I'm back. My surgery a fortnight ago didn't go according to plan and became all rather serious, but I'm still here, after 'a long fight'. I owe one man an enormous debt. Now facing a long recovery now that I'm home. I get tired very easily... who knew that brushing one's teeth could be so utterly exhausting? But, I'll get there in time. Small steps. I caught sight of my family history clutter when I came home, all neatly stacked in folders, cd's and books on my desk, hard drive perched on the top containing all my precious data to date, and I told hubby, "I won't be doing family history stuff again. It takes up too much of my time." However, it doesn't take long for the embers to spark, does it? