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Tag: writers_life

⭐ A BIRTHDAY STORY FOR FORREST

I had been researching my grandson, Forrest’s family line and discovered the name Isaac Pemberton — a Philadelphia Quaker who lived during Revolutionary times. As I imagined what it might feel like for Forrest to receive this ancestor’s story as a birthday gift today, the picture of a small leather-bound booklet came to mind. Inside it, he discovers the tale of a man who stood for peace when the world demanded war. This is that story — written for Forrest, and shared here for anyone who values courage of conscience. Happy Birthday, Forrest!


THE MAN WHO WOULDN’T RAISE A GUN

A Birthday Story for Forrest

(Based on the life and era of Isaac Pemberton, Philadelphia Quaker, 1775)

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🌿 Prologue — The Package

Forrest didn’t expect anything in the mail that day. Bills, sure. A flyer or two. But not a small, hand‑wrapped parcel with his name written in his grandmother’s handwriting — the kind that looks like it took some time.

Inside was a leather-bound booklet, soft and worn, like something meant to be kept. The first page held only a single line:

“Every family has someone who stood up when it mattered.”

He turned the page.

And the story began.


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🌿 Chapter One — A City on Edge

Philadelphia, 1775.

The city was loud with talk of war. Blacksmiths hammered iron into musket barrels. Tavern doors swung open with arguments spilling into the street. Men gathered in clusters, whispering about rebellion, loyalty, and the price of freedom.

But inside the quiet of the Quaker meeting house, Isaac Pemberton sat with his hands folded, listening for the stillness he believed God spoke through.

He was twenty‑three — the same age Forrest once was when life felt heavy and uncertain. Isaac wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t a politician. He was a craftsman, a helper, a man who believed peace wasn’t weakness but discipline.

One morning, militia officers arrived at the meeting house with enrollment papers. Every able-bodied man was expected to sign. The officers stood at the front, calling names, handing out quills.

Isaac felt his heart pounding. He knew what refusal would cost him. He knew what people would say.

But he stepped forward anyway.

“I cannot raise a gun against any man God has made.”

The room went silent.

Some men looked away. Some shook their heads. One officer muttered under his breath. But Isaac didn’t waver.

He set the quill down.

And walked out.

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🌿 Chapter Two — The Cost of Conscience

Refusing the militia wasn’t just unpopular — it was illegal.

Within weeks, Isaac’s tools were seized. His horse was taken. He was fined more than he could pay. Neighbors whispered that he was a coward. Others said he was a traitor. Some stopped speaking to him altogether.

But Isaac kept working.

He repaired fences for widows whose husbands had gone to war. He carried water for the sick. He shared bread with families who had less than he did. He helped anyone who knocked on his door.

He refused violence, but he never refused people.

One afternoon, a group of men confronted him in the street.

“War is coming,” one said. “You’ll let others fight for your freedom?”

Isaac answered softly, “I will work for peace as hard as you work for war.”

They didn’t understand. Most wouldn’t. But Isaac didn’t expect them to.

Courage, he believed, wasn’t always loud.

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🌿 Chapter Three — The Night of the Wounded Man

It was late when Isaac heard the knock.

A young soldier — barely older than Forrest — collapsed at his doorstep, bleeding from a skirmish outside the city. His uniform was torn, his face pale, his breath shallow.

Isaac lifted him, carried him inside, and tended his wounds with steady hands. He boiled water, tore cloth, whispered prayers.

The soldier looked at him through half‑closed eyes.

“Why help me?” he asked. “I’d have shot you.”

Isaac didn’t hesitate.

“Peace isn’t so much a belief,” he said. “It’s a practice.”

The soldier survived. Isaac never told anyone. Not the meeting. Not the militia. Not even his family.

Some acts of courage don’t need witnesses.

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🌿 Chapter Four — The Quiet Rebel

Years passed. The war raged. Isaac continued to refuse militia service, loyalty oaths, and anything that required him to harm another person.

He wasn’t loud about it. He didn’t make speeches. He didn’t argue in taverns. He simply lived his conviction every day, even when it cost him.

He wrote his story in a small journal — not to boast, but to remind future generations that courage comes in many forms.

He wrote:

“Some men fight with muskets.
Some fight with conscience.
Both require bravery.”

Those words became the final page Forrest read.

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🌿 Epilogue — Forrest

Forrest closed the booklet and sat quietly.

He didn’t know everything about his ancestor, the “first American conscientious objector.”He didn’t know everything about his own future. But he knew this:

He came from someone who stood firm when the world shook.

Someone who chose peace when anger was easier.

Someone who survived hardship without losing himself.

And maybe — just maybe — that strength runs in him too.


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Stories like Isaac Pemberton’s remind us that courage doesn’t always look like battlefields or banners. Sometimes it looks like a single person standing quietly, refusing to bend against the weight of the world. I wrote this for Forrest, but I share it here because we all need reminders that strength can be gentle, and that peace can be brave. May this story — and the blessing that follows — be a light for anyone walking their own uncertain road.

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🌿 Closing Blessing

A Blessing for Your Path

May the road before you be steady, and may your steps be guided by the quiet wisdom that lives within you.


May you find courage in gentleness, strength in compassion, and clarity in every new beginning.


May the God who shaped your ancestors shape your days with peace, purpose, and a light that never dims.


And may you always remember: you are part of a story still being written — one marked by resilience, hope, and the quiet bravery of choosing what is right.

