You’re actively using online genealogy platforms and you want to get the most out of them without wasting time or money. You care deeply about obtaining records, evaluating sources, and keeping your research accurate. And you’re not afraid to question tools when they don’t live up to the hype.
Good. Me neither.
In 2026, I’ll be sharing even more practical tips, honest reviews, and real-world work-arounds to help you research smarter not harder so keep checking back.
I’m also considering launching small, focused genealogy groups based on research needs, along with on-demand videos you can watch anytime. More details will be coming this summer.
And finally, let’s be honest, genealogy can be a lonely pursuit. Some of you may be thinking about joining a lineage society, or simply looking for a place where thoughtful discussion is welcome. Know this: you belong here. Genealogy At Heart is a community, and your comments, questions, and perspectives matter.
If you’d like to receive a free, just for the group monthly newsletter, email me at GenealogyAtHeart.com and I’ll add you to the list.
Here’s to curiosity, clarity, and good records in 2026!
Photo courtesy of Honoring Our Legacy
Happy New Year! We start the new year looking forward but it's also important to look back.
A powerful new chapter in remembrance has begun.
The Fields of Honor Foundation has officially launched its newly redesigned Fields of Honor Virtual Memorial, bringing together more than 15 years of dedication, research, and remembrance into one modern, accessible space.
What began in 2008 with the story of a single American soldier has grown into a living memorial honoring more than 45,000 U.S. service members who gave their lives in Europe during World War II. This new platform unites the former Fields of Honor database with The Faces of Margraten, ensuring that every name is paired, whenever possible, with a face, a story, and a legacy.
The revamped memorial allows stories to be enriched with photographs, documents, and soon audio and video. Related soldiers are thoughtfully connected, and information is easier than ever to explore, share, and download, whether you’re researching one individual or studying history at a broader scale.
The design looks to the future while honoring the past, using familiar colors inspired by the green fields of honor, the red, white, and blue of the American flag, and the marble crosses and Stars of David that mark these sacred resting places.
This achievement would not have been possible without the dedication of volunteers, partners, and nearly 400 donors, many of them relatives of the fallen or adopters of graves, whose generosity made the new memorial possible. The cemeteries themselves continue to be lovingly maintained by the American Battle Monuments Commission.
If you believe remembrance matters and that history should never be reduced to numbers, take time to explore the new memorial and the stories it preserves.
Visit the new Fields of Honor Virtual Memorial:
https://fieldsofhonor.com/memorial/
Because remembrance is not just about the past; it’s a promise to the future.
Possible Post Office Locations in Downtown Indianapolis
This is the last in a series on my adventures obtaining family records for dual citizenship. You can read early posts here, here, here, and here.
We had tried to get family documents from Illinois and Indiana in person and used email to obtain records from Florida and Arizona. Unbelievably, the online records had already been mailed to me while I tried to obtain the in person ones. Why? Because some states are more efficient then others. Illinois & Indiana, not so much.
We decided to drive two hours south east to acquire my father's birth record in Mercer County, Ohio. The clerk was warm and welcoming which was such a change from our experiences elsewhere. A problem surfaced quickly; the record for my dad in their computer claimed he had been born in 1939. Umm, no, he would have been the youngest enlistee in World War II if that was the case. I had a copy of the birth and death certificate which I shared with the clerk. She couldn't print a certified copy because whoever had input the information into the computer had made a typo. She went to search for a hard copy and found it. It was dated 1939. I believe what happened is that my father went to the office to obtain a certified copy so he could get his Social Security card. The clerk handwrote a new one and when my father looked at it he likely informed the clerk she had added the wrong year for his birth. I suspect she gave him a corrected replacement but kept the error record in the files. So, whoever input the info wasn't at fault.
It took over an hour and three transferred phone calls to Columbus for someone with tech knowledge to inform the clerk how to issue the birth certificate with the correct date. Meanwhile, others were arriving for records and I was surprised to learn that another person was also seeking dual citizenship.
With record finally in hand we decided to make an attempt to drop off the death records request that Gary refused to accept earlier in the week. So, it was back home again in Indiana. Sigh.
There’s no walk-in service at the Indiana State Department of Health in Indianapolis, and I knew that. What the website didn’t say was that you also can’t drop anything off. Still, I figured it was worth a try.
Two and a half hours later, we pulled into the very last spot on the sixth floor of a parking garage. $35 an hour. But hey, it was next to the elevator. Life was looking good.
Until it wasn’t.
Disappearing Buildings and Imaginary Signs
We couldn’t find the building. The address led us to a large office labeled Bank of America but surprise! It was actually the Department of Health.
