked in Georgia’s small garden and rested a bit.

After work, Lyle went to Hawthorn Street, took Emily to dinner at Tivoli’s, and then they went to their new home on Harrison Avenue for their first night together there. Exhaustion! Happiness! Love!. Sleep.

Saturday Morning

The alarm at 2064 Harrison Avenue rang at half past five, and Lyle woke in his own bed, in his own house, with his wife beside him, and thought that this was a very good way to begin a Monday.

Emily stirred as he rose. "You're not late," she said, without opening her eyes fully.

"I'm never late," Lyle said, which was true, and which she knew, and which she said anyway most mornings because it was a comfortable thing to say.

The kitchen still bore the faint disorganization of a household not yet fully settled — Georgia's pots in the cupboard nearest the stove, in her order, but the coffee kept in a different tin than either Lyle or Emily instinctively reached for, so that both of them opened the wrong cupboard first before remembering. Emily made coffee while Lyle dressed, and they ate a hurried breakfast together at the small kitchen table — the first of what would become several thousand such breakfasts, though neither of them thought of it that way yet, being still new enough to the arrangement that every ordinary thing felt faintly remarkable.

"Marston's at eight," Emily said, checking the small clock on the shelf.

"PX at seven." Lyle finished his coffee standing, the old habit from the barracks not yet worn off. "Ten hours today. I'll be home by six."

"I'll have something ready," Emily said, and then paused, visibly trying the sentence out for size — I'll have something ready, said by a wife to a husband, in her own kitchen, for the first time in earnest rather than in rehearsal. She smiled slightly at herself. "That's a strange thing to hear myself say."

"Get used to it," Lyle said, kissing her before he left. "I intend to hear it a great many more times."

He caught the trolley at the corner, two blocks from the house, and rode it toward Balboa Park through a San Diego Saturday that looked, to every outside appearance, exactly like every other Saturday the city had produced that summer — except that Lyle Carringer rode it now as a married man, which altered nothing about the scenery and altered a great deal about how he saw it.

Corporal Briggs looked up when Lyle reported for his shift and studied him for a moment with the particular scrutiny Briggs reserved for inventory discrepancies and, apparently, newly married privates.

"Married," Briggs said. It was not a question.

"Wednesday. Married Wednesday."

"Congratulations." Briggs said the word the way he said most words, without excess, but he extended his hand, and the handshake that followed was longer and firmer than Briggs's handshakes typically ran. "Harrison Avenue treating you well?"

"Very well, Corporal. Our first night there was last night."

"Good street," Briggs said again, as he had back in May, and returned to the ledger, the conversation closed, the congratulations delivered and received in the economical Briggs fashion that Lyle had long since learned to value precisely because it cost Briggs something to offer at all.

Saturday — First and Hawthorn

Saturday night brought them both to First and Hawthorn Street for dinner, the house now considerably emptier than it had been even at the wedding, Georgia's notice to vacate ticking down toward its June 30th deadline with the particular relentlessness that deadlines have regardless of how well one has planned around them.

Georgia met them at the door with the expression of a woman who has spent the week packing boxes and has developed strong opinions about the process.

"You'll want to see what's left," she said, by way of greeting, and led them through rooms that had, over the preceding ten days, been steadily reduced to their essential furniture and a scattering of boxes labeled in Georgia's precise hand: KITCHEN — FRAGILE. LINENS. GEORGIA'S ROOM — NOT YET.

Dinner was simple — Georgia had been cooking around the packing rather than for any particular occasion, and served them a plain but satisfying meal of chicken and vegetables at a table that itself would need to make the journey to Harrison Avenue before the month was out.

"How was the first few days?" Georgia asked, once they were settled.

"Good," Emily said. "We enjoyed the two days off, did some looking and shopping and even went out to the beach!"

"Corporal Briggs congratulated me," Lyle offered. "At some length, for Briggs."

"What did he say?"

"'Congratulations.' One word. Followed by a handshake that lasted four seconds longer than his handshakes generally last."

Georgia considered this. "For a man like that, four seconds is practically a wedding toast."

