LEBANESE CHICKEN AT CHRISTMAS

 

I was not looking forward to Christmas.  Here I was in the English midlands, seven months pregnant and unable to fly home.  Even if I had been allowed to fly we had no money for airfares.  With very little money but with the arrogance of youth we had decided to take a chance and moved to England back in the summer of that year.  My husband was offered a place in an English university as a mature student – this was the 1970s and Irish universities didn’t offer such places.  We accepted the place and I decided that I would support both of us financially while he studied. Then I became pregnant.  Undaunted we stuck to our plan but now it was Christmas, we were barely scraping by and had none of the trapping of Christmas, no tree, very little money and a tiny flat.

 

On the day before Christmas Eve we received a card from my mother-in-law and inside it was a £5 note.  This was riches.  We discussed what to do with it, pay a bill, put it away for a rainy day or blow it all on food.  We threw caution to the wind and decided to blow it.  We had become vegetarians by necessity but now we would buy a piece of steak for Christmas Day, and we would also buy chocolate and some fruit and vegetables.  On Christmas Eve we walked into town and carefully spent the £5.  As we walked home we discussed how to cook the steak, should we just fry it?  We had enough extra ingredients to try our hand at Beef Strogonoff, or maybe…… and then we were hailed from across the road.  It was my husband’s class mate Rashid.  We stopped, he was Lebanese and told us how much he worried about and missed his family in civil war Beirut.  Come to us for dinner said Frank.  I looked at him and mentally cut the steak into three.  Rashid was delighted and accepted and as he walked away he called back “I will bring a chicken, done the Lebanese way”.  Well, I thought, the chicken will be good and will help stretch things out.  As we got closer to home we met another Lebanese man we knew slightly, Mahmood, by now my husband was delighted with the idea of steak and chicken and so he asked Mahmood if he would come to dinner.  Mahmood said he didn’t keep Christmas but he would love to come.   Mentally I cut the steak into pieces on a skewer.  As the afternoon wore on Frank lost the run of himself.  He decided to ask an elderly lady who lived alone and whom we had come to know. She accepted immediately.  Then there was an American couple who lived upstairs and Aiden a Turkish guy in his class who hadn’t enough money to go back to his family in London for Christmas.   Aiden knew someone else who was alone and as night fell I realised I didn’t know exactly how many people we had invited.  I made a small beef stroganoff with the steak and hoped that people would bring something with them but in the end I fell into bed, exhausted but too tired to miss my family and the trappings of Christmas.

 

On Christmas morning we put our small kitchen table in the middle of the sitting room and I tried to make it as festive as possible.  I made a tablecloth out of the wrapping paper of the presents we had received from my parents and family in Ireland.  We found a candle in the back of a cupboard and with the strategic use of some greenery from the garden of the flat decided that the place looked good.  We didn’t have enough cutlery for everyone but decided we would manage.

 

The American couple arrived bearing a big pot of soup and a chocolate concoction.  More importantly they were used to student living and so they also brought down two chairs. We didn’t have enough soup bowls but I decided people could have soup in mugs.  When the doorbell rang Frank and I went to answer it together.  Outside stood Mahmood and Rashid, they clearly didn’t know each other. Rashid was holding the most gorgeous cooked chicken, the aroma was exotic and I couldn’t wait to taste chicken done in the Lebanese way.   Frank invited them in while introducing them – Mahmood looked at him and said “Do you not know I am Muslim?”  Of course we knew he was Muslim but we didn’t mind.  I could see he was angry and Rashid wasn’t exactly delighted either.  Mahmood looked at the two of us “I am Muslim, he (pointing at Rashid) is Christian.  We are on opposite sides of the civil war.  I cannot come in if he is there too”.  Frank began to speak but my big worry was that if Rashid went, the chicken would go with him.  I told Frank to bring Rashid and the chicken inside.  Then I spoke to Mahmood, apologising for putting him in this position, but I said, it was Christmas, a festival of sharing, if he would come in I would speak to Rashid and see if differences could be put aside for the day.  Rashid was a very quiet man, he looked crushed but he held out the chicken to me and told me it was stuffed with rice and fruit.  “Please”, I said, “won’t you stay?”  I have explained to Mahmood that Christmas is a time of sharing and I think he will stay if you will agree.  The two men spoke in Arabic for a few minutes and then it was obvious that they were staying.  Gradually others arrived, Mrs. P brought a big trifle and wine, a friend of Aiden’s brought lamb and very soon our small sitting room was full and there was far too much food to fit on our kitchen table.  This was immediately resolved by Frank taking two of the men into our bedroom where they proceeded to take the door off the hinges.  Some of the chemistry tomes which Frank was studying were used to prop up the table and a clean sheet served as a table cloth.  Since I was pregnant I got a chair and so did Mrs P our elderly neighbour.  Everyone else had to shift for themselves, sitting on the floor, the small couch and a couple of chairs.  The soup was delicious, hot and warming and between dishes, mugs and cups everyone got some.  Then the feast began, the chicken from Lebanon, salads, ham, curried lamb, and lost somewhere in the middle my beef strogonoff.  Stories of Christmas back home in Turkey, Ireland and elsewhere were told.  Our two Lebanese friends told us of happier times in their home country when everyone joined in each others’ celebrations regardless of religion.  From time to time we had to wash dishes and cutlery to allow people to have more food but the fun and the joking about who was eating what and in what order only added to the occasion.  Wine was poured, someone had brought some beer, there was more than enough for everyone.   I can never remember whether I got some of the steak but I know that by the end of the afternoon everyone had eaten and there was enough left over to feed myself and Frank for the next few days.  Gradually people went home, thanking us for a wonderful Christmas meal little realising that they had saved us.

