Thursday, May 23, 2013

Thankful Thursday: A Daughter Remembers




Thomas Eugene McGinnis
     (1855 - 1927)
Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis
     (1858 - 1940)

Benita Elizabeth (McGinnis) McCormick
     (1889 - 1984)



Benita (McGinnis) McCormick, or "Aunt Detty," as she was known to our family, kept a scrapbook of her life and memories.  She began it in the early 1970s and added to it from time to time over the years.  On this page, one of the earliest from her album, she attached a photograph of her parents, Thomas and Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis.  They were known to all simply as Tom and Janie.

Scrapbook page from Benita (McGinnis) McCormick's album,
written by her at age 82 in 1972, San Mateo, California


Aunt Detty writes here of her father, Tom:
My father was one of the aforesaid young men working for the N.P.R.R. [Nickel Plate Railroad] in the early days of that road. The story was that as he passed the open dining room window of the Gaffney House to register for a room, he looked up, saw mother and fell madly in love.  When he registered my Aunt Margaret who was at the desk, observed, "You are carrying the biggest lunch pail I have ever seen in my life."
"It is?" laughed my father, "I guess it's true.  But I've just seen the girl I want to fill it for me - she's at the window at the back of the hour ironing!"
By the healthy look of the bridegroom in this picture, it would appear that somebody kept his lunchpail pretty well packed. Wouldn't you say?  Of course, in a family boasting four daughters, somebody was usually busy filling lunchpails for hunger men in the sunny old kitchen those days.
The only illness I can recall in my father's life was his last.  He was an unusually athletic, healthy man, with the most happy and genial disposition I have ever known and just about the most popular.  I loved him very much and often feel him near me.  A good father is a great blessing.

On the same page, she also remembers her mother, Janie:

My mother was a clever fashion designer, never using a pattern - simply held a paper up to her subject and cut to suit the figure before her. 
She made the dress she is wearing in this photo.  It was from satin and beautifully draped, as you may see.  Her hat was made by her sister Elizabeth (Aunt Lyle to us children), who was as clever with hats as my mother was with gowns. 
The parasol my mother is carrying was brown silk with a golden brown bone handle.  I recall admiring it.  Sometimes she would let me hold it.  I remember hazily that many years later I glimpsed it wrapped in tissue in an old trunk in our attic.  But it was then beginning to split, as taffeta will in time.
My mother was aged 26 when this picture was taken.  Which makes her birthday in 1858 (December 2).  She died in 1940, at the age of 82 years old (my present age in 1972).  
Some women become morose in old age, but my mother was alert, interested in people and events to the very last - As I write I keep saying, "Thank you, God, for having given us such wonderful parents!"


Aunt Detty notes that her parents' portrait was of "the newlyweds in Cl. O (Cleveland, Ohio), where they spent their honeymoon."

However, after comparing the above photo with the engagement portraits they had made before, Tom looks a bit older and considerably stockier than he appeared in his original photograph, no matter how well Janie may have packed his lunch pail.

Janie McGinnis (the former Mary Jane Gaffney) also appears a bit older here.  Was this taken in 1884 or sometime later, perhaps during a later trip to Cleveland?  Although the cabinet card style photograph shows that they were in Cleveland wearing their wedding clothes, I would love to know why and when they were there.  Did they return to Cleveland after honeymooning there, maybe for an anniversary or other special occasion?

What do you think?



**********

Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully


Are you a member of the Gaffney, McGinnis, or McCormick, families? Share your memories and comments below.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Wedding Wednesday: Thomas and Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis




Thomas Eugene McGinnis
     (1855 - 1927)
Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis
     (1858 - 1940)


The photograph below comes from a page from the scrapbook of my great-aunt, Benita (McGinnis) McCormick, in honor of her parents, Thomas McGinnis and Mary Jane Gaffney.   They were married on May 19, 1884, in Conneaut, Ohio.  According to Benita, this photograph was taken on their honeymoon in Cleveland, Ohio.


Thomas Eugene and Mary Jane (Gaffney)
McGinnis, Cleveland, Ohio.  Could this photograph
 have been taken sometime after their 1884 marriage?

**********

Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully


Are you a member of the Gaffney, McGinnis, or McCormick, families? Share your memories and comments below.



