Random Thoughts of a Lazy Genealogist

As a member of www.ancestry.com for the last 19 years, I have invested countless hours in building a family tree that includes over 22,000 people--not just my family but those of my husband, my daughter- and son-in-law, and to some degree the families of my husband's siblings' spouses and the spouses of my aunts and uncles.  I don't regret doing this, in part because the act of doing the work is like walking through a cave with a flashlight.  You shine your light at one part of the cave, and you will see something different from what you'll see in any other part of the cave.  If you are interested in rock formations--or family formations--it's quite fun.

Over the years www.ancestry.com has become much more sophisticated in assisting the genealogist by developing a search engine that can bounce records or "hints," as ancestry.com calls them--census data, birth/death certificates, tax records, probate records, and data assembled by other genealogists, etc--to the genealogist based on the names, dates, and locations the genealogist has entered into her/his tree.  Many of these records are indexed to link information on a series of family members associated with the record, e.g., a birth record will include the names of the mother and father as well as the baby's name, and these names and the associated data can be added to the tree with a few clicks.  This is quite amazing to someone like me who has spent a career trying to link together information from disparate sources.

The downside of this advancement, however, is that it has enabled me to become a lazy genealogist, especially when combined with the fact that my tree is enormous.  I've become dependent on www.ancestry.com to feed me records now, whereas before, I used to dive in the data that ancestry.com offered me (conveniently arranged based on what appeared to be most likely to be associated with my research subject).

As in the case of many things in the United States that are available for better or for worst, self-discipline and good judgment are the keys to addressing a wealth options.  I give myself credit for good judgment--I am judicious now at deciding what to add to my tree, recognizing that just because ancestry.com might pop up a hint that it thinks is related to one of my tree members doesn't mean that it is related.  You actually have to think about it to confirm that time/place/and name all fit.  

I know many ancestry.com users are careless about this because when ancestry.com offers me hints that another genealogist has assembled regarding an individual and the individual's immediate family, I've noticed that some have associated individuals with the same last name to be parent and child when the child's birth date is earlier than the parent's or made similarly irrational connections.  Initially, I trusted my fellow genealogist's family trees on such things without attending to these details but learned a hard lesson in doing so, because mistakes in genealogy compound very easily. I have on occasion had to delete a dozen or so individuals from my tree to correct for careless and inaccurate associations.

Alas, I do lack self-discipline.  Often times, I will hop from family line to line, based on the hints that ancestry.com offers me rather than on purposeful research.  This approach has resulted in countless "quick wins," but it has not made me an expert on my family in the sense of knowing the individuals and the triumphs and hardships of my direct ancestors.  

For example, I recall that one of my grandfathers of several generations past was one of the first graduates of Harvard, but I don't recall which one.  I could figure out, sure, because the information is in my tree, but to me, I should know that off the top of my head.  Similarly, one of my Massachusetts born grandmothers of several generations past was tried and executed as a witch in Salem.  Very cool stuff in a grim kind of way, but what was her name?  Can't remember, would have to research my own tree to track it down.

Inspired in part by my fellow genealogist and sixth cousin's excellent summary of her genealogical finds, I think it's time for me to start writing the stories of different family lines and to make more systematic use of the great data trove of the Internet to enrich these stories.  My cousin created a tree on ancestry.com but is no longer a member.  Even without membership, ancestry.com allows you to maintain and add to your tree and to search for the existence of records in its database--although you cannot see the data in the records, and my cousin has used these capabilities to the max.  But more importantly, she has dug into the Internet to discover other resources or individual pieces of data, including photos, that make her tree far more than a catalogue of names, relationships, and residences.

My cousin and I, although we have never met, are somewhat distantly related, and live in different countries, have established a real partnership when it comes to genealogy, and this interaction has been almost as enjoyable as growing my tree.  Ancestry.com to its great credit encourages genealogists to contact one another for help or to enjoy the simple fact of sharing a family history.  

I am always annoyed to when ancestry.com members keep their trees private, meaning people like me can't see their trees to "freeload" off their hard work, because a tree is not a work of art--it's a type of history, and history is no one's property.  The knowledge that the vast majority of my direct ancestors were British and came to America in the first Great Migration from England in search of religious freedom instead of economic advantages would certainly have made me a much better history student in high school and college.