 

Margarita McCarthy

Angels

 Angels

 

 

Just before Christmas, I collect my friend Ellen and we head for a coffee shop in Howth village. Conversation has become difficult with Ellen over the past few years, her ability to put her thoughts into words progressively deteriorating. These occasions together are precious. We both know that in different ways.

 

The pungent cups of coffee bring a grimace to our faces, quickly fading on tasting the luscious  crumbly fruit scones. Wandering in and out of words, our eyes are often drawn to gaze upon the touches of Christmas on the walls, around picture frames and hanging from the ceiling. Now and then we simply rest in a shared silence.

 

The wooden window frames and door of the flower shop across the narrow road are painted a rich deep blue. The blue and white stripped awning provides shelter for the outdoor display; red and white cyclamens, hyacinth bulbs on the verge of bursting into blossom, white chrysanthemums, berried holly and  fragrant pine wreaths. A young small potted blue spruce tree completes a picture that would make a Christmas card to match any other.

 

Strolling around inside where the air is diffused with the scents of roses and lilies and garlands of pine, I notice Ellen examining some Christmas tree decorations. One by one, she lifts them from a festive container, then replaces them, until at last she finds one which she holds on to.  She shows me the decoration, trying to utter words that wont come out. ‘ Would you like it?’ she is asking me.  ‘I would like to get it for you’ she is saying. Facial expression and soul filled eyes have a language of their own.

 

The decoration she has chosen is an angel, tall and slim,with a cream toe length garment  and cream butterfly shaped wings. Both garment and wings bear delicately painted holly and pine branches. The angel has long flowing hair and is holding a hymnal. Her face is without feature. Ellen heads to the counter with the five Euro note she has held in her hand since leaving the coffee shop. I look on, awe filled and humbled, realising that whatever time or disease can do to our minds or bodies, they have no power over a grace filled spirit.

 

Forgetting that sometimes graciously receiving can be the better gift, I move to do something in return. In among the container of decorations I find a similar angel, differing only from the one Ellen has give me in the colour the foliage painted on the figure. It is a rich red poinsettia colour, just like the jumper and skirt she is wearing. I tell her that I would like to get it for her.

‘No’ she utters appreciatively, pointing to her neck and smiling. I wait, longing for words to follow her gesture but they do not come. And then I understand. From the gold chain hidden beneath her jumper, hangs a tiny angel.

 

Leaving the shop she asks  ‘You .. believe .. angels?  ‘Oh yes Ellen’, I reply ‘Sure what would we do without the angels?’ and in the very instant of saying it, I knew for sure it was true.

 

 

Maria Melrose

Christmases Past

Christmases Past

The threat of not getting anything from Santa was enough to be good and we all fell for it. The lead up to Christmas was a mix-up of getting the farmhouse ready for the season ahead. Walls were whitewashed, turkeys fattened and the house decorated. Streamers and flowers were made from crepe paper and paste while covered wire became stems. Red and white were the theme colours. I just loved it all.