Sunday, May 19, 2013

Sentimental Sunday: A Token of Their Love



Thomas Eugene McGinnis
     (1855 - 1927)
Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis
     (1858 - 1940)



Face of Mary Jane McGinnis' love
 token. What did the "M" stand for?
Reverse side of love token shows it is a
Seated Liberty quarter dated 1854.

Good things come in small packages.

Some years ago, my second cousin, Benita Jane (McCormick) Olson, gave me a small brooch that had belonged to my great-grandmother, Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis.  The brooch had been made from an old coin that was planed on one side, where someone had etched the letter "M" and bordered it with an embellishment of double linked curves.  On the reverse, they had soldered a hinge, through which they had threaded a gold nail that tucked under a C-shaped catch.


Benita Jane (McCormick) Olson
Circa 1960
My late cousin, who I knew as Jane and was named for her mother and grandmother - Benita McGinnis and Mary Jane Gaffney - had received the brooch from her mother.  All she knew about it was that it had belonged to her grandmother.

Neither of us had ever seen anything like it before, and our questions were many.  Who made it, and why? Did the "M" stand for Mary Jane's name? Did  it stand for "Mother"? Had it been a gift from one of her four children?  Or did it stand for her married name, McGinnis, and did it come from her husband, Tom?  

As it turns out, the brooches such as this one were quite popular in the 1800s.  They were called "love tokens."

Although love tokens can take many forms and date back to Roman times, the practice of engraving a symbol of one's love began in Wales in the 15th century, when young men carved intricate designs on spoons as tokens of their love and affection for their intended.  

The tradition expanded to include coins in 17th century England and reached the height of their popularity in the United States during the Civil War.  Sailors also made them for their sweethearts as a promise of their return. Until the early 20th century, all were made by hand.  The practice continued through World War I, when soldiers made them for their mothers and girlfriends, sometimes by hand, but mostly with machinery.

Love tokens were often substituted for engagement rings, understandably so as a young lady would likely wear the brooch near her heart.  The coins either had holes punched through the top to wear on a chain, or they had hinges attached with thin bent nails to wear as a brooch. Typically, they bore the initial of the beloved, but they also could be quite ornate.  Some love tokens were engraved with names, messages or symbols and other embellishments.  

Most love tokens were made from Seated Liberty dimes or nickels.  The dimes, in particular, were the easiest to plane and engrave because of the softness of the silver.  The dimes and nickels were the most popular denominations to use, as they were less costly than quarters and dollars.  Still, these factors could not diminish the love shared by the giver and the recipient of such a heartfelt gift.


Mary Jane Gaffney
Engagement portrait, about 1885
Conneaut, Ohio
So who gave our Mary Jane her love token, and why?  The more expensive denomination of the Seated Liberty quarter suggests that it might have been more affordable for a young man to give his beloved than as a gift from a boy or girl for their mother.  The year under the hinge is 1854; could that be of any significance?  It would be less likely for one of the children to possess a coin from that date. 

Could 1854 have alluded to Thomas McGinnis' year of birth?  I have been unable to find his birth certificate. His death certificate notes he was born in 1855.  Various census records put his birth between 1855 and 1858, so it is hard to tell for sure.


Thomas McGinnis,
Engagement portrait, about 1855
Conneaut, Ohio
Thomas had run away to sea as a boy, so he could have learned how to carve love tokens as a sailor.  If in fact he was the giver, as I suspect, the "M" could have stood for Mary Jane.  The romantic in me thinks it also could have stood for McGinnis, which would become Mary Jane's new last name - and in a single initial would have signified both of them coming together as one.

I treasure this lovely and very sentimental brooch.  It is something both of my great-grandparents touched lovingly.  I marvel that something so small has endured through four generations - from Mary Jane to her daughter, Benita, to her granddaughter, Jane, and now to me. It symbolizes so much love between husband and wife, mother and child, and beyond.  I am very grateful to Jane for her special gift, and I look forward to passing it on to my own daughter, Erin, one day.

I wear Mary Jane's brooch on special occasions, Mother's Day being one of them.  I will wear it today, in honor of her marriage to Thomas on this day, May 19th, some 128 years ago.  I also will wear it tomorrow to remember my dear cousin Jane Olson, on her birthday.