That said, one of the most helpful genealogist colleagues I had in my early days of research was a gentleman who lives in my home town of Terre Haute, Indiana, and maintains a private tree.  Our families overlapped slightly--we had a second or third cousin in common but were not related by blood because I was related to the cousin's father's side and he was related to the cousin's mother's side.  

The gentleman was an accountant and rigorously vetted each bit of information he added to his tree, while I, as hinted at above, am more of the "add it if it passes a prima facie test and dump it later if it proves wrong" type.  For whatever reason, for several years he kept a watchful eye on my public tree (ancestry.com provides this capability), contacting me at any misstep.

We never met but would have extensive email discussions about genealogical challenges and approaches.  He had gone all over Indiana and Kentucky to government offices and libraries to gain information for his tree and in general scoffed at arm chair genealogists like me.  But he realized that getting back to Indiana to do this type of research was impractical for me and took pity on me.  

I had bemoaned my inability to find when my great grandfather and great grandmother had married, noting that Indiana, which makes its marriage records public, had nothing for them nor did a record turn up from any other state.  Not too long afterward, he sent me the information--they had been married in Kentucky, which does not make marriage records public--at least not for free.  

I had also mentioned to him that I could not find an obituary for my great, great grandfather Adley Dowell or any other information on his death.  After a while, the gentleman sent me a four line notice that had appeared in a Terre Haute newspaper about the death of Adley Dowell at the age of 91 at his son's home.  He died from black small pox, a particularly nasty version of small pox, and the son's home had been placed under quarantine.  Absolutely fascinating stuff from a complete stranger who helped me out for no reward other than my gratitude and the joys of successfully concluding The Hunt.

I will give myself credit for doing some field work but not as much as I would like to do.  Occasional visits to Terre Haute would allow me the opportunity to roam through local cemeteries, which are excellent data sources, and to visit the genealogy section of the Vigo County Public Library--to my frustration, this section has very limited hours.  

I have spent some time in Maryland's State archives, which is conveniently located in Annapolis and has records for my earliest US-based Dowell ancestors, who oddly enough first settled in Anne Arundel County, where I live.  Still a mystery is where my Dowell family's founding father, Philip Dowell, came from in England--a question other genealogists in the family have tried to track down by traveling to the UK to check records there.  

I have this feeling that Maryland's archives hold this information--probably just a small reference waiting to be discovered, and I haven't set my mind to doing it yet.  When I think about this, I remind myself that at one point I was convinced that all the Dowells in the US have a common ancestor and that I would be able to prove this by putting all of them in my tree.  So stupid.  After a little more education on the genealogical facts of life, I accepted others' conclusion that there is no tie and am still deleting those alien Dowells from my tree whenever I spot one.

The last frontier of the genealogist is the development of DNA information as an analytical tool to determine or verify relationships.  Ancestry.com is getting into this approach, and after I took the site's DNA test, it has offered me a number of new DNA-based familial connections or possible connections that have enabled me to expand my tree and verify relationships.  

I sent my DNA data to a free site, www.gedmatch.com, which holds out all sorts of possibilities for deciphering connections.  That said, when it comes to DNA as a tool for genealogy, it depends on the willingness of individuals to offer up their DNA results.  Like an online dating service, you can only be linked up with other people who have agreed to participate in the site by contributing their DNA information.

Someday I hope that DNA will come up with an answer to questions like who were Philip Dowell's kinfolks back in England and who are my distant family members in Belgium, my great grandfather Bouillez's home country.  By then perhaps I will have written my narrative overview of my family and will be able to plug those facts in.  Perhaps one day I'll travel to England and Belgium and look over the turf and sites that were not dear enough to my ancestors to prevent them from leaving.

Old People and Hospitals

It would seem silly to suggest that hospitals are not good for the elderly, because where else would they go when they, for example, fall and break a vertebra in their neck, like my mother did last Monday?  Curiously, though, it seemed that her overall well-being took a rapid and steep decline after she was admitted to INOVA Fairfax Hospital.

Perhaps it's more reasonable to say that INOVA Fairfax Hospital is not good for the elderly.  When we brought my 91-year old mother to the emergency room there after a fall, her only complaint was sharp neck pain.  After an hour or so of sitting, she was poked around a bit by a nurse and got a CT scan, where she was lifted up on the table by two technicians and pulled and prodded on to the machine, reloaded back into a wheelchair, and returned to the hallway, where we sat for a while.