My early Christmas memories are a bit blurred but I got sucked into the magic of it all.

On Christmas Eve we were washed fed and sent to bed early, It was impossible to sleep, My brother said he heard chains as Santa’s sleigh landed and was afraid to appear.
The parlour was decorated with a holly tree candles and loads of tinsel – no fairy lights then.
In the time before rural electrification, an oil lamp provided the necessary light -a bowl of oil sitting on an ornate base. The wick dipped into the oil was lit, a slender shade was placed over this, followed by a bigger globe – this was supposed to maximise the light. There was another wall lamp which could be angled into the room. The fire was set and ready for Christmas Day. The table was set to perfection. My mam’s sister was a Dominican nun and spent most of her life in South Africa. Each year a beautiful embroidered tablecloth arrived, that surpassed the one from the year before. The Santa believers’ shoes were polished and placed on the hearth where magically on Christmas morning, neat piles of practical presents, copybooks, pencils, sweets, knitted scarves and gloves were stacked neatly under the shoes.

On Christmas morning our exhausted parents told us it was time to check if Santa had called and he did not disappoint. One Christmas, a day or two before the big event, Mam told my sister and I that Santa did not exist and showed us where our presents were hidden. I was beside myself with fury. She could have waited a few more days! There were 4 or 5 younger than me so you can imagine getting two off her list was a relief to her. I vowed when I had my own children there would always be a Santa in our home. I still have 3 adult believers!

Jigsaws, snakes and ladders and cards were the closest we came to toys. One Christmas a relative from America sent us a doll. We fought over it so much that Mam hung it up high on a hook on chimney breast, We had an open fire in those days. When I thought no-one was looking, I got a sweeping brush and tried to dislodge the doll from its hook. It fell into the fire and with a puff disappeared up the chimney. End of doll!

My daughter wasn’t into dolls She liked teddies and soft toys and she had mad names for them all. I bought her a beautiful porcelain doll with golden hair in a satin lined box. She never played with it. When I was moving house four years ago I found it under a loose floorboard in the attic.

The Christmas dinner was a great feast The extended table was laden down. Dining chairs, stools and wooden boxes gave each of us a place at the table. Mam was last to take her place,whipping off her wrap-around apron before she sat down ,Before we began Dad went down on his knees and said a prayer “Go Mheirimid beo ag an tam seo aris” which in English means “that we may live to see this day again”

The sideboard had more dishes and of course the Christmas cake, trifle, pudding, custard, Lemonade and Cidona. No wine in those days. A glass of Guinness or a Sherry for the adults. After washing up by the girls, we settled down to play cards and games. And marvelled what a great fellow Santa was!

A Christmas Reflection

 

The business and commercial worlds are mad places at this time of year in the run up to Christmas. What with staff and office Christmas parties, pantomimes up and running, the streets crowded with shoppers, fairy lights and lighted Santas, reindeer, snowmen, and Christmas trees decorating streets, shops and homes and so many charities competing for support, it is hard to see and reflect on what this season is really about. The Christian world does a pretty good job in trying to keep the traditional Christmas story alive, while Christian schools involve the children in nativity plays, building crib scenes and carol singing.

It is interesting to look at the characters that make up the crib tableau. There’s the infant Jesus, Mary, Joseph, angels, shepherds, a donkey, sheep, cows, three kings and even an innkeeper off stage! Mary is the figure I particularly want to look at more closely.

As a child I learned that Mary was the virgin mother of Jesus, that she was passive in accepting this role and titles like Morning Star, Seat of Wisdom, Mystical Rose and Ivory Tower were ascribed to her in litanies. Rosaries and novenas helped to push her even higher up on the pedestal where, as a mere mortal, I could never reach. Indeed, she seemed to be in a very isolated, cold and lonely place completely out of this world and my understanding.