As small packages go, this is the best kind: the gift that keeps on giving.



**********

Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully


Are you a member of the Gaffney, McGinnis, McCormick, or Olson families? Share your memories and comments below.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Those Places Thursday: Gaffney House, Conneaut, Ohio



John Patrick "Jeff" Gaffney
    (1826 - 1892)
Bridget "Bridey" (Quinn) Gaffney
     (1843 - 1914)
Thomas Eugene McGinnis
     (1855 - 1927)
Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis
     (1858 - 1940)
Benita Elizabeth (McGinnis) McCormick
     (1889 - 1984)


When my great-aunt, Benita "Detty" McCormick reached the "young" age of 92, she created a scrapbook of her life.  She devoted the first pages of her scrapbook to her parents and grandparents, Thomas Eugene and Mary McGinnis; and John Patrick and Bridget Gaffney.  

One of those pages contained a photograph (below) of the Gaffney House in Conneaut, Ashtabula County, Ohio.  Located at 58 Mill Street, it was also known to some as the "Conneaut House." The house belonged to Mary Jane's own parents, John Francis "Jeff" and Bridget (Quinn) Gaffney.  

John and Bridget were Irish potato famine immigrants to America.  Both were from County Roscommon- he from Drumbrick and she from Boyle.  Did they know each other before crossing the Atlantic? It's hard to say, but the towns are about five miles apart, so it is possible.  It appears, though, that they married in America. 

John and Bridget lived for a time in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where Mary Jane, their eldest child, was born and baptized in 1858.  They arrived in Conneaut sometime between 1858 and the spring of 1860, when their second daughter, Margaret, was born.  

The United States 1860 Census indicates that John was a "peddler" who owned property in Conneaut valued at $300. The equivalent today would be over $8,000, an impressive amount of money for that era.  Aunt Detty believed he had been a traveling linen salesman, but it seems plausible that he would have sold other textiles as well, such as cotton.  The demand for cotton was far greater than for linen at this time, due to shortages of flax (needed to make linen) and the rising popularity of cotton as a less expensive and more versatile material.  The demand increased dramatically with the advent of the Civil War and the need for cotton to make soldier's uniforms and medical supplies.  These factors must have contributed a decent income to the Gaffney family and made it possible for John and Bridget to afford such a large home as the Gaffney House. 

The house apparently was big enough to house John and Bridget's growing family - they would have 10 children in all - plus additional rooms to rent to the young men who worked on the nearby Nickel Plate Railroad.  



Page from Benita (McGinnis) McCormick's scrapbook




The entry in my Aunt Detty's scrapbook (shown above), describes the Gaffney House:

The Gaffney House, famous Conneaut, Ohio landmark patronized especially by Nickle (sic) Plate railroad men.  About 1880 the hotel was the home of more than 30 unmarried young men under the age of 27 years. + The cross on the addition indicates the window to the "Priest's Room" built by my grandfather John Francis Gaffney to accommodate the circuit priest who came when he could to minister to the growing Irish-American population.


John and Bridget had no idea that one of those young men would become more than just a "renter" to them in the years to come.



**********


Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully



Are you a member of the Gaffney, McGinnis, or McCormick families? Share your memories and comments below.


Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Wisdom Wednesday: Scrapbook of a Lifetime




Benita Elizabeth (McGinnis) McCormick
          (1889 - 1984)
Phillip Columbus McCormick 
         (1892 - 1981)


From left to right: Phillip and Benita McCormick
with their tour guide, 1962, Piraeus, Greece.
One of the reasons my family moved to California in 1967 was to be closer to my great-aunt and great-uncle, Benita (McGinnis) and Phillip McCormick.  At that time, they were in their late 70s.
  
We called them Aunt Detty and Unk Pill. I don't remember how Uncle Phil got his nickname, but I think my aunt's nickname originated when one or more of her siblings could not say "Benita" when they were young children. "Detty" must have been as close as they could get. The name stuck.

Aunt Detty and my maternal grandmother, Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon, were sisters.  My grandmother having died in 1963, Aunt Detty was my mother's closest relative in California. She and Unk Pill lived about a 30 minute drive from us at Woodlake, a large apartment complex at 820 Delaware Street in San Mateo.  