After about an hour, a nurse came rushing over to us with a cervical collar and told my mother that she didn't want to scare her, but she "needed to use a little tough love" because my mother had broken a bone in her neck and it was a serious injury that could paralyze her.  Well, now you tell us.  One might think that medical professionals should respond proactively to an elderly patient who had fallen and was complaining of severe neck pain by putting on the collar proactively instead of taking no consideration at all to the potential vulnerability of her spinal cord.  And is it too much to ask for a hospital to have the right sized collar to fit someone who is petite?

My mother made it to her shared room in the Intermediate Care Unit late Monday night.  We were told by the emergency room doctor that given the nature of her injury, she probably would be sent home the next morning with the collar.  The next morning, we were told that the attending trauma physician (the Trauma Department was in charge of her case) was ready to send her home, but the neurosurgeon assigned to her, Dr Jae Lim, wanted my her to have an MRI and that he had ordered her to be confined to laying flat on her back until she had one.  We were told getting the MRI would take a few hours, so we left with the full expectation of taking her home that evening after she got the MRI.

I called the IMU on Tuesday afternoon and was told that she had not had the MRI but should have it in the next hour or so, suggesting that we not arrive earlier than 6 pm to pick her up.  We arrived around 6pm, and still no MRI.  Worst of all, my mother was a basket case, extremely disoriented and fidgety with a thin hold on reality.  Three things contributed to this--being flat on her back for an extended period of time; not sleeping well; and being given Percoset for pain.

I was told that my mother's disoriented condition was typical for elderly hospital patients.  In other words, the staff accepted severe disorientation as the norm rather than considering the potential for disorientation as something to anticipate and try to prevent, for example by avoiding giving them narcotics.  I told the nurse not to give my mother any more narcotic pain killers without consulting me and to opt for Tylenol first.  This is another thing that seemed automatic at INOVA Fairfax--opt for the hard drug instead of other potentially effective options that don't have risky side effects (my mother was to get Ativan, which is strongly discouraged for elderly patients to keep her from moving during the MRI).

The medical staff noted that there was no immediate necessity for the MRI--it was something that could be done as an outpatient--an appointment that I could make for the next day.  They told me the dirty little secret about INOVA Fairfax and its MRI machines--they are reserved for outpatients who made an appointment, ER patients, and patients that were deemed as medically needing one.  My mother fell in the ER category the previous night, but it was not ordered for her; when it was ordered for her, she was constantly put at the bottom of the list because she was not considered to require it as an in-patient, and she couldn't get one as an outpatient, because Dr. Jae Kim wouldn't let her out.

I asked to talk to Dr. Lim, but was told that he does not answer pages after 5 pm.  A nurse was able to contact his physician's assistant (PA), but she said that the MRI decision was up to Dr. Lim, who was unreachable.  The nurse called the MRI department and came back to tell us that they had assured her that my mother would have her MRI at 1 a.m.  We left the hospital with great relief.

When we returned Wednesday morning, we were shocked by two things:  the continued decline of my mother's mental condition and the fact that she had still not received the MRI.  She had spent two useless nights in the hospital SOLELY WAITING TO GET AN MRI THAT SHE NEVER GOT.  I was unhappy.  I spoke to the attending trauma physician, who was unhappy about the situation too.  He had already put a page into Dr. Lim, who had not answered, so he paged him again.

Dr Lim decided to wave the MRI but required a back X-ray instead.  This was done relatively quickly, but unfortunately, we were back in the hands of Dr. Lim, who had to read the X-ray.  Three hours later he read them and ok'd her for release.  By that time the attending physician had changed, and the new one decided that my mother needed to eat and urinate before he would release her.  She had no trouble eating, but peeing was a problem.  The attending physician assumed that she had a condition that often develops with the elderly who have been confined to bed for a few days that makes their bladder become "lazy," so he told us that if we wanted to take her home, she'd have to wear a Foley catheter for about a week and then come back for a test to see if she could then pee.

The nurse, who clearly did not want to install the catheter, and I argued that my mother could not urinate because she had no fluids in her bladder.  The doctor decided to do a bladder scan, which proved that the nurse and I were correct.  But the doctor still wanted her to pee or wear a catheter before leaving.  So she spent another useless, expensive night in the hospital while she was pumped full of fluids.  And she peed.