Only in Indiana could a government agency masquerade as a bank to “save taxpayers money.” And if I were to complain to a legislator? I can already hear the syrupy voice: “Now ma’am, we did you a big, beautiful favor by saving that signage cost, see?” (They always say “see.”)
There were no address numbers on the building. We finally wandered into another bank across the street, where someone kindly told us where to go.
If I had known what was coming next, I would’ve turned around.
The Plexiglass Purge
Inside the “Bank of Not-America,” a lone woman sat behind a desk topped with plexiglass, an absurd formality, given that it was the only furniture in the entire room besides a circular couch off in the corner.
She did not smile.
“We can’t take that,” she said flatly after I told her I had completed requests for death certificates.
I asked why.
“We don’t offer customer service.”
Well, clearly, that must be the vital records motto throughout Indiana.
I explained I’d driven from the northeast corner of the state because Gary refused to issue the records and whenever I mailed requests, they disappeared into the void.
“We’re very backlogged.”
At that point, my husband, officially done, asked if he could sit down. She pointed silently to the one chair in what was once the vestibule.
I asked where the nearest post office was. My thought: if I mailed it from just a few blocks away, maybe they’d actually receive it. Silly me.
She offered to draw me a map. I handed her my notebook.
That’s when it got weird.
Enter: The Scowler
Out of nowhere, a man’s voice boomed behind me: “What can I help you with?”
Startled, I turned to see a tall man with a very unfriendly expression and a gun. Yep, it was an officer of the law. I had no idea he was even in the room.
I answered, “There’s nothing you can help me with.”
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.
He started yelling, “Tone it down! Tone it down!”
I wasn’t raising my voice. I hadn't even been speaking when began yelling. But suddenly I could see it all: me, tackled to the ground, handcuffed, arrested for attempting to find a post office to send for three death records that the department who issues them refused to take.
The woman at the desk piped up, “She’s a nice lady, she’s not a problem.”
He replied, “I’ll handle this.”
Handle what? Was he going to walk my envelopes to the post office for me? Hand-deliver them to the Department of Health? Please, don’t tease me.
He eventually got bored and retreated to the sofa, where another officer sat watching the show with amusement.
Yep, fun and games intimidating an old lady genealogist. Karma, baby. Let it be soon.
The Map of Madness
The woman finished her map and handed it to me proudly, saying, “I’m not much of an artist, but I think I did a good job.”
I looked at it: three horizontal lines, three vertical lines, a circle, and three X’s because she “wasn’t sure where the post office was.” Also, she misspelled Washington. It had taken her five full minutes to draw this.
I stared at the page, silently. She looked sad that I didn't appreciate her work.
I asked if it was walkable, thinking I could leave the car parked. “If you’re good at walking,” she said.
Not knowing what that meant, I asked how far it was.
“Maybe five or more blocks.”
Sure. We’d drive.
She said she should probably give me the address as well, there was another post office nearby, but she wouldn’t send me there because “it wasn’t very good.”
(Pretty sure that’s the one where all my mail has vanished into the ether.)
She had to call someone else to find the name and address of the post office she'd just drawn a map for.
I left, sad for the state of public service and even sadder that this was the outcome of my tax dollars.
The Last Gasp
It was now pouring rain.
I parked in what was probably an employee lot behind the post office and left my husband in the car in case it needed to be moved.
Inside: long line. No one at the desk. Classic.
Thirty minutes later, I sent off two envelope, each with certified requests for death certificates, destined for a building two blocks away.
Only in America can it take three days to deliver a letter that far.
It was scheduled to arrive on Saturday when no one is there to sign for it. Of course.
So maybe Monday. Maybe never.
And when it inevitably goes missing? I planned to take my receipt to my local post office, and they’ll tell me I have to go back to Indianapolis to get a refund.
At this point, I’m starting to think dual citizenship was absolutely the right decision. Even with all the hassles. Even with the yelling. Even with that map.
Next week, to begin a new year, I'll post a a look back at the favorite blog posts selected by readers for 2025. Stay Tuned.
Christmas is a season of joy, wonder, and if you’re paying attention, quiet miracles. I have a holiday story to share that has just unfolded in my own family. Those of you who work in genealogy already understand that the strange, the coincidental, and the improbable often walk hand in hand with real life. Still, what I’m about to share feels like something more.