Our family usually visited them on Sunday afternoons. As youngsters, my sisters and I loved ringing the doorbell by their apartment number on the building directory.  Aunt Detty's warm "Hello, there!" would greet us through the speaker, followed by a buzzer that automatically unlocked the door to let us enter the building. This seemed very sophisticated to us.  We would pile into the wood-paneled elevator for the ride to the third floor.  

My sisters and I often raced each other to see who could get to Aunt Detty's apartment first.  Our parents would remind us to not run round the corner and down the long hallway, but it was hard to resist.  There she was at the door, arms outstretched, dressed in her best clothes as if the most important people in the world were coming to visit. 

Uncle Phil would be waiting inside.  Looking debonair in his tweed golf cap and herringbone blazer, he was ready to take us back downstairs to the swimming pool or for a walk around the large complex if we were too giddy, so my aunt and my parents could talk.

Aunt Detty was a writer, artist, and entrepreneur all her life.  When she was in her 90s, she created a scrapbook of her life's memories, using an old Christmas card sample book.  The page below contains her introduction to the "skeleton" of her life.



Introduction in Benita (McGinnis) McCormick's scrapbook,
 dated May 2, 1982, San Mateo, California


This is the skeleton of my life
And the flesh of it the wonderful
people I met on the way.  They gave it
color and vitality, joy and sadness, poetry and
delight and peace of mind, gave me not only
love, but care and devotion.  For which I thank God.
I hope that in some way the joy of my life has
shown forth to others and served them in the
thought of living a full life.  There are so many more
things I hope to do.

- Benita McCormick -- age 92 / May 2, 1982

**********

Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully



Are you a member of the Huesca, McGinnis, McCormick, or Schiavon families? Share your memories and comments below.


Sunday, May 12, 2013

Sentimental Sunday: To the Mothers in Our Lives



Happy Mother's Day 
    Feliz Día de las Madres 
       Bonne Fête des Mères 
           Buona Festa della Mamma
       Hyvää äitienpäivää
    Lá na Máthar Shona ar
       


No matter what your language, "Mother" is the sweetest word of all.




Margaret McCoy
Born Ireland (abt. 1823 - abt. 1857)
Catherine O'Grady
Born Waterford, Ireland (abt. 1835 - 1901)






Adela Baron
Born San Francisco, California (1862 - 1917)
Concepción Celaya
Born Sonora, Mexico (1830 - after 1910)
Alice Gaffney McGinnis
Born Conneaut, Ohio (1895 - 1963)
María Angela Catalina Perrotin
Born Orizaba, Veracruz, Mexico (1893 - 1998)

Emanuela Sannella
Born Accadia, Puglia, Italy (1867 - 1966)

Mary Jane Gaffney
Born Milwaukee, Wisconsin (1858 - 1940)
María Amaro
Born Orizaba, Veracruz, Mexico (1872 - 1970)
Selma Justina Kangas
Born Vasa, Finland (1894 - 1949)
Patricia Ann Fay
Born Stuart, Iowa (1925 - 1997)
Sara Ellen Riney
Born Rineyville, Kentucky (1884 - 1938)

Joan Joyce Schiavon
Born Chicago, Illinois (1928 - 1987)
Linda Huesca
Born Chicago, Illinois (19--   )




Happy Mother's Day to all the wonderful mothers in our lives!



Above, "Happy Mother's Day" in the languages of our ancestors, in order of appearance:  English, Spanish, French, Italian, Finnish, and Irish.




Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

Are you a member of the Baron, Celaya, Fay, Gaffney, Huesca, Kangas, McCoy, O'Grady, Perrotin, Sannella, Schiavon, or Tully families? Share your memories and comments below.



Thursday, May 09, 2013

Thankful Thursday: Life's Lessons, Part 3 - The Forces that Shape Us


Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)

(This is the last of a three part series.   To read Part 1, click here.  To read Part 2, click here.)


My father and me on my wedding day, 
just before leaving for the church.
 Santa Clara, California, 1984.
A few months before my father died, we had an interesting conversation about trust. I remarked that we were polar opposites in that he was slow to trust new people and situations, while I might have  been too ready to trust them right away.  I wished he could sometimes be more optimistic and less skeptical.

