Retired and loving it! Genealogy is keeping me busy. I have met many wonderful relatives thru this web site in the U.S., Canada, Lithuania, Australia and New Zealand. I enjoy sharing my information with anyone who is truly interested. Please do contact me!


"We inherit from our ancestors gifts so often taken for granted... Each of us contains within us this inheritance of soul. We are links between the ages, containing past and present expectations, sacred memories and future promise."
- Edward Sellner -


Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone,
The name and date are chiseled out
In weathered red sandstone.
It reaches out to all who care
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist.
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
Two hundred years ago
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so.
I wonder where you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot,
And come to visit you.

~ Author Unknown ~


- They shall grow not old,
as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them,
nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them. -

~ Lawrence Binyon ~

Retired and loving it! Genealogy is keeping me busy. I have met many wonderful relatives thru this web site in the U.S., Canada, Lithuania, Australia and New Zealand. I enjoy sharing my information with anyone who is truly interested. Please do contact me!


"We inherit from our ancestors gifts so often taken for granted... Each of us contains within us this inheritance of soul. We are links between the ages, containing past and present expectations, sacred memories and future promise."
- Edward Sellner -


Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone,
The name and date are chiseled out
In weathered red sandstone.
It reaches out to all who care
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist.
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
Two hundred years ago
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so.
I wonder where you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot,
And come to visit you.

~ Author Unknown ~


- They shall grow not old,
as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them,
nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them. -

~ Lawrence Binyon ~