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✨ One Year Later: An Update on What Motivates Me

About a year ago, I wrote a post about what motivates me. My answer then was simple: love. The love of my family, the love of my Heavenly Father, and the love I feel when I think of our Founding Fathers. I also shared my determination to organize and complete the many manuscripts and research projects I had accumulated over the years.

Today, I can happily report that I have made progress.

Not as much as I would like, perhaps, but enough to remind me that every step forward matters.

Over the past year, I have opened more forgotten files, rediscovered more research, and spent countless hours revisiting projects that I once feared might never see the light of day. Some of those old documents have turned out to be treasures. Others have required patience, reconstruction, and a little detective work. That’s all part of the adventure.

What continues to amaze me is the amount of material I gathered over the years. Every folder seems to lead to another story, another ancestor, another idea worth preserving. Sometimes I wonder what my younger self was thinking when I started all of this. Then I find a note or outline and realize I was trying to leave something meaningful behind.

The dream of writing books connected to our grandchildren remains very much alive. Those stories, built around real ancestors and real lives, still matter to me. Perhaps even more than before. The older I get, the more I appreciate how easily family stories can be lost if someone doesn’t take the time to preserve them.

My sense of urgency has not diminished. If anything, it has grown stronger. But I’ve also learned that progress doesn’t happen all at once. It happens one page, one chapter, one recovered file, and one remembered story at a time.

Financial challenges are still real. Life still finds ways to interrupt even the best-laid plans. Yet I remain determined. The motivation that drove me a year ago is still here. In fact, I think it may be stronger now because I can finally see evidence that the work is moving forward.

So what motivates me today?

The answer is still love.

Love for my family. Love for the stories of those who came before us. Love for the generations that will come after us. And the hope that something I write may someday inspire, comfort, or help someone else understand who they are and where they came from.

That seems like a worthy reason to keep going.

Thanks for being here, and thanks for reading.

Feel free to share.

Shirley


Aug. 20, 2025


“What motivates you?”The prompt’s question for today is: what motivates you? I can easily answer this question.

What motivates me is the love of my family. It’s the love I feel from my Heavenly Father. It’s also the love I feel when I think of our Founding Fathers.

Each expression of love comes from deep inside me—deeper than my heart. I’ve felt the lack of that love from each, and it’s even more precious because I feel like I’m missing out. Not necessarily because of anything they are doing, or not doing, but because of my own misgivings.

I am very motivated to work on these manuscripts I’ve had, some, for a very long time. I want as many of them I can find to be prepared for my family to publish, if I can’t do it myself. I have a strong impression that these books each have an important message to give. To whom, I don’t know. Maybe its my family, maybe its someone I don’t know. But this has been a motivating force in my life for a while now. 

It is such a joy to open a file and discover that there’s a lot of material I left for myself to use. So much research! 

On the other hand, it is excruciatingly painful to see that the file is corrupted or I have forgotten the password. Yes, that hurts. But enough of them have opened successfully, that I’m on a cloud. 

I am not talking about one or two books. Nope, I had plans to write one book for each of our grandchildren, and dedicate it to that child. At the time, we had 16 grandchildren. I found the list. It included each child’s name and the topic of the book I intended to write. Each of the protagonists in the stories was an actual ancestor of that child.

For many years, genealogy was my hobby. I loved collecting the names and stories of our ancestors, many of them tragic, some uplifting, and I wanted a way to share this with our grandchildren.

So, all this is my motivating factor. I hope to complete as many as possible. And I’m in a hurry to do it. The only thing keeping me from fulfilling this is finances – a big hurdle these days, but one I’m determined to overcome.

Thanks for being here. And thanks for reading! Feel free to share please. 

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✨ Our 50‑Year Anniversary Story

For our 50th anniversary, I wanted to gather the story of our life — the temples, the moves, the miracles, the losses, the laughter, and the quiet ways we kept choosing each other through every season. This isn’t just a timeline; it’s the map of a marriage built across states, decades, and faith. It’s a love story shaped by resilience, devotion, and the kind of companionship that grows deeper with every storm weathered and every sunrise shared.


If you’d like to read the full story, it’s below — a celebration of fifty years of us.


(A letter for my husband — August 21, 2026)

My love,

Fifty years. Half a century of us — of choosing each other, holding each other, building and rebuilding a life across states, temples, heartbreaks, miracles, and every kind of weather a marriage can walk through. When I look back, I don’t just see the years. I see you.

I see the young man I met at Signetics in Orem — the one every woman flirted with, the one who somehow became my friend in the middle of my own storms. I had Corey and Tracy, you had Alex and Ben, and both of us were trying to survive marriages that were already breaking. We didn’t plan a life together. We simply kept showing up for each other until life itself nudged us into the same direction.

And then came that Christmas of 1975 — the layoff, the eviction, the panic. You found me a place in Salt Lake City, found work nearby, and without knowing it, you set the first stone of our shared foundation. We didn’t fall in love in a moment. We built love out of survival, loyalty, and the way you refused to let me face anything alone.


🌿 The Early Years — Loss, Courage, and Holding On

We moved on January 1, 1976, carrying more hope than belongings. Then came the devastation no parent should ever face — losing Tracy. Losing everything we owned. Losing the Cougar. And yet, even in that grief, we stayed side by side.

Mama’s house. The funeral. Corey kidnapped the night of the viewing. Our first apartment. Our first purchase together — that king‑sized waterbed, our first big purchase on time, and even now, with a mattress we still sleep on. Even then, we were learning how to be a team.