One of our adult children has always wanted to be a mother. For years, she prepared for a child she hoped would someday be hers, cross-stitching bibs, knitting booties, quilting blankets, and crafting tiny handmade treasures. She remained hopeful, positive, and forward-thinking throughout it all. As her mom, though, my heart often ached. No matter how old your child is, it’s painful to watch them work so hard for something that doesn’t seem to be coming.
I’ve written before about my Granny, my Croatian immigrant great-grandmother, who, in the late 1800s, made a pilgrimage from her small village of Dubranec to Marija Bistrica, a Roman Catholic shrine believed to be a site of miracles. When my husband and I visited the area years later, I was stunned by the distance she traveled. The terrain is mountainous, and for a woman of that era, the journey there and back would have been difficult and dangerous.
Yet Granny believed in miracles. She was hoping for a child who would live. According to my grandmother, Granny’s daughter, triplets had died. In truth, they were likely three separate pregnancies. English was their second language, and surviving records show two boys who died in different years. I suspect the third was a miscarriage.
While standing in that church during my visit, I lit a candle for my own child. It couldn’t hurt, right?
Last January, after modern medicine could not help her conceive, adoption became the next step. A consultation with a lawyer in May was discouraging. The message was blunt: if an adoption happened, and that was a very big if, it would likely take three to five years. Her age worked against her. International adoption was explored, but it was even more expensive and less promising. It all felt like a closed door.
Undaunted, she decided to become a foster mom. She was told she’d likely be placed with a teenager. Her response? That was fine. And if that young person someday became a parent, she would give them all the baby items she had lovingly made over the years. Generosity, it turns out, is another of her gifts.
She was approved as a foster mom the day before Thanksgiving and prepared a room for whoever might arrive. Then, last week, she received a call: would she be interested in a newborn? If so, she needed to attend an interview on 22 December. Of course she was interested but getting away from work was no small thing. In her profession, you don’t simply take the day off. With help from a few trusted colleagues, her schedule was carefully shifted so she could attend the meeting during her lunch hour.
She was told she would hear back the following day. Instead, four hours later, the phone rang. She was informed that she was a new mom.
The day she was selected came one day after my Granny’s birthdate. Go figure.
The next day, after paperwork, we met our newest family member. Our daughter named her after Granny, with a middle name that also carries deep family meaning another story for another time.
And yet, the coincidences continued.
I had never been inside this particular hospital before, but I knew it well. When we relocated from Florida, I had inexplicably chosen a hotel right next to it. Every time I needed to access the main highway, I turned into that hospital’s parking lot. Later, I realized it was the same hospital system my paternal grandfather had used when he lived in the city.
So there was a thread connecting my maternal and paternal lines but it didn’t end there.
When we entered the NICU, I noticed the baby’s whiteboard listed a very distinctive first name: the name of my husband’s maternal grandmother. I asked if that was the baby’s name. The nurse said no. One of the staff had simply thought of it, without knowing why, and wanted something to call her until an adoptive mom was chosen.
That name belonged to the woman who had, in many ways, raised my husband.
I don’t pretend to understand how all of this came together especially during a season known for wonder. I only know that we are profoundly grateful to have this strong little angel in our lives.
We are especially thankful for the biological mother, the DCS and NICU staff, and the community members who have stepped forward with support. If you’re so inclined, we would be grateful if you’d keep this little one in your prayers.
This is a continuing series on my recent adventures to acquire documents for dual-citizenship. You can read earlier posts here - here - and here.
We were up bright and early on Wednesday, ready to track down a divorce record at the Porter County, Indiana courthouse before they even opened.
Here’s another tip for researchers working in Indiana: be prepared to feel like a threat. Most facilities are swarming with armed officers who clearly believe they're guarding nuclear codes rather than 19th-century paperwork. And no, you can’t bring your cell phone in. Doesn’t matter if you need it to pay. Doesn’t matter if you’re old and holding a manila folder. It’s Wild West rules. Don’t bother asking for an exception. I warned you.
As expected, they couldn’t locate the record.
I thanked them for the stack they had mailed me two years ago, minus the final dissolution of marriage I actually needed certified. Last time, it took them three months to find anything, and they charged me $50.00, a dollar per page, even though they’d made five copies of the same ten pages. No, it wasn’t a juicy divorce. Just sloppy duplication.
This time, I showed them the exact document I needed. I was told I’d hear back once they found it.
Here we go again.
One Clerk, One Win
On to the Porter County Health Department, where I entered a bit too early for some folks’ comfort. While I stood silently at the counter, I overheard one clerk complaining about “letting people in before we open.” (Hi, yes. That would be me.)
Thankfully, another clerk came to the rescue. She was efficient, kind, and within five minutes, I had the certified record I needed.
