Signs You’ve Been Spending Way Too Much Time Researching Your Polish Genealogy

All blame may be attributed to Elyssa Kowalinski, who really should quit hanging out with old bits of microfilm.

You would really, Really, REALLY like to explain to the old record keeping priests how important it is to keep neat and accurate records. Preferably over some sort of cliff.

You’re seriously considering naming your next child ‘Bonaventuras Severinus Florianus’.

Suddenly you’re not so worried about the six year age difference between your collegiate daughter and her new boyfriend.

You live in Southern California, and your Russian is better than your Spanish.

You started to write your last three grocery lists in latin.

You’re beginning to wish your ancestors were all raging alcoholics, rather than drinking so frequently from the town water supply.

Your current partner has already decided that their next signifigant other is going to be straight from Burke’s Peerage, and thus have no need to search out their genealogy.

Your list of stuff to take with you if you ever get to go back in time and meet your ancestors now includes your family history notebook, your new digital camera, water purification tablets and a crate of medicated shampoo.

You’ve found 22 different spellings for your eight letter surname so far – and this is only your third film.

Your kids are sick of pierogi. And so is your dog.

You feel like wringing the neck of that British researcher at your local Family History Center every time he boasts to someone ‘How much harder’ it was for him to do his research ‘all those years ago’, because instead of computers and microfishe, he had to use microfilm and look through ‘Every Single Name.’!

….. Not to mention he can trace his illiterate peasant farmer ancestors back to the Magna Carta…

Your name on your birth certificate is Mary-Kate, but you’ve started to refer to yourself as ‘Marianna Catharina’.

You can describe your ancestors in three different foreign languages, but can’t hold a conversation in one.

Going back over your notes, you and your partner suddenly realise that you’re the first unmarried parents in seven generations of each of your direct lines. Oops….

Although you’ve now got 250 years’ worth of records for your great-grandmother’s maiden name, you still can’t pronounce it.

Your screensaver is a photo of a used car lot in downtown Bydgoszcz, because 180 years ago, that’s where your ancestors lived.

You’ve learnt to pre-empt any new FHC volunteers who helpfully suggest you might like to try searching for your names in the IGI.

You’re the only person at your local FHC who knows how to use the microfilm printer.

You just about celebrate every time you find a name that’s not Joannes or Marianna.

You hardly even glance at the records for the Nobility anymore, because they sure ain’t going to be related to YOUR family, darn it.

At home, while staring at your patterned rug after hours of reading microfilm at the FHC, you’re sure you can make out the name ‘Laurentius’…. wait, maybe it’s Franciscus…. no, it’s Laurentius - it’s just a funny ‘L’.

Usually, you have to stay up all night for your eyes to get this bloodshot.

You’ve made darn sure you and your family are completely immunised against measles, mumps, whooping cough and typhoid, because the death records show that they’ve already claimed enough of your family.

Know another sign? Email it and I’ll add it to the list! J