Southern California beaches gave us rest. Quiet days, lazy waves, long talks, always with music to soothe us. You missed your boys. I missed Corey and Tracy. We were two people grieving separately, but healing together.

Then came the loss of our baby boy at five months. Another heartbreak. Another moment where we could have fallen apart — but didn’t.


💍 The Day We Chose Forever

My divorce finalized in August. We married on August 21, 1976, in Las Vegas at the tiny white “Chapel of Eternal Love.” We dressed in a gas station bathroom — me in a long white polyester dress with a white embroidered collar. We couldn’t afford a room, so we celebrated at Denny’s in the middle of the night. Then we drove home, closer to each other than two people have ever been.

That night wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t grand. But it was ours, and it was perfect. We made it OUR chapel of eternal love. From that day, I never felt otherwise, that our love is eternal.


Family time camping.

🏡 Becoming a Family

Corey came home after nine months missing. Alex and Ben came home a few days later. Oh, we were so very happy! We celebrated Halloween and Thanksgiving together. Fantasia was our first movie as a family. You brought me flowers every day for years. We were complete — or as complete as life allowed.

Varian. Church every Sunday. Sarah’s birth. No bucket seats — always cheek to cheek.

Washington. Boeing. Rachael’s birth. Acreage, camping, canning, goats, pigs, rabbits, homeschooling. A whole world built from scratch. We were so much in love, so thankful for each other. Even 20 years later, we couldn’t wait to hold each other tight every night.


Hawaii Temple

✨ Sacred Places, Sacred Promises

Our sealing in the Hawaii Temple — ten days in paradise, one on Maui. Sushi for the first time. Pearl Harbor. BYU–Hawaii. The Polynesian Cultural Center. Driving all over Oahu with joy in our bones. Stargazing into the brilliantly clear night sky, thanking our Father for our many blessings.

Mt. Haleakalā — the highest volcanic mountain in the islands. The young doctor and his pregnant wife who joined us. My altitude sickness. Your shoulder injury. The doctor treating you on the beach the next day. Even in the strangest moments, we were blessed.


🌱 The Middle Years — Work, Service, and Hard Lessons

School. Degrees. Fostering. Political life. Exhaustion. Parenting styles clashing. Kids running in opposite directions. Painful years. Both girls pregnant. The kind of heartbreak that ages a person.

Then, Penryn Park — caretakers. Isolation. Peace. Healing. Unity. The earth itself seemed to hold us together.


🌾 The Later Years — Dreams, Realizations, and Grace

Hawkins, East Texas — the dream fulfilled, then sickness, like a dark shadow, creeping in, once again. The slow painful realization that some dreams arrive later than we hoped. But even then, we stayed side by side.

Now we plan the conclusion gently. We take things slower. We prepare for one last move — to be near family. To settle all things. To finish our story the same way we began it: together.



💛 What I Celebrate Today

I celebrate your strength.
I celebrate your devotion.
I celebrate the way you have carried burdens no one else sees.
I celebrate the way you have loved me through sickness, exhaustion, and every season of life.
I celebrate the way you have shown up — again and again — even when life was unfair.

I celebrate us.

Fifty years of temples.
Fifty years of moves.
Fifty years of children, losses, miracles, and memories.
Fifty years of choosing each other.

My love, we have lived a life that could fill volumes. And through every chapter — the beautiful ones, the painful ones, the ones we barely survived — you have been my partner, my protector, my companion, my home.

Happy 50th Anniversary.

I love you more now than I did on the night we stood in that tiny white chapel.


And I will love you still in every chapter that remains.


✨ Gentle Closing Blessing for the Anniversary Letter

May the years ahead be lighter than the ones behind us.
May peace settle into the corners of our days,
and may kindness be the language we speak to one another.

May we walk slowly, hand in hand,
grateful for the chapters we’ve lived
and tender with the ones still unfolding.

May God hold us close,
heal what has been heavy,
and bless the rest of our journey
with gentleness, warmth, and quiet joy.

And may love — the steady, enduring kind —
continue to be the thread that ties us together
in every step we take from here.




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Happy National Acadian Day; bonne fête nationale de l’acadie!

Today, August 15, is National Acadian Day … and it’s also India’s Independence Day. Two different different stories in different parts of the world, …

Happy National Acadian Day; bonne fête nationale de l’acadie!

National Acadian Day, known in French as Fête nationale de l’Acadie, is celebrated each year on August 15 in parts of Canada as a tribute to Acadian culture and heritage. The date was chosen in 1881 during the first National Convention of the Acadians in Memramcook, New Brunswick, when Acadian leaders were given the mandate to establish a national day of celebration. Its observance also aligns with the Feast of the Assumption of Mary, giving the day both cultural and religious significance for many Acadians.

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Light & Purpose

What’s a quote that perfectly describes your outlook on life?
——————————-

”Light is not something you chase. It’s something you carry. My life is a slow, steady unfolding — and the light grows as I go.”

Here’s how I see my inner light, given to me as a gift from my Heavenly parents: It isn’t a spotlight demanding attention. It’s a lantern — quiet, steady, and deeply personal. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t rush. It simply glows, even on the days when I feel dim or uncertain. And the more I honor it, the brighter it becomes.

Some people think inner light is something you earn. But I know better.


It’s something I carry — through fog‑days, best‑days, ancestry, creativity, faith, and the soft unfolding of this life of mine.


🌟 What Inner Light Really Is

Inner light is the part of you that stays steady even when everything else shifts. It’s not confidence. It’s not perfection. It’s not productivity. It’s presence.