I described these circumstances to my mother's new neurosurgeon, a gentleman who is rated as one of America's top neurosurgeons.  He noted that my mother's treatment was deplorable and now sadly typified patient care at INOVA Fairfax.  He also noted that he had other patients at the hospital who offered similar complaints about Dr. Lim.  He told me that he no longer associates with INOVA Fairfax and gave me the names of two of the hospital's senior administrators, encouraging me to tell them about my mother's treatment.

Aside from the apparently low patient-care standards at INOVA Fairfax, in general it seems that hospital care of the elderly is a woefully undeveloped field.  Baby-boomers be warned--your time is coming; take note of how your parents are being treated and be proactive in demanding that they are looked after in a way that fosters their overall well-being.  Change will only occur if we push for quality care.

My mother at last is allowed to sit in a chair.

Our Country 'Tis of We

Williamsburg was not our first thought when Tom, our son and his wife, and I tried to figure out a winter break destination.  For a while, the Florida Keys was the front-runner because it was warm and three of the four of us had never been there, but the cost and distance led us to brainstorm closer spots, and ultimately Williamsburg won out.

Come to find out, we were not the only ones to reach that decision.  The staff members we talked to said that the week after Christmas was one of Colonial Williamsburg's peak weeks for visitors, and I could see why, since it's not that long a drive from a number of major US cities, has tons of activities, and the odds are that the weather will be somewhat better than it is in the Northeast.  Not for us, though--much of a five-inch snowfall remained on the ground, revealing a new truth about the colonists:  they don't like to shovel snow and aren't going to waste valuable salt on it either.

As we trudged through the ice and snow along the miracle mile of Virginia's journey toward liberty, I distracted myself from my paranoia about falling and breaking an ankle by trying to define for myself the difference that social networking as we know it would have had on the Virginia branch of the Founding Fathers back during that pivotal time when they were deciding the future of their relationship with Great Britain.  I think my subconscious was recalling a parody of FaceBook that featured a Status + Comments of Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, etc., but I was trying to be serious about it.

My conclusion was that Virginia's decision to take actions that in effect supported the Boston Tea Party and to author its own constitution, a precursor to the US Constitution, was a model of effective social networking and that Twitter and FaceBook probably would have contributed very little and might have undercut the effort:

• The communications methods of the day enabled the colonists to have a surprisingly thorough understanding up and down the eastern seaboard of the central issues relating to their colonies' interactions with England.  A range of opinions was continuously discussed and debated, even after Virginia's colonial governor disbanded the House of Burgesses.  Twitter was not required for word to spread quickly to Virginians about the Boston Tea Party or the taxes that led up to it.

• The young history major who guided our tour through the Capitol made the point that Virginia's colonial leaders weren't all that original in their revolutionary thoughts--that they drew heavily from the great political thinkers of Europe like Locke and Rousseau.  This suggested to me that even the primitive circumstances of the American colonies still allowed for the transmittal and discussion of important ideas.

• Even when the Members of Virginia's House of Burgesses decided to support independence, they had plenty of disagreements among themselves, and the dissolution of the House of Burgesses forced them into meeting secretly.  I can't help but think that Twitter and/or FB would have made these disagreements even more difficult to resolve by turning them into soundbites; by adding more opinions to weed through from well-meaning "friends;" by undercutting the perceived need to meet face-to-face (which I think was critical to coming to closure); and by increasing the colonial leaders' vulnerability to being caught in the act of sedition, since one false sharing of a FB chat or Twitter trend would have provided the British hard evidence of the full scope of the plotting against them.

My musings got me over the precarious footing I faced in Williamsburg, and it also increased my respect for the sophistication of thought and actions of a relatively large number of people in colonial times who sought and achieved change.  I can't really say that I'm as impressed with their current political heirs--all of whom are well-equipped with FB, Twitter, and every other social networking tool.  Of course, I love FB and am slowly acclimating myself to Twitter, but I don't think we should assume that the spectacular increase in the quantity of communication through these tools has led to a net increase in the quality of communication.

Why Won't Janie Read?

As an only child on vacation with my mom and dad, I had the whole back seat to myself as we drove hundreds of miles.  We never flew, because we never had flown and because my dad loved cars and driving.  One of the foot wells in the back of the car would contain at least a dozen library books, and I  would routinely finish reading them during the week of the trip, undoubtedly missing a fair amount of scenery in the process.  When we returned home and returned the books, I would check out some more, and so on and so on.

