History-onics

Genealogy pursuits are the hobby that many people are into these days, but like all hobbies, they often become obsessions. I've heard of, and have  known, hobbyists who turn their entire living rooms and basements into miniature train runs complete with stations and buildings and flora. Then there are the quilters who move the car out of the garage to accommodate huge swaths and multi bits of fabric. Everyone knows an auto enthusiast who stores vehicles in various stages of resurrection in the barns and other people's sheds. And then we have those who can't rest until they delve  into their histories. I hear them exchanging  tales with each other, boasting about how far back they got.  How reliable the latter documentation is, is often based on fiction, the kind you pay a few dollars on-line for complete  with family emblems and coats of arms plus other trumped-up stories. Some admirable folks even travel afar to explore old records and gravestones and interview neighbours who might know about their family beginnings. None of these pursuits are invalid. But they are of no interest to me. Not a whit. They are  simply someone else's passion. My family history, the one that is stored in jumbled files somewhere in my storage area, sets  of old letters or documents that I keep in case my family catches the genealogy bug, reside there like buried treasure. I have no true interest in going much farther back than my great grandparents of whom I have but hazy memories. Some religious groups go to extreme lengths to find out their family names and dates for religious or cult reasons. That's all very well  genealogy enthusiast, but please do not come to me and have me do the work for you. It is not for me to spend hours searching in my records at length to hand papers and photos over to you. I don't want to, nor have the time to, rifle through the morass of material to do what your interests are. You come and do it. I do not care to find out if there is royalty somewhere in my genes or sheep stealers or pirates or great musicians or writers. I live in the here and now, and that's good enough for me. I love to read biographies of the famous and accomplished, but I have no interest in finding out if one of the persons in my past, was one of them. In the family into which I married, there was a so-called precious artifact of distinction. It resided, as far as I know, under the stone step in the garage for some time before my mother-in-law uprooted the thing and had me take it to her relatives down south. I have secretly wondered where it went from there, but only minimally. The great explorer who owned the snuff box is long gone, as are the family members. I supposed if I were someone into genealogy, I would be digging into the history of this man who has the same last name and who was said to use the little box, to see if, indeed, he is  family. The name is famous but what's the reason for me to care? The trouble is, I have to bake bread this afternoon and read my Book Club selection for tomorrow's meeting. And then I must do some shopping and dusting. Sorry snuff box, history will have to wait.