  • Quiet strength — the ability to keep moving gently, even when life feels heavy.
  • Soul clarity — the sense that something inside you knows the way, even when your mind doesn’t.
  • Creative truth — the spark that guides your writing, your journals, your heritage work.
  • Faithful resilience — the belief that God meets you in the soft places, not just the strong ones.
  • Ancestral glow — the way your roots, in my case, my Acadian roots, feel like a lantern handed down through generations.

Inner light is not loud. It’s loyal.


🌙 How Inner Light Shows Up in Real Life

It shows up when you write one honest sentence on a fibro fog‑day.
It shows up when you choose gentleness over pressure.
It shows up when you create something small but sincere.
It shows up when you trust your own rhythm instead of forcing someone else’s.

My inner light is woven into my Pages Alight brand — the soft watercolor motifs, the candles, the feathers, the glowing edges of the planner spreads. It’s in my voice, my heritage projects, my night‑owl creativity, my faith‑friendly tone.

It’s the thread that ties everything together.


🕊️ Inner Light as a Spiritual Companion

Your inner light is not just emotional or creative — it’s spiritual. It’s the quiet assurance that you are guided, held, and seen. It’s the whisper that says:

You don’t have to shine for the world.
You only have to shine from the truth inside you.

This is why my work resonates with overwhelmed readers. I don’t teach them to chase clarity. I try to teach them to trust the glow they already carry.


✨ A Gentle Invitation

If you’ve been doubting your brightness lately, let this settle softly in your heart:

Your inner light is not fragile.
It’s faithful.

It stays with you through every season.
It grows with every act of creativity.
It strengthens with every moment of honesty.
It brightens every time you choose presence over perfection.

You don’t have to force it.
You only have to honor it.

Your inner light is already shining — quietly, beautifully, and right on time.

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Writing Through the Fog

A gentle reflection for the weary, creative heart

Some days, creativity arrives like a sunrise — warm, bright, eager to spill across the page. And some days… it doesn’t. Some days feel foggy, heavy, slow. The mind moves like it’s wading through water, and even simple tasks feel like lifting stones.

I used to think foggy days meant failure. That if I couldn’t write with clarity, I shouldn’t write at all. But over time — through journals, prayer, quiet nights in Hawkins, and the soft glow of a candle on my bedside table — I’ve learned something gentler:

Fog doesn’t mean the light is gone. It only means the light is diffused.

On fog-days, creativity doesn’t disappear. It whispers.

It shows up in smaller ways:
a sentence that feels true,
a memory that rises unannounced,
a color you suddenly notice,
a prayer that steadies your breath.

These moments matter. They are seeds. And seeds don’t need bright sun to grow — they need presence, patience, and a little faith.

I’ve learned to write differently on fog-days. Not with pressure, but with softness. I let myself write in fragments, in half-thoughts, in gentle notes that may become something later. I let myself rest when I need to. I let myself trust that creativity is still alive, even when it feels quiet.

This is how the Fog-Day & Best-Day Wellness Journal was born — from the realization that life isn’t all clarity or all chaos. It’s both. And both deserve space.

If you’re reading this and you’ve been in a fog — creatively, emotionally, spiritually — I hope you hear this:

You are simply moving through a softer season, and there is beauty here too.

And when the best-days come — because they always do — you’ll have a trail of small, faithful notes that show you just how strong you were in the quiet.

You are not behind.
You are not failing.
You are not forgotten.

Write one sentence.
Light one candle.
Take one breath.
Let the fog be a place where God meets you gently.

Keep writing, even through the fog.
Your light is still here.
It’s just wrapped in softness today.

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🛡️ Genealogy AI Safety Checklist

A calm, practical guide for using AI without letting it derail your research.


🔍 1. Keep AI in the “Safe Zone”

Use AI only for tasks that don’t affect the accuracy of your tree.

  • Transcriptions — word‑for‑word text from handwritten or printed records
  • Translations — turning foreign-language text into English
  • Summaries — pulling out names, dates, and places
  • Brainstorming — ideas, search strategies, or questions to ask

If a task requires interpretation, conclusions, or connecting people, keep it human.


⚠️ 2. Never Accept AI’s Genealogy “Facts”

AI can sound confident while being completely wrong.

Reject any AI output that includes:

  • Unverified relationships
  • Invented dates or events
  • Nonexistent record collections
  • Sources you cannot locate

If you can’t find the record yourself, it doesn’t exist.


📚 3. Verify Everything Against Primary Sources

Your safest workflow:

  • Compare AI transcriptions to the original image
  • Confirm translations with dictionaries or human help
  • Cross-check names, dates, and places manually
  • Use archives like FamilySearch, Ancestry, Drouin, or civil registers

AI can assist your eyes — but not your conclusions.


🧭 4. Watch for Red Flags

Discard AI output immediately if you see:

  • A perfect, tidy narrative
  • A timeline that doesn’t add up
  • A record set you can’t locate
  • A “source” that leads nowhere
  • A suggestion that contradicts known history
  • A claim that feels too convenient

Your intuition is a research tool. Trust it.


🧪 5. Test Before Trusting

When AI gives you information:

  • Ask it to show the exact text
  • Ask where the record is located
  • Ask for the archive, collection, and image number

If it cannot provide specifics, the information is unsafe.