At some point early in my adult life, I abandoned the library and started buying books--I suspect this was when the Crown Bookstore chain--the first to popularize the sale of discount bestsellers--opened up in the Washington, DC, area.  At a certain point, I continued to buy books, but I stopped reading most of them.  I now read less than a dozen in a year.  I think the main benefit for me in getting an iPad is that the books I buy but don't read will no longer take up space and gather dust.

And speaking of gathering dust, I just filled three boxes with some of my Dad's books, most of which remain on the shelves he built that span a wall in the basement of his house in Terre Haute.  Most of the books I boxed today were biographies of American Presidents or books on US foreign policy.  I know I will never read any of them, but my dad read them all.  He remained a voracious reader until macular degeneration's toll on his eyesight slowed him down about a year before he died at 88.

Reading wasn't my dad's only hobby or occupation.  He owned and maintained rental property.  He did a considerable amount of plumping, carpentry, and woodworking, including finishing the attic and basement of the house in Terre Haute.  He was political science professor until he retired at 65.  But he always found time to read.

So what is my excuse for being such a slacker in the reading department?  Too much time on the computer playing Bejeweled Blitz?  I continue to buy.  I start to read.  I enjoy what I read.  Then I put the book down, and it collects dust.  Some times I think my brain has lost the plug-in for where the book is supposed to go.   Or the plug-in is loose, and the book falls out.  Perhaps the iPad is a better solution than I think.

The best excuse I can come up with is that I work too hard.  My eyes scan a lot of words when I work, and by the time I get home, they aren't willing to focus on words.  I challenge myself to read a few pages a night anyway, but by the time I finish playing Bejeweled Blitz, I'm tired, and a few pages equals three.  Maybe.  At current count I am in the process of reading six books.  I keep them handy in case the urge hits me.  The only one I'm confident I'll finish is Breaking Dawn--I've read the rest of the series and just wouldn't feel right going to the movie with out finishing the book.  Plus, all my other women friends have read it.  Maybe I need peer pressure to get me to finish the other five.

Bringing Down the House

I've mentioned before that we're having a new house built where our old house stood.  Undoubtedly I will repeat some details.  The old house was built in 1964 out of blocks that had a pale blue glaze on one side. The house needed saving or destruction when we first bought it in 1993. We saved it by doing extensive renovations and repairs. Even then we were well aware that the lot was worth more than the house, because the lot is on Annapolis's South River where it enters the Chesapeake Bay.

We didn't put a new roof on the house even though it was not long thereafter we bought it when the wind started blowing shingles off. We were planning to build a second story when we accumulated enough money, so why waste the money on a new roof? But living near the water is hard on roofs, and periodically Tom would climb on top of the house to put roofing material over the bare spots. Fortunately, the roof was simple and had a low peak, so Tom did not risk his life doing this, and he could take advantage of a great view of the water from up there.

Ultimately, wind and water took its toll on the roof and the rest of the house, with leaks especially apparent in our bedroom, where a hole steadily expanded in the cathedral ceiling, letting in insulation and cold air. The crawl space, which we had had waterproofed and was nice and dry for the first ten years or so thereafter, eventually took on water from plumbing leaks and snowfalls. Mice and raccoons also intruded. It was not unusual to see a mouse run across the floor of the family room in the evening while we were watching TV. Raccoons in the roof and under the bedroom floor would rustle around at night disturbing our sleep until we finally realized the source of the noise.

We were losing the battle to both species despite persistent trapping efforts. One raccoon trapping experience resulted in the humane capture and release of a mother and her babies (years later, the release of captured raccoons became illegal out of fear of the spread of rabies). Since we had stopped living in the house during the work week in 2002, the critters had more opportunities to execute their attack than we had to defend against it. The mice built nests in a computer printer and in a sofa, among other places, shredding paper to make them cozy. Mice poop became so common in the kitchen drawers that we took the stuff out of them and stopped using them.

The house had outlived its natural life span. Our architect determined with the help of a structural engineer that the house could not support a second floor. It was time for change. It took about two weeks to take the house down to the foundation.

Here are a few things I learned during the process of house destruction:

1. Mice do not need to taste non-natural fibers to know they don't like them. Wool items stored under the house were well-eaten, but the polyester things were untouched. I don't think they care much for granola bars, either, based on similar observations.