They talked through dinner about the coming week's logistics — Georgia's larger furniture, the bed frame and the wardrobe from her room, still needing transport before the thirtieth, and the question of whether Austin's automobile or a hired dray would prove more practical for the heaviest pieces. Georgia had opinions, delivered with her customary economy, about which items mattered enough to preserve carefully and which could be left behind without regret, a distinction she drew with the particular clarity of someone who had already moved a household twice before, from Chicago to San Diego in 1911, and from house to apartment in 1916 after her husband died, with considerably less warning and considerably more at stake.

After dinner, the three of them sat for a while on the mostly bare front porch, First and Hawthorn quieter now than it had been in years, watching the June evening settle over the street that had been Emily's whole life until ten days before.

"Will you miss this house?" Lyle asked Georgia, careful in how he asked it.

Georgia was quiet for a moment, looking at the street, the porch, the door she had opened and closed some hundreds of times over two years. "I'll miss what happened in it," she said finally. "Emily grew up in these rooms. That matters more than the rooms themselves." She stood, gathering the evening to a close with her usual decisiveness. "The house is just boards and plaster. I'm not sentimental about boards and plaster. I'm sentimental about considerably less replaceable things."

She did not elaborate, and neither Lyle nor Emily asked her to, understanding that this was as close as Georgia Auble generally came to saying something tender outright.

Sunday — 30th Street

Sunday's dinner at 2015 30th Street carried the easy familiarity of a tradition now fully re-established — the newlyweds arriving at the family table not as guests being specially accommodated but as the married couple whose Sunday presence was simply expected, the way it had been expected on Thursdays for the twelve months before.

Della had cooked generously, as she generally did on Sundays, and the table held roast chicken and vegetables from the garden and rolls that disappeared with their customary speed. Austin asked after the days at the PX with genuine interest, and Lyle described Briggs's four-second handshake, which Austin found sufficiently amusing to repeat to Edgar, who had arrived slightly late and missed the original telling.

"Four seconds," Edgar said. "For Briggs, that's practically an embrace."

"That's exactly what Georgia said," Emily noted.

"Georgia is a woman of sound judgment," Abbie said from her chair, which was, from Abbie, high praise indeed, delivered in the tone of someone confirming a verdict rather than offering a compliment.

The conversation moved easily through the meal — Austin's week at Rockwell Field, a new training class arrived from the Midwest that had, in Austin's telling, considerably more enthusiasm than aptitude, though he expressed confidence this would correct itself with practice; Della's garden, which had produced its first real tomato crop of the season, a fact she mentioned with a sideways glance toward Georgia's absent competitive commentary on the subject, since Georgia's own tomato ambitions from the previous summer remained a matter of family legend.

"You'll have to tell your mother," Della said to Emily. "Three tomatoes already, and it's barely the solstice."

"She'll want the count," Emily said. "She keeps precise track of these things."

After dinner, when the dishes had been cleared and the family had settled into the parlor for the unhurried remainder of a Sunday evening, Lyle raised the matter he'd been planning to raise all through dinner.

"Father," he said. "Could I borrow the automobile on Thursday? Georgia has furniture that needs moving to Harrison Avenue before the thirtieth, and Thursday is my next Liberty day, and it seems as good a time as any to make a start on it, while I have the entire day."

"Take it as long as you need it," he said. "I'll come along, if you'd like an extra pair of hands. Moving a bed frame alone is a good way to put your back out, and you'll want your back in working order for the next day's shift.

"I wouldn't say no to the help," Lyle admitted.

Edgar, overhearing, volunteered himself as well, on the grounds that three men moving furniture accomplished the job in considerably better time than two. Austin said “Maybe Davey can help too."

To be continued...

==============================

Here is the Video Overview of this story by Google NotebookLM (also on my YouTube channel here):   

This is historical fiction based on the facts that are available for the life and family of my maternal grandparents, Lyle and Emily(Auble) Carringer.  It is based on my research, social history and society norms at the time and place, and it is likely realistic. It might have happened this way. In this case, I don't know what their swedding rings looked like. I do know where they resided after their marriage.