I mentioned the nightmare from the day before in Gary, and she replied with a sigh: “I couldn’t even get my own birth certificate from them. I had to go through the state.” That's two locals that had that problem!
So maybe I was lucky after all.
A Church with a Lock and a Secretary with a Key
We drove back to Lake County to revisit the church that had been closed the day before. Again, the door was locked and the secretary spoke to us through it. When I explained what I needed, she let us in and quickly found thebaptism and marriage books.
She couldn’t locate the names but from across the desk, upside down, I spotted them and pointed them out. She allowed me to take a photo of the entries, but only after covering up the rest of the page. I didn’t bother mentioning that many dioceses have digitized records entirely, so full-page images are already online.
She couldn’t issue the certificates, though as there was no priest available, and wouldn’t be one “for a while.” The plan was to mail them when a priest showed up.
Which, given how things were going, might be never.
Cemetery Software and the Mystery of the Missing Priest
Next, we made a quick stop at the cemetery, where I hadn’t planned to clean any graves, but found myself wiping down markers anyway. I was there to get an updated cemetery record for the family plot. The version I had was from 2001, and a new family member had since been buried.
They had upgraded to new cemetery software. Unfortunately, no one knew how to print a basic update using it.
So one employee simply handwrote the new information and told me to submit it alongside the old printout. (Ah, technology!)
While there, I got a call from Porter County.They told me to check my email to confirm they’d found the divorce record.
Cue near-heart attack.
I checked: no email. Nothing in spam. I called back, no voicemail. I called again. The clerk laughed and said, “Oh, I didn’t send it yet.”
I told her we were already on our way.
One Archivist’s Righteous Indignation
And then the Chicago Archdiocese archivist called.
She wanted me to know firmly that my grandparents had not married at St. Salomea’s and that she would not be refunding my money.
I hadn’t asked for a refund.
She was clearly annoyed that I had requested a church record despite already having a civil marriage certificate number. I explained that the county couldn’t find the record.
Her response? “They should find it.” Right - shoulda - woulda - coulda!
As if that’s something I can make happen.
She then turned her attention to the birth/baptism record copies I had submitted for reissuance. Because mine were in English and the parish books were in Latin, she couldn’t issue a new version.
I told her Latin was fine.
Next excuse: the form she uses doesn’t include the word “birth,” and my copy did. She couldn’t reissue it for that reason, either.
I simply said, “That’s okay. I’ll explain that policies have changed over time.”
She grumbled something about being unsure when she’d get around to it. I told her to mail it. We were already heading home.
Tally So Far?
Two days. Fourteen stops. Five records. Not great.
Gary, Lake County, Indiana Index to Death Records, 1908-1920, Joseph Koss, digital database; Ancestry.com: accessed 30 July 2025, image 10 of 14.
This is a continuing series on my genealogical adventures in obtaining family records for a dual citizenship application. You can read my previous blogs here and here.
By early afternoon, I decided to head straight for Crown Point, the county seat of Lake County, Indiana. According to the website, the building that housed marriage and divorce records was located directly across the street from the one with birth and death records. Efficient, right? I actually thought to myself, “Wow, Lake County has it together!”
Think again, Lori.
Crown Point Confusion
Our GPS led us to… a juvenile detention facility. No address numbers anywhere. Hoping for better luck, we crossed the street to a large, official-looking government building and went inside.
That’s where I was able to obtain one record: a marriage certificate. After six hours of effort, that felt like winning the lottery. The staff promised to research the divorce record and contact me if, yes if, they found it.
Next stop: the County Health Department, which, according to an officer, was “the white building next to the juvenile facility.” Turns out the reason we hadn’t seen it was because it was set so far back off the road it might as well have been hiding.
My husband noted, “Hey, we got the first free parking space right in front of the door. That’s a good sign!”
Narrator: It was not a good sign.
Enter: The Wall of Gary
The moment we walked in, we were greeted by multiple signs declaring that the health department did not have records for Gary.
Wait, what? This is the Lake County Health Department, and they don’t have records from one of the cities in the county?
I double-checked the website later, no mention of this. I asked the clerk at the window where I could get Gary records. She looked at me like I had just uttered profanity in Latin. “At Gary’s Health Department,” she snapped.
“And where is that?” I asked.
Without a word, she pointed to a sign with an address on it, turned, and walked away.
Wow.
The Ethnic Club and the Mystery Man
My original plan had been to stop at two more locations that day, a local ethnic organization where my family had once been active, and the Diocese to pick up church records. But it was nearly closing time, and now I had three stops to make, clearly, that wasn’t happening.