However, looking at the Mary character now through adult eyes and, even with my thin and threadbare faith, I see her as she is presented in the Christian gospels in a much different light. Of course, Mary doesn’t have much to say in the gospel texts but we see her involved in many human experiences, as we would live them today. As an unmarried, pregnant teenager she possibly would have been an embarrassment in her home place and, perhaps, this is the reason she visited her cousin Elizabeth in the ‘hill country’. After the birth of Jesus in the very poor conditions she and Joseph became refugees, fleeing from a cruel ruler who wanted to kill their child. I can identify with a couple of her situations – like when she was re-united with the missing Jesus after a misunderstanding and when she was present at the Cana wedding feast. Later, as she followed Jesus on his missionary journeys, I’m sure she often wished He wasn’t a radical coming to the notice of the Roman authorities which was to lead eventually to his trial and death. Also I can identify very well with the image of the grieving Mary in the pieta scene. In a happier depiction, we see Mary gathered with Jesus’s friends in the ‘upper room’ when their fears are turned to joy by the action of the Holy Spirit but, I cannot easily visualise this scene.

All in all, the Mary of the New Testament writings is, in my view, a much more wholesome figure with more emotions, feelings and ordinary family cares than the Church teaches or gives her credit for.

Two questions I ask myself:

‘Is that first- century woman that much different from a twenty-first century woman living today?’

‘How many Marys are still fleeing cruel regimes this Christmas?’

Joan O’Reilly

CHRISTMAS TURKEYS

 

I vividly remember my mother’s annoyance with me when I told her that Sr. Julianna in school had asked me if we were having turkey for Christmas and I innocently told the good nun, that no, instead we were having a cock, that is: an ordinary chicken. I really had let the side down.

That must have been one of our leaner Christmases because we usually did have a turkey for Christmas dinner.

For many years my mother raised turkeys. Sometime in the month of March, I think, these came from a hatchery somewhere – it never occurred to me to ask where – as day old chicks and were delivered by the Ballina bus which  passed our front door each day. The chicks were reared by an ordinary hen, with the aid of an infrared lamp. During the first few days, the turkey chicks, which were considered to be more delicate than hardier ordinary chicks, were kept in the kitchen. Newspaper was spread on a corner of the kitchen floor and a barrier fence consisting of the fire guard, upturned chairs draped with curtain material and various other articles was constructed around the paper to make a pen for the brood and their surrogate mother.  As a child I was fascinated by the little birds. Occasionally my mother allowed me to take one in my hand so that I could examine the little hammer near the tip of its beak which the baby bird had used to break its way out of the egg. Peace and quiet excitement reigned for the first two or three days until the chicks got strong and curious enough to make their way through the precarious walls of their enclosure. At that point the young family was moved to their outdoor house. The enclosure was re established in the corner of the barn and a sharp eye was kept to see that they were well fed and warm and particularly that they were not troubled by rats. Usually one or two of the brood was weaker than the others. These little creatures might be wrapped in a sock and placed in a shoebox beside the fire to be hand fed back to health. My memory tells me that these weak birds rarely survived.

The turkey chicks grew quickly. With good food regularly provided by my mother, they thrived. After a few months, perches, in the form of tree branches on which the birds could sleep at night, were introduced to the house. The perches were important to ensure the birds developed straight breastbones for the market that was their eventual destiny.  Each day, for several hours, the birds were allowed to wander in the nearby fields and then in the evening they were locked securely into their house A vital stage of development occurred after several months when the gender of the birds could be discerned. The cocks developed large combs and the typical red colouring around their heads while the hens remained a tamer colour. The cocks grew considerably bigger in size than the hens. Nevertheless, the hens were preferred as they brought more money per pound at point of sale, their meat being softer and their final weight being more in keeping with what was demanded by the household with an average sized oven.

I seem to remember that the turkeys were prone to various diseases so great vigilance was exercised and at any early sign of illness a defective bird was isolated and if possible, restored to health. Most years, two or three were lost to disease and occasionally Reynard the fox caught my mother off guard and raided the barn when the door was left open.

Eventually, the middle of December arrived each year and the turkeys met their fate. I remember the scene in the back yard when my father killed each bird by breaking its neck. He was quick at the job and a minimum of suffering was inflicted and no blood was spilt. The newly killed turkey was suspended by the legs to allow the blood to flow to its head. Ideally the creature was plucked while still warm to ensure the feathers came easily from the flesh. I remember the rules: Pluck in the right direction and the job was easy, clean and efficient but if you dragged in the wrong direction there was a danger of tearing the flesh or bruising the bird leaving a serious blemish from a commercial point of view.

