Hello, I'm Dianne.
I live about halfway between Seattle and Vancouver, B.C.
I've been interested in genealogy since I was about 12. That summer I found a bunch of papers in my grandmother's garage. Being a big reader, I sat on a dusty box for the entire afternoon and learned that my grandfather and great-grandfather had put together a very detailed family history during the 1920's. I kept every page I found that day, and have been continuously adding to their work by citing references, finding certificates, and, of course, trying to find cousins and other descendants.
My grandmother and mother used to take me to the cemetery when I was a kid each year on Memorial Day. Grandma would make sure her husband had his veteran's flag and would put those weird plastic flowers on his headstone and we'd trim up the grass around the grave. I'd walk around the cemetery reading and admiring the artistic metal and stonework and the quiet, parklike setting. When grandma was little, once a year her mother would sit with a little jar of white paint and would painstakingly paint each letter that was inscribed in her husband's stone. I'd walk around the cemetery reading and admiring the artistic metal and stonework and the quiet, parklike setting.
Yep, here I am years later still doing the same thing.

Hello, I'm Dianne.
I live about halfway between Seattle and Vancouver, B.C.
I've been interested in genealogy since I was about 12. That summer I found a bunch of papers in my grandmother's garage. Being a big reader, I sat on a dusty box for the entire afternoon and learned that my grandfather and great-grandfather had put together a very detailed family history during the 1920's. I kept every page I found that day, and have been continuously adding to their work by citing references, finding certificates, and, of course, trying to find cousins and other descendants.
My grandmother and mother used to take me to the cemetery when I was a kid each year on Memorial Day. Grandma would make sure her husband had his veteran's flag and would put those weird plastic flowers on his headstone and we'd trim up the grass around the grave. I'd walk around the cemetery reading and admiring the artistic metal and stonework and the quiet, parklike setting. When grandma was little, once a year her mother would sit with a little jar of white paint and would painstakingly paint each letter that was inscribed in her husband's stone. I'd walk around the cemetery reading and admiring the artistic metal and stonework and the quiet, parklike setting.
Yep, here I am years later still doing the same thing.