Surprisingly, he agreed with me and added that he wished he could have been that way, too. 

As far as I knew, he had never said this before.  I asked him if something had happened in his life that had influenced him to think this way.  He briefly pondered my question. "I want you to understand," he began, "that sometimes in this life, you have to protect yourself."

Protect yourself.  How many times had he said this before? As my three younger sisters and I grew up and went out on our own in the world, my father often reminded us to be wary of what we said and did.  In his view, we never knew who might be watching or testing us.  He did not want anyone or anything to take advantage of us.  I took it as wanting us to look over our shoulders all the time and thought it was very pessimistic.  Though his advice about thinking ahead made sense, it seemed as though my father's outlook was based on apprehension and pessimism.  I struggled to understand and told myself that for all his wonderful qualities, he would never change in this regard.

Protect yourself.  My father lived through traumatic times, but he saw no reason to wear these on his sleeve.  He witnessed and was the subject of man's inhumanity to man.  These were major life events over which he had no control or could not have predicted, yet they occurred in life's most mundane settings. Being skeptical and cautious - and encouraging his children to do the same - were ways my father thought would protect himself and us from ever being threatened or betrayed again. He had formed a protective shell and would not let anything or anyone penetrate it again.

Protect yourself.  Now that my children are grown and are making their way in the world, I find myself sometimes wanting to protect them, much as my father tried to protect me.  I have to stop myself from telling them what to do and how to do it.  They will make and learn from their own mistakes, as we all do.

In the months that followed our conversation on trust, my father's prostate cancer metastasized and began taking ruthless advantage of his body.  It wracked him with pain,  forcing him to go from being fiercely independent to become more dependent than ever on others for his daily needs.  It was heartbreaking.  He had protected his family all his life, and now we were powerless to protect him.

But a strange thing happened.  When things seemed at their worst, a new light seemed to go on inside my father.  He became more hopeful, trusting, and optimistic.  He greeted everyone with joy and kindness and patience, from his doctors to his hospice caregiver to the man who delivered his medical equipment.  No longer did he see the need to be guarded around strangers.  Now he regarded them differently that he would have before.  He trusted and respected them, even as it became physically harder to interact with them. The cancer had betrayed his body, but it had not betrayed his soul.

He was hopeful, almost to the end, that he could defeat the cancer.  When it became clear that this would not be, his hopefulness was transformed to peaceful acceptance.  My precious father, ever amazing, found grace in giving up the control he had exercised all his life and accepted his new path to the inevitable that awaits us all.


I understand now. Whether or not we understand the reasons for what people do, it is important to accept them for the way they are.  

My father's life and attitude were influenced by an era of politics and culture, among other things, that converged to shape him into the man that he became.  But there were also other forces at work:  the unique combination of values of love, faith, family, honor, respect, discipline, and strength that he learned from his parents in the context of his unique life.   

We were more alike than we were different.  He influenced me to become the person I am today and shared life's lessons from his heart.  He was a loving and devoted father and the best parent anyone could aspire to be.  I will always be grateful for all the time we spent together and the closeness that we shared. 

I had the perfect father.  I love him exactly as he was and would not want him to be any other way.  



To read the other installments in this three part series, please click on the links below:

Part 1:  Church Record Sunday - Life's Lessons: Unbreakable Faith

Part 2:  Wisdom Wednesday - Life's Lessons:  The Defining Moments

***********


Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Gilbert Huesca, or are you a member of the Huesca family? Share your memories and comments below.

Wednesday, May 08, 2013

Wisdom Wednesday: Life's Lessons, Part 2 - The Defining Moments



Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)



(This is the second of a three part series.  To read Part 1, please click here.  To read part 3, please click here)



My father, Gilbert Huesca, and me.  Chicago, Illinois,
Easter Sunday, 1956
I used to wonder why my father was so reserved and circumspect.  He was not spontaneous like my mother.  He was a kind and loving person who went out of his way to help his family and friends. He had tremendous integrity and honor, and he enjoyed the respect of others in his personal and professional life.