🧱 6. Keep Your Tree Protected

Your genealogy tree is fragile. Guard it by:

  • Adding only verified facts
  • Keeping AI-generated notes separate
  • Labeling AI suggestions as “unverified”
  • Avoiding merges or connections based on AI output
  • Saving original documents first, interpretations second

Your tree should never depend on AI.


🧘 7. Maintain a Skeptical Mindset

AI hallucinations happen even when you tell it not to.

Your mantra:

“AI is a tool, not a genealogist.”

Use it for language barriers, not lineage building.


🌿 8. Use AI for Creative Extras Only

Safe creative uses:

  • Featured images
  • Genealogy-themed graphics
  • Blog post drafts
  • Checklists and worksheets

These enhance your work without touching your research accuracy.


⭐ Final Rule

If AI gives you a detail you cannot verify in a real archive, throw it out.

Your ancestors deserve truth, not guesses.

P.S. Here’s a cheat sheet, in case you’d like to download it.

S.M.U.
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Genealogy AI Safety Checklist

A calm, practical guide for using AI without letting it derail your research.


🔍 1. Keep AI in the “Safe Zone”

Use AI only for tasks that don’t affect the accuracy of your tree.

  • Transcriptions — word‑for‑word text from handwritten or printed records
  • Translations — turning foreign-language text into English
  • Summaries — pulling out names, dates, and places
  • Brainstorming — ideas, search strategies, or questions to ask

If a task requires interpretation, conclusions, or connecting people, keep it human.


⚠️ 2. Never Accept AI’s Genealogy “Facts”

AI can sound confident while being completely wrong.

Reject any AI output that includes:

  • Unverified relationships
  • Invented dates or events
  • Nonexistent record collections
  • Sources you cannot locate

If you can’t find the record yourself, it doesn’t exist.


📚 3. Verify Everything Against Primary Sources

Your safest workflow:

  • Compare AI transcriptions to the original image
  • Confirm translations with dictionaries or human help
  • Cross-check names, dates, and places manually
  • Use archives like FamilySearch, Ancestry, Drouin, or civil registers

AI can assist your eyes — but not your conclusions.


🧭 4. Watch for Red Flags

Discard AI output immediately if you see:

  • A perfect, tidy narrative
  • A timeline that doesn’t add up
  • A record set you can’t locate
  • A “source” that leads nowhere
  • A suggestion that contradicts known history
  • A claim that feels too convenient

Your intuition is a research tool. Trust it.


🧪 5. Test Before Trusting

When AI gives you information:

  • Ask it to show the exact text
  • Ask where the record is located
  • Ask for the archive, collection, and image number

If it cannot provide specifics, the information is unsafe.


🧱 6. Keep Your Tree Protected

Your genealogy tree is fragile. Guard it by:

  • Adding only verified facts
  • Keeping AI-generated notes separate
  • Labeling AI suggestions as “unverified”
  • Avoiding merges or connections based on AI output
  • Saving original documents first, interpretations second

Your tree should never depend on AI.


🧘 7. Maintain a Skeptical Mindset

AI hallucinations happen even when you tell it not to.

Your mantra:

“AI is a tool, not a genealogist.”

Use it for language barriers, not lineage building.


🌿 8. Use AI for Creative Extras Only

Safe creative uses:

  • Featured images
  • Genealogy-themed graphics
  • Blog post drafts
  • Checklists and worksheets

These enhance your work without touching your research accuracy.


Final Rule

If AI gives you a detail you cannot verify in a real archive, throw it out.

Your ancestors deserve truth, not guesses.

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The Forge of Broken Things.part 2

NOTE: if you read the previous story about this, and are confused about seeing it again, please check the last part. It will explain why you’re seeing this again.


This story weaves a rich tapestry that connects the epic, historical resilience of ancestors directly, into a modern story of survival and extraordinary love.

Capturing the blacksmith roots, the grief of Acadians, and the mending of self and foster children, this story highlights the concept of an unbroken line of patriots and survivors.

The protagonist, (celebrating 50 years of marriage) reflects on her life of fostering over 200 children, adopting 3, and giving birth to 5. It explores her slow recovery from severe childhood trauma (parents divorced by age 4, a father with schizophrenia, a mother developmentally delayed to age 13, and enduring childhood physical and sexual abuse from alcohol addiction and mental illness). It details the hardships she and her husband overcame, including losing babies, and celebrates their clean, enduring romance.  

Incorporating a cohesive parallel narrative arc, the story interweaves the historical trials of her ancestors (the Acadian expulsion, the Irish potato famine) with her own personal trials (childhood trauma, fostering 200 children), showing that the “patriot DNA” of survival was passed down to her, and through her children.

The Paternal Grandmother’s side: Direct descent from the legendary Acadian leader Joseph ‘Beausoleil’ Broussard, embodying the patriot spirit and the tragedy/triumph of the Acadian expulsion.

Beausoleil led the armed resistance against the British during the 18th-century Acadian Deportation and subsequently guided displaced exiles to safety in Louisiana. His heroic status rests on several major historical contributions:

  1. Armed Resistance: Before and during the 1755 British expulsion Beausoleil led guerrilla militias to defend Acadian communities, homes, and churches against British forces.
  2. Symbol of Hope: He earned his nickname, “Beautiful Sun” (or light of the resistance), from his fellow Acadians because he provided hope and protection during a period of severe persecution and ethnic cleansing.
  3. Resettlement in Louisiana: After enduring imprisonment and exile, Beausoleil successfully led a group of nearly 200 Acadian refugees out of Halifax to the Gulf Coast in 1765.