Stay tuned for the next chapters in this family story.

                                                          ==========================

The AI-assisted biography of my maternal grandmother is in ABC Biography of #7 Emily Kemp (Auble) Carringer (1899-1977) of Illinois and California. I wrote a story about her life in 1916 in Ask AI: Describe Emily Auble's Life After the Death of Her Father In 1916.

The AI-assisted biography of my maternal grandfather is in ABC Biography of #6 Lyle Lawrence Carringer (1891-1976) of San Diego, California. I wrote a story about Lyle being a young working man in 1916 being teased about being boring in Lyle's Story: Finding Courage in 1916-1917.

Then I wrote more chapters of their life together:                   
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Links to my blog posts about using Artificial Intelligence are on my Randy's AI and Genealogy page.  Links to AI information and articles about Artificial Intelligence in Genealogy by other genealogists are on my AI and Genealogy Compendium page.

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver


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Monday, September 21, 2026

Randy's Genealogy Pot-Pourri - Week Ending 20 September 2026

Here are the highlights of my family history and genealogy related activities over the past week (ending Sunday, 20 September 2026). 

1)  Hosted and moderated the Chula Vista Genealogical Society (CVGS) Family History Roundtable p Meeting on Wednesday and we told our stories about our occupations, and then I reviewed using Google Search AI and AI LLMs to describe family life in a palce and time. 

2)  Attended the San Diego Genealogical Society (SDGS) British Isles Interest Group on Zoom on Saturday, with Colin Whitney discussing "Records Between the Censuses."  

3)  Presented my "From Census to Story: Bringing Ancestors To Life With Evidence, Context, and AI” talk to the GeneaBloggers group on Zoom on Sunday.  

4)  Curated genealogy-related articles to keep myself and my readers updated on the genealogy world in:

9)  Wrote an AI-assisted short story about my maternal grandparents lives and romance on Genea-Musings and Substack:
10)  Housekeeping -- updated my Randy's AI and Genealogy page and added to the AI-assisted story  compendiums. Added a number of the recent Google Notebook Videos to my YouTube channel at https://www.youtube.com/@RandySeaver (now 485 videos).

11)  Searched for more records of ancestral families on Ancestry, FamilySearch and MyHeritage, downloaded record images to my digital file folders, and added research notes, events and sources to RootsMagic profiles.  My RootsMagic family tree now has 75,138 profiles (up 3 from last week)  and 148,156 source citations (up 5).  

12)  My AncestryDNA test now has 52,527 DNA matches (up 43 from last week) with 2,223  "close" matches (20 cM or more) today (up 1), with two new ThruLines.  Added Notes to no Matches, and added no new DNA match lines to RootsMagic. MyHeritageDNA test now has 14,966 DNA matches (up 25 from last week) for me, with 26 Theories of Family Relativity.  

13) Wrote 21 Genea-Musings blog posts last week (Sunday through Saturday), of which two were a press release. The most viewed post last week was  Added and Updated FamilySearch Record Collections - Week of 12 to 18 September 2026 with 444 views.  Genea-Musings had about 152,000 page views last week and over 626,000 views over the past month (lots of bots I think). 

14)  Real life events:  Visited Linda several days this past week at her memory care facility.  Went to the grocery store on Monday and Friday.  Continued reading The Dover Trunk Murder by Nathan Dylan Goodwin. Watched the Padres games - they were 6-1 this past week and are 87-69. Watched the San Diego State Aztecs football gmw and they lost to James Madison 26-13 so now 1-2.  Watched the Chargers game and they lost 26-14 to the Raiders (so now 0-2).. 

NOTE:  I spent about 30 hours on these genealogy activities this week,  learned quite a bit, and had some genealogy fun!

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The URL for this post is:  https://www.geneamusings.com/2026/09/randys-genealogy-pot-pourri-week-ending_0226754601.html
 
Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post. Share it on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below. Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com. Please note that all comments are moderated and may not appear immediately.

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