We decided to do as much as we could, spend the night and continue the next day.
We started with the ethnic club, since it was close by. A car was parked out front, but the building doors were locked. I had tried to reach out to them previously with no success. No website. No returned Facebook messages. At this point, I figured I'd just mail them a query and hope for the best.
As we were pulling away, a man opened the front door. I jumped out. He wasn’t affiliated with the group but rented office space there. Still, he was helpful, gave me two phone numbers and admitted that the organization wasn't exactly known for its communication skills. No kidding.
He also offered advice on dual citizenship. Turns out, he was trying to apply, too but his info was wrong. He’d tried to get his birth certificate through VitalChek. I’ve used them before. They happily took my money and never delivered a record. (Pro tip: if you use them, pay with a credit card that’ll support you when you dispute the charge.)
This man told me he had made 37 phone calls to try to track down his birth certificate because, brace yourself, Gary wouldn’t give it to him.
Why not?
“You’ll figure it out,” he said.
Oh boy. I could hardly wait.
A Warm Welcome in Gary
Next stop: the Diocese. They informed me the church records I needed had been transferred to another parish. I called. They had just closed, literally two minutes earlier.
So we decided to head straight to downtown Gary to try and retrieve thebirth and death records I needed.
When we arrived, a shirtless man was being confronted by a police officer on the sidewalk. And in my head? Back Home Again in Indiana was playing. You can’t make this stuff up.
We parked quickly and headed inside the same building I had visited as a child to get my birth certificate before starting school. The elderly security guard greeted us warmly and directed us upstairs.
The First Hint of Hope
There were two employees at the counter, and one immediately asked what we needed. Miraculously, we received two birth certificates almost right away. After seven hours of driving, detours, and dead ends I finally had three documents in hand.
Then things went south. Fast.
The Death Certificate Debacle
I asked for three death certificates, dated 1919, 1966, and 1970. (See pic above) The woman behind the counter asked for the deceased individuals’ birth certificates.
I calmly explained: they were born in the 1800s, outside the U.S., and their countries didn’t issue birth certificates at that time.
Her response? “No birth certificate, no record.”
That is not Indiana law. That is a clerk making up her own rules and digging in.
I showed her original death records issued by that very office. She didn’t care. She asked for death certificates of their children which I provided. I also gave her birth and baptism records for one child.
Still no.
I tried to show her obituaries naming the parents and just for fun, me. Nope. She wasn’t having it.
Then she turned and walked away, loudly repeating, “Birth certificate, birth certificate, birth certificate” as if chanting it would magically make them appear.
We left empty-handed.
At this point, we checked into a hotel in nearby Porter County because I had one more shot at records the next day.
The National Genealogical Society has officially opened registration for the 2026 NGS Family History Conference, taking place May 26-30, 2026 in Fort Wayne, Indiana. If you’ve been thinking about attending a major genealogy conference next year, this is a wonderful opportunity. Fort Wayne is home to the world-renowned Allen County Public Library Genealogy Center,making it one of the best locations in the country for genealogical research and learning.
I’m excited to share that I’ll be teaching a three-hour beginner workshop on using AI as a genealogy research assistant.
This workshop is designed specifically for those who are:
curious about AI but not sure where to start
overwhelmed by new technology
wondering what AI actually does for genealogists
looking for tools that make research and writing easier
eager to work smarter, not just harder on their projects
What We’ll Cover
During this interactive session, we’ll explore:
How AI can help you plan and structure research
Where it can (and cannot) interpret records
How to create stronger logs, summaries, and timelines
Ways to improve your historical writing and citations
Best practices for accuracy, ethics, and reliability
How to build your own repeatable AI workflows
My goal is to give you tools you can use immediately, whether you’re working on a family story, preparing a client report, or tackling a brick-wall ancestor.
Why AI Matters for Genealogists
AI doesn’t replace genealogical reasoning. Instead, it strengthens organization, speeds up repetitive tasks, and frees you to focus on the analysis and interpretation that only a human researcher can do. It’s an exciting time in our field, and I’m thrilled to help genealogists explore these tools in practical, down-to-earth ways.
Join Us in Fort Wayne!
If you’ve never attended an NGS conference before, you’re in for a treat. You’ll find:
dozens of sessions across skill levels
networking with researchers from across the country
access to one of the world’s best genealogical libraries
opportunities to learn new methods, tools, and approaches
You can register now through the NGS website: 👉 Register
I hope to see you in Fort Wayne next May and I can’t wait to share this workshop with you!