He is credited with establishing the first major settlement of Acadians in southern Louisiana, in Loreauville, in the Broussard area of Lafayette, LA. He was buried on October 20, 1765, at the age of 62-63, laying the foundation for modern Cajun culture.

The Maternal Grandfather’s side: A deeply rooted line where the protagonist is related to him 17 different ways, filled with early American patriots. He was born in Loreauville, and died in the same parish.

The Maternal Great-Grandparents (The Peppers, the ONLY non-Acadian line on this protagonist’s direct genealogy): Newlyweds fleeing Ireland immediately after the Potato Famine, arriving in New Orleans to build a life from scratch in nearby Jeanerette, as blacksmiths. This writer’s mother recalls hearing the uniquely “sing-song” Irish accent and tones of her great-grandparents.

Rene LeBlane, the Notary Public mentioned in official records of the events occurring during that time, is also a progenitor. According to the records, he “was seized, confined, and brought away among the rest of the people, and his family, consisting of twenty children, and about one hundred and fifty grandchildren, were scattered in different colonies, so that he was put on shore at New York, with only his wife and two youngest children, in an infirm state of health, from whence he joined three more of his children at Philadelphia, where he died without any more notice being taken of him than any of us, notwithstanding his many years’ labor and deep sufferings for Your Majesty’s service.”

The themes of ancestral survival, blacksmithing / refining fire, and patriotism mirror the protagonist’s fight to survive her childhood and become a sanctuary for over 200 forgotten, abused, and medically fragile children.


To see the collection of artwork I submitted for this contest, please click this link:

https://creator.nightcafe.studio/g/select/post/ajJmPLg60BMEudjYwgSG

A collection of AI-Generated Artworks curated by Shirley Ulbrich.

Below are the contest rules, according to Nightcafe.

Getting close!

I’ve got 9 more days to wait and hopefully, gather a couple more votes for this “part 2”.

As you can see, I’ve already successfully qualified for the next round with “part 1”, but, it’s not as complete as my 2nd try, “part 2”. I’d prefer to just remove that first one, and only leave “part 2” as my only submission. However, “part 2” is not qualified yet, and until it is – it needs just 2 more – “part 1” has to stay there.

Oh, how I’d love to win this contest! I’m sure y’all know what I’ve already spent the money on, lol. (In case you are new here, and don’t know, I’d get my books published!) Woohoo!

It would be quite a relief to finally get that all done.

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Using AI in Genealogy: A Helpful Tool… with Serious Limits

Genealogy is a discipline built on accuracy. One wrong assumption can unravel years of careful work. With AI becoming more common in research spaces, I wanted to see what it could realistically offer genealogists — especially those working with foreign‑language records.

What I discovered is that AI can be both a helpful assistant and a source of major problems.

Where AI Can Help

AI shines in a few very specific areas:

  • Transcription help — It can produce word‑for‑word transcriptions of handwritten or printed text, even in languages you don’t read.
  • Translation assistance — It can turn those transcriptions into English so you can understand the basics.
  • Document summaries — It can pull out names, dates, places, and relationships for quick review.

These tasks are mechanical, not interpretive — and that’s exactly why AI performs them reasonably well. For language barriers, this can be a huge help.

Where AI Goes Wrong

Once AI moves beyond transcription and translation, the risks increase dramatically.

  • False connections — AI may confidently link people who are not related at all.
  • Invented details — It may create marriages, death dates, or events that don’t exist in any record.
  • Nonexistent sources — It can fabricate entire record sets, archives, volumes, or page numbers.
  • No real sourcing — AI often pulls from user‑submitted trees or unverified data without telling you.

Even when instructed not to invent information, AI may still hallucinate — and sometimes defend those errors instead of correcting them.

These aren’t small mistakes. They can waste hours of research time and send you down dead ends.

Conclusion

After testing AI in multiple ways, here are the guidelines I now follow:

  • Use AI only for safe tasks
    Transcriptions, translations, summaries, brainstorming — yes. Facts, relationships, conclusions — no.
  • Verify everything manually
    Always return to primary sources: parish registers, civil records, notarial documents, censuses, and original scans.
  • Reject suspicious details
    If a record seems too tidy, lacks a source, or cannot be located in a real archive, discard it immediately.
  • Stay skeptical
    AI will hallucinate even when told not to. Double‑check everything.

Bottom Line

AI can be a helpful companion for transcription, translation, and image creation, especially when working with foreign‑language records. But as a research partner, it is unreliable. It can produce convincing but completely fabricated information — wrong connections, invented events, and imaginary record collections.

Real progress still comes from careful, manual verification.

Treat AI as a curious but unreliable assistant. Use it for language barriers, not conclusions.

My Rating: 3 out of 10 for genealogy research reliability.

P.S. Yes, yes, I know this is my “author” blog, but I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m prepping to write another book! Hmm, I can tell, some of y’all have already picked up the vibes! Smart darlin’s, my readers.

As I was revising my contest entry documentation, I realized I was actually writing a basic outline for my next book! Oh, I feel so blessed!

Anyway, as you know, the storyline may evolve into something else, but I suspect He’s already given me my next assignment. Praying I can finish it.

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The Forge of Broken Things 

PLEASE NOTE: I’ve entered a contest in Nightcafe and I’m hoping to win. The prize is money, which I intend to use it to publish my many manuscripts. Please consider going to the site and voting for me. I cannot tell you how much I’d appreciate it.

My health is still hanging in at stage 4 CKD, thank goodness! I’ve been blessed so many times.