2. Plastic shopping bags are nearly indestructible. Many were in our crawl space and even though they got wet, they remained intact and structurally as good as new. Even the ink was stable. This is why it's important to recycle plastics rather than bury them or otherwise discard them.

3. Plastic garbage bags seem to biodegrade when wet. I guess they make them to do that. Why can't them make all plastic bags biodegradable?

4. Do not store things in cardboard if there's a risk of its exposure to water. Cardboard is biodegradable and vulnerable to attack from mold and mildew. If breakable objects are in a cardboard box that has been wet but then has dried, remove the objects before lifting the box.

5. Raccoons have a high-fiber diet and tubular-shaped poop. They enjoy watermelon but spit out the seeds.

6. Raccoons are not always as cute as commonly portrayed. A raccoon living out in the wild can look pretty scruffy.

7. Some artificial fibers seemed immune to mold, mildew, and other causes of decay. I found this especially to be the case for knit scarves and hats. These came out of the worst possible conditions looking nearly as good as new with just a slight smell of mildew as a result of exposure to less durable fabrics.

Let It Go

I accumulate things that I should let go. I always have a reason for keeping them, but they are not good reasons. Some of these reasons are: One of these days I might be interested in this again (to justify retaining books and papers on topics I used to work on); I want my grandchildren to have this (to justify keeping my kids' toys and clothes); my parents gave this to me (to justify keeping clothes I can't wear any more or other items that no longer fit my lifestyle); or this will be worth something some day (to justify retaining old video game systems and their paraphernalia).

The unfortunate fact is that the accumulation of large amounts of unused stuff results in every item having the same low value. The things get stored in bags or boxes out of sight and difficult to reach. The one or two things that actually might be worth keeping for posterity or resale get lost in the crowd. Moreover, the storage sites are probably spots in your house, like the attic, basement, garage, or crawl space that are vulnerable to heat, cold, water leaks, insects, etc., that can damage or destroy. Your stashing of stuff in these places is not attractive to prospective buyers if you're trying to sell your home. If you are moving, they cost you time, effort, and money at a time when you are already under a lot of stress.

Take for example, my kids' stuffed animals, which were in excellent condition when they were stuff in supposedly secure trash bags and stored in our extremely dry crawl space. Then came a record-breaking snowfall, and the crawl space wasn't so dry any more and the bags not so secure. Mold on a cute stuffed animal is particularly ugly, especially when you're moving out of the home your kids grew up in and seeing the decay of their toys somehow makes you feel that you are an irresponsible parent.

So I am intent on learning my lesson. I will no longer store en masse. An item that I can care for and display is enough to hold many memories of other things that I will give away, throw away, or sell. When we move into the new house, I will diligently, promptly, and systematically let go of possessions and let someone else have their benefit.

House under Construction

Emptying our house in preparation for new construction revealed just how ready it was to become part of our memories and make way for our future.  The leaky roof, which Tom had patched repeatedly over the years, had allowed water to penetrate the ceiling in a number of spots, most notably in the master bedroom, where a steadily widening hole allowed insulation and cold air to come in.  Mice poop was everywhere and throughout the house along in various corners and cubbyholes, the little critters had made nests.  The crawl space had let in melting snow that saturated the huge amount of stuff that we had stored there--books, baby clothes, toys, etc.--to the point that it succumbed to a coating of black mold.  We had caught numerous raccoons over the past several years that had made their home in the attic and the crawl space and let them go miles away, but apparently our hospitality was well-known among the greater raccoon community.

It struck me as I walked in for the last time before demolition that the house was reverting to the way we found it back in 1995, when the bathroom and kitchen floors were soaked to the point that the toilet had almost fallen through and termites had occupied the crawl space from the surface of two and a half feet of standing water to the underside of floors and were eating the wallboard in the living room, kitchen, and dining room, and had already consumed the metal screens of the back porch.

We revived the house then by doing extensive renovations, but it seemed that its life span was destined to be 50 years.  The contractors were salvaging a few things--bookcases built by my dad, our natural cherry kitchen cabinets, the four load-bearing Doric columns, some light fixtures, some hand-painted crown molding, and a unique curved wall half-wall--to remind us of the home that was, but it was time for a more durable structure to take over.