While he hoped for the best, he always prepared himself for the reasonable worst.  He chose his words and planned his actions in his life as deliberately as if they were moves in the chess games he loved so much. Even when the unexpected caught him off guard, his response was measured, cautious, and thoughtful.

Recently I found myself thinking more about him this as I wrote about his personal recollection of religious persecution in 1930s Mexico. Another memory about him, my own this time, gave me pause for reflection.

Our family was living in Mexico City in 1966, having moved from Chicago to be near relatives. My parents rented a house next to my father's sister and her family, at 38-A Altamirano Street in the San Rafael neighborhood.  Our other neighbor was Mr. Torres, an elderly retired professor who did not like Americans. Not long after we moved in, he denounced my father to the Federal Security Directorate, known informally as the Mexican "secret police." The "crime" was speaking English in our home. 

At that time speaking a language other than Spanish at home could be grounds for suspicious or subversive activity against the then-authoritarian state. During the 1960s and 70s the Mexican government was at odds with left-wing and guerrilla groups in what was called the Dirty War.  The Mexican secret police were known for conducting surveillance on persons they deemed "suspicious" for any number of vague reasons. Hundreds of people were taken into custody during this period.  Many were tortured; some "disappeared" and were never seen again.  The secret police's existence was as well known as their power was notably feared.

When my father came home from work one day, he was met by two of these plainclothes policemen and whisked away for questioning.  Before leaving, they let him quickly kiss my mother (Joan Schiavon Huesca) goodbye.  In what must have been a desperate whisper, he urged her to call his best friend and respected attorney, Licenciado Ocampo Alonso.

Mr. Ocampo Alonso told my mother not to panic. He reassured her that he would contact the American embassy and go down at once to the secret police headquarters to negotiate a release. He was optimistic that my father's status as a naturalized American citizen would aid in his release but gave no guarantees.  He would have to move quickly.

Meanwhile, to be safe, he advised my mother to pack a suitcase and be ready to leave the country right away with my sisters and me in case my father was not home in four hours.  After that window of time, the chances of his returning were slim.

My mother said later that the wait felt like an eternity. I do not remember if anyone came over to be with her during that time, but how she made it still astounds me.  I do not know whether my little sisters were aware of the crisis at hand, but I remember asking my mother why she was packing a suitcase.  She sat me down and explained what had happened as calmly as she could.  She knew she could count on me to be mature, to be brave and to trust that God would bring my father back.

I was only 11 years old then, but I was the oldest child. I knew my mother was counting on me, but I felt scared, confused, and helpless. Fighting back tears, I ran up the two flights of stairs to our rooftop patio and looked across the courtyard adjoining our two houses into Mr. Torres' study.

It was dusk.  The old man sat at his desk under a stark shadeless light bulb, folding and cutting out one string of paper dolls after another. I stared at him in disgust and disbelief. How he could do such a mindless thing without a care in the world, while my daddy was being interrogated somewhere and we might never see him again?  Even at my young age I was sure the man must have been crazy.

My father's attorney obtained his release that evening.  When he walked through our front door, my mother, who had stayed strong for us all evening, burst into tears.  My father tried to hold back his emotion, too, but it was no use.  He cried as he threw his arms around her and us and held on tightly.

We later learned that he had not been charged with any wrongdoing.  I am sure he filled my mother in on the details, but as far as I know, he never talked about it beyond that and tried to forget those hours of fear and dread.

It must be terrifying to be in such jeopardy and have no control over your outcome, to not know whether you would ever see your loved ones again or you would even make it out alive.  Though I clearly remember being frightened for my father and for our family, I cannot even begin to imagine all the thoughts that must have gone through his head.

Only now I see that this experience, coupled with his personal witness to religious persecution in the 1930s, were defining moments in my father's life.  They must have been why he lived with a sense of uncertainty and reserve.



Next:  Thankful Thursday:  Life's Lessons, Part 3 - The Forces that Shape Us



To read the other installments in this three part series, please click on the links below:

Part 1:  Church Record Sunday - Life's Lessons: Unbreakable Faith

Part 3:  Thankful Thursday - Life's Lessons:  The Forces that Shape Us

***********


Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Gilbert Huesca, or are you a member of the Huesca family? Share your memories and comments below.



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