Below is a description of my entry to the contest:

This story weaves a rich tapestry that connects the epic, historical resilience of ancestors directly, into a modern story of survival and extraordinary love.

Capturing the blacksmith roots, the grief of Acadians, and the mending of self and foster children, this story highlights the concept of an unbroken line of patriots and survivors.

The protagonist (celebrating 50 years of marriage) reflects on her life of fostering over 200 children, adopting 3, and giving birth to 5. It explores her slow recovery from severe childhood trauma (parents divorced by age 4, a father with schizophrenia, a mother developmentally delayed to age 13, and enduring childhood physical and sexual abuse). It details the hardships she and her husband overcame, including losing babies, and celebrates their clean, enduring romance.

Incorporating a cohesive parallel narrative arc, the story interweaves the historical trials of my ancestors (the Acadian expulsion, the Irish potato famine) with my own personal trials (childhood trauma, fostering 200 children), showing that the “patriot DNA” of survival was passed down to me, through my children. 

The Paternal Grandmother’s side: Direct descent from the legendary Acadian leader Joseph ‘Beausoleil’ Broussard, embodying the patriot spirit and the tragedy/triumph of the Acadian expulsion.

The Maternal Grandfather’s side: A deeply rooted line where the protagonist is related to him 17 different ways, filled with early American patriots.

The Maternal Great-Grandparents (The Peppers): Newlyweds fleeing Ireland immediately after the Potato Famine, arriving in New Orleans to build a life from scratch as blacksmiths.

The themes of ancestral survival, blacksmithing/refining fire, and patriotism mirror the protagonist’s fight to survive her childhood and become a sanctuary for 200 forgotten children. 


https://creator.nightcafe.studio/g/select/post/tzEif3szTbg2FyW0c71X

Submit a Body of Work that tells a story from start to finish. Be reviewed by expert judges, and compete for a $1,000 grant and a feature in Prompt Magazine.


I’m just finishing up the outline for this yet-to-be-written book, which will be a historical novel/memoir.

Thanks so much!

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Lagniappe

Lagniappe: something given as a bonus or extra gift. (I used this term in another blog, which was useful. Hope you might see this as helpful to you.)

I’m in the middle of so much stuff! But I did read some very interesting articles from others’ blogs. I don’t have time to share each one properly, but I thought you might be interested in checking them out, if you have the time or inclination.

I do have another blog, which is primarily genealogy-related, and I’m trying to recall how to get access to it. The blog is: Family Circle 14, and I’ve had it for many years — although I lost it for much of that time.

When I can, I’ll post less genealogy-related stuff here and just post it there. In the meantime, here’s my list.

Blog posts

Full-Text Search + Research = A Win! by Ken McKinlay on Family Tree Knots.

It Happened in Newmarket by Patrick Lacroix on Query the Past.

New Ancestry Features: One Disappeared and One Made Me Smile by Doris Kenney on A Tree With No Name.

Smarter AI Prompts for Genealogists by Natalie Webb on Family Tree Technology.

Untangling the Life of Madeleine Hélie (c1633-1677/1678) – 52 Ancestors #479 by Roberta Estes on DNAeXplained.

From Memory to Memoir by Carole McCulloch on Essential Genealogy.

Gedminer by Claire Bradley on CBGenealogy.

Articles

Acadian ancestry led Marianne Sulser to story of displacement that inspired her novel, Colorado Sun, Denver, Colorado.

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About the Arnault Family

https://acanadianfamily.wordpress.com/2023/10/12/arnault-st-arnault-var-surname-anchor-post/

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Beausoleil’s Foundation: Acadian Freedom Fighter

Many people know about Joseph “Beausoleil” Broussard. That name is a proud part of Acadian history. If you’re familiar with Beausoleil, (English: Beautiful Sun), then, you know that Beyoncé is a direct descendant. I happen to share that distinction through my paternal grandmother.

Broussard is widely regarded as a hero and an important historical figure by both Acadians and Cajuns in Louisiana.

This story is about Catherine Richard, Beausoleil’s mother, (c1663 – after 1714). I’m working on a fun book which has to do with the Acadians, so, I’ve been thinking a lot about Catherine.

It is somewhat bittersweet because the content is for elementary-age school children. Naturally, the tone of the book will be appropriate for children. I considered putting the following thoughts here in this blog. Below are some facts I’ve collected from my genealogy work.

Born around 1663 in Port Royal, she came into a world where Acadia itself was unstable, contested, and vulnerable.

Catherine Richard’s life was not a neat genealogy line. It was a life lived under pressure, in fear, in grief, and in stubborn endurance.

Her parents, Michel Richard dit Sansoucy and Madeleine Blanchard, were among the early Acadian families trying to build a life on land that was never fully secure.

Catherine grew up in a place where survival meant farming, faith, family, and the constant awareness that history could break into your home at any moment.

By the time she was a teenager, Catherine had likely married François Broussard. She was still very young, probably about fifteen, when she began the life that would define her: wife, mother, mourner, survivor.

The records suggest that she and François had children almost immediately, and that some of those first babies died.

That kind of loss is easy to flatten into a line in a family tree, but in real life it meant a young mother burying infants before she had even learned how to fully live as an adult. It meant grief so early that it became part of the architecture of her life.

Then came the larger violence of history. In 1690, English forces attacked Port Royal.

Catherine would have seen the ships on the river, the cannons, the panic, the helplessness. The town was plundered. Homes were burned. Livestock was killed. The church was desecrated. The place where her children were baptized and where her dead were buried became a target. And this was not the only attack. More raids followed.