My mother gained a reputation, it would seem, for the quality of the birds she produced. Months before Christmas her favoured customers would place their orders for, most likely, a twelve to fourteen pound hen. Sometimes nature was kind but often the flock didn’t produce the combinations of gender and weight so compromises were required.

Then there were the turkeys sent to relatives in England. These were plucked but not eviscerated as it was believed they remained fresher that way. The bird for posting was wrapped in grease proof paper, then in a pillow case or flour bag and eventually bound in brown paper. The parcel was kept together by twine or string. The address was clearly written. A declaration form stating the contents and  purpose of the contents was attached.  The knots on the twine were sealed with red wax, then the parcels were weighed, stamped and dispatched from the local post office. We waited anxiously until a letter came to say that the Christmas dinner for our relative in Birmingham or London had arrived safely. I remember well the Christmas when the post was delayed for some reason and the bird, when it eventually got there in early January, was reported to be a little ‘high’. This incident drew our cross channel turkey run to a halt.

Our own table was usually graced by whatever size and shape of bird was left over after all customers were satisfied. That meant we often ended up with a very large cock with huge thick sinews in its legs. I remember with mixed emotions the fun or the stress of preparing this bird for the oven. The entrails were removed and all edible organs were set aside to make soup. Any remaining feathers on the bird were plucked off and sometimes singed carefully with lighted paper. The lower legs were cut off and the sinews were removed with the aid of a pliers.  Stuffing was made with breadcrumbs, sausage meat and various other ingredients This was prior to the days when we were scared of salmonella so the stuffing was placed inside the carcase of the bird both in the main body and in the neck cavity. A special skill was required to sew up the openings carefully so that the stuffing stayed in its place. I remember the excitement of this operation on the afternoon of Christmas Eve.

On Christmas morning, on our return from Mass, the turkey was put into the oven. I’m sure my mother took note of the timing but I was oblivious to this. Eventually after several hours the dinner was ready. We sat down and ate till we could eat no more. After the plumb pudding it was time for sleep and relaxation.  The remaining turkey was put into the coldest room in the house. These were the days before fridges in the west of Ireland. Turkey meat formed our diet for the next several days, maybe up till New Year.

Shortly after that the whole cycle began again with the arrival of the next batch of chicks on the 10 o’clock bus.

 

 

DNA – Introduction, Applications and Implications

By Michael Ströck. [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Have you ever wondered about DNA?  What does it mean? What link does it have with  your ancestry?

As part of Science Week, the School of Biotechnology in DCU is pleased to offer a workshop on DNA for all ILP participants.  There  will be a lecture, followed by a demo.  For the lab demonstration, there is a limit of 12 participants, so book early.

The workshop will take place on  Wednesday, 23rd November, at 2 pm in HG19, in the School of Nursing. The lecture will be given by Dr. Michael Freeley.

DNA – Introduction, Applications and Implications

Michael Freeley (School of Biotechnology, Dublin City University)

 

Biography

Michael Freeley recently joined Dublin City University in September 2016 as a Lecturer in Biomedical Sciences where his responsibilities include serving as Programme Chair of the M.Sc. in Biomedical Diagnostics.  He obtained a first class honours degree in Biotechnology from Dublin City University in 1999 and subsequently graduated from the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland in 2004 with a PhD in Biochemistry and Immunology. Michael then moved to Trinity College Dublin in 2005 where he researched the inner workings of the immune system. In addition to this, he served as Course Coordinator of the Ph.D. training programme in Molecular Medicine (2008-2012) and the M.Sc in Molecular Medicine (2013-2016) in Trinity College. His research interests lie in the signalling pathways that regulate lymphocyte (white blood cell) function and he also has a keen interest in the way new therapies are increasing being used to treat patients in an individual manner (Personalised Therapy).  Michael hails from Ballyhaunis in Co. Mayo, and despite his counties terrible record in All-Ireland football finals, he hopes to finally see Sam Maguire come home to where it rightly belongs in 2017.

 

Outline of talk

• The dawn of genetics: Gregor Mendel and the discovery of inheritance
• The discovery of DNA as the genetic (inheritance) material
• Watson and Crick solve the structure of DNA
• The race to sequence the DNA of a human being
• Implications of knowing ones DNA sequence
• Recombinant DNA technology and Gene Cloning: New medicines, new frontiers
• The future and beyond!