The family’s life in Port Royal became increasingly impossible, and like many Acadians, they moved upriver to Beausoleil, seeking safety, land, and some measure of peace.

But peace was always temporary. Catherine’s family was large, and the records show both growth and loss. She had children who survived into adulthood and children who vanished from the record, likely buried in unmarked graves.

She lost her mother, probably around the time she was still a young woman herself. She lost her father later. She likely lost siblings, children, neighbors, and the sense that the world could be trusted.

Catherine’s life was marked by repeated bereavement: babies, parents, perhaps even a child or two in the years after 1690. Her suffering was not singular; it was cumulative.

Her sons Alexandre and Joseph Broussard became the most famous members of the family.

Joseph, known as Beausoleil, became one of the great Acadian resistance leaders. He and Alexandre did not simply endure the English conquest and deportation; they resisted it.

They fought, hid, escaped, regrouped, and kept going when surrender would have been easier. Their story is one of courage, but it is also one of relentless loss.

They lost homes, land, freedom, relatives, and eventually, in exile, many more family members to disease and hardship.

François Broussard and Catherine Richard made the move to the village of Beausoleil between the 1693 and the 1698 census.

In today’s language, they would rightly be framed as “freedom fighters”, but that freedom came at a devastating cost.

The Acadian Expulsion was not just a relocation. It was a tearing apart of a people. Families were separated. Children were taken. Homes were burned. Entire communities were erased.

The Broussards’ story shows the human scale of that catastrophe. Catherine’s sons became symbols of resistance, but they were also sons of a mother who had already lived through decades of fear and grief before the final catastrophe even arrived.

In 1698, according to census records, Françoise, age 45, and Catherine, age 35, have Madeleine, 18, Pierre, 15, Marie, 13, Catherine 7, Elisabeth 5, François, 3, and Claude, one-half.

They have 15 cattle, 20 sheep, 14 hogs, on 16 arpents of land, with two fruit trees. Additionally, they have two guns and a servant, so all things considered, they are doing very well.

Of Catherine’s 10 known children, meaning those who did not die as children, and for whom we have names, the oldest three disappeared from the records around the time of the Expulsion, three died in Port Royal, one is last found in Maryland, one died in Quebec, and two founded the Cajun community in Louisiana.

These latter two, Joseph Beausoleil and Alexandre, were born 2 years apart. Catherine had one more child after Alexandre. I happen to be a direct descendant of Joseph through my paternal grandmother. Catherine gave birth to anywhere between 10 to 19 children, according to records, and perhaps more.

Catherine herself likely died before the Expulsion, but her life was the foundation from which her children’s resistance grew.

She raised them in a world that taught them how to survive, how to endure, and perhaps how to refuse submission.

What makes Catherine’s story so powerful is that it is not only about famous ancestors. It is about the ordinary, brutal reality of Acadian life.

It is about a woman who buried children, watched her home burn, moved to survive, and kept raising a family in a land repeatedly threatened by war. It is about the quiet heroism of mothers whose names are often preserved only in censuses and parish registers, yet whose lives shaped entire peoples.

Catherine Richard was not a footnote to Joseph Broussard dit Beausoleil. She was the root system beneath him.

And that is the deeper truth of the Acadian story. The famous names matter, but they were carried by mothers, fathers, grandparents, and children who lived through terror without the luxury of being remembered as legends.

Catherine’s life reminds us that history is not only made by battles and treaties.

It is made in kitchens, fields, graveyards, and burned-out homes.

It is made by women who keep going after loss, by families who rebuild after raids, and by people who refuse to disappear even when the world tries to erase them.

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My Hope and Dream

I’ve been experimenting with Nightcafe and am so happy at the way this has turned out.

My prayer is that, when the time comes, I will be greeted by my own children whom I have lost, foster children who passed away in my home, and all the multitudes of ancestors I’ve done the work for.

The tragic Acadians lost in the diaspora called The Great Dispersal that drove many to Louisiana.

To the Ancestors who came to the New World from France and dug trenches called dykes in Nova Scotia. All of these contributed to my bloodline, on both sides of my parents.

One, a veritable hero, Beausoleil Broussard, my direct ancestor that I happen to share with Beyoncé.

Another ancestor, unnamed due to threat of shaming, an ancestor who was the unknowing carrier of the deaf blind and balance scourge of many Cajuns, Usher Syndrome. Another, Tay Sachs syndrome, shared by tight-knit Jewish communities.

To my Louisiana Ancestors, who braved yellow fever, great storms and hurricanes, and sweltering heat. Worst of all, the mosquitoes who ravaged bodies with yellow fever. Even the awful monster, leprosy, inhabited so many bodies, clinics still exist in Louisiana. Yet, they survived. With their celebrations at Mardi Gras, and family crawfish boils, along with cotton picking parties and Saturday night dance halls. My childhood was filled with such great memories! In fact, I was nearly born on my grandfather’s shrimp boat on New Year’s Eve night. The shrimp were running so good, nobody except Mama was in a hurry to get off that boat! I just barely made it to the hospital at Lafayette General (called Charity Hospital at the time. The building’s still there.)

To my one line of Irishmen, the Pepper’s, who came right after the great potato starvation time, who first witnessed persecution, and then, founded a good life of blacksmithing. (My grandmother’s grandmother wasn’t allowed to speak in her native tongue, even at home, but my mother recalls her beautiful “sing-song” accent in her Cajun speak.)

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