4-week modules: Computers for Beginners

 

They say you are never too old to learn new things, DCU’s Intergenerational Learning Programme believes that statement to be true.

In today’s world learners need to interact with technology as part of their learning experience. In fact, for most of us technology has creep into our everyday living.  Society expect us to communicate through social media, to bank using a touch screen, to shop using the internet, the list goes on. How many times when you ring a company  have you been directed to their website or been asked to put your query in an email?

 

Of course, this can be difficult if you have never used a computer or if you have one but are not to sure how to operate it.

 

If you have never used a computer or if you would like to be able to use it more why not join us for our four week module ‘Computers for Beginners’. The module will cover the basics like knowing how to:

• operate the computer, keyboard and mouse
• access the Internet
• set up an email account and send emails

 

This module is supported by our DCU Student volunteers who will be on hand to help with any concerns you have while doing the module.

 

It is amazing how in a few short weeks with support and practice you can overcome your fears and enter a whole new world without ever having to leave your seat.

 

Our 4-week module starts on Thursday October 20th from 10am to 12noon. You can call 01 7007423 to register. Fee: €60

8-week module: Photography

This module is run with the ILP Digiphoto group, who have been learning photography together for over 3 years; the group was originally mentored by a DCU post-graduate student, Hammad Zargar.  They are now under the guidance of Stephen O’Brien.

The module will run on Tuesday mornings, 10am to 12pm, and will start on October 18th.

This photography module covers the basics of exposure, composition, aperture selection and shutter speeds.
You’ll find out how these elements affect your final image.  You will also learn how the basic buttons and dials on most cameras function and how to use them.
You will explore composition techniques, such as “framing”and the “rule of thirds” and how these can be applied to any camera from an advanced SLR to a simple, but effective, “point and shoot” camera.
The course also features a number of on-location shoots which will demonstrate how a photographer thinks, through a variety of real-life photographic situations.
You will see demonstrations that showcase elements of urban and rural landscapes, wildlife, people, special occasions and holidays.
This module will teach you how to appreciate the fundamentals of photography but also how to use these acquired skills to put together photographic stories that go beyond the individual still image .
Come join us on our journey through an age-friendly educational experience at DCU

 

8-week modules: Genealogy

Family tree, photograph by Herry Lawford, published under Creative Commons, available at http://bit.ly/1SPC7ZF

 

Description:

This eight week course, through lectures and hands-on computer sessions, enables participants to trace their family origins to, at least, the mid 1800s and most likely to the early 1800s. The course uses free online resources and publicly available sources in libraries, archives and record offices. The course is based my personal experiences of researching my own family.

Content:

The course covers the following topics:

Civil Records; Church Records; Census Records; Griffith’s Valuations; Tithe Applotment and Tithe defaulters records; Cemetery Records; Newspaper Archives; Street Directories; Electoral Registers; Wills; Court and Prison records; Military service; Migration issues; UK and US records; Use of subscription websites.

Computer skills:

Apart from the developing research skills in family history research, participants also improve their computing skills, through exercises such as:

• Downloading and using family history software for record keeping
• Making full use of DCU’s Virtual Learning Environment, Loop , to access course related material – lecture notes and other ancillary documents; relevant web sites and class announcements – and to participate in class discussions;
• Developing the skills required to retrieve relevant family-related information using the search engines and information filtering systems on the web sites used in the course.

Date and time:

The course takes place on Wednesday mornings from 10:00 to 12:00, starting on 19th October 2016.

 

 This course is designed and taught by Dr. Ronnie Saunders. Dr Ronnie Saunders retired as Head of DCU’s Distance Learning Division Oscail in September 2008 after 23 years in DCU. Ronnie, a scientist by profession, set up Ireland’s first IT degree by distance learning. Since retirement he has devoted his time, amongst other pursuits, to researching his family tree, with branches in the UK, US and Australia. In 2012, despite being on the wrong side of the inter-generational fence, he got involved in the ILP project and since then has presented a course on Genealogy to older people in each semester – a total of seven courses to date with over 90 participants. The focus of the course is using internet based resources and search techniques along with library based materials to enable participants research their own family history.

 

“Dr Ronnie Saunders is a genius cyber tracker of lost relatives. He has an amazing grasp of the human condition and enviable skills in deciphering old records. I thoroughly enjoyed this course.”

(Genealogy participant, Semester 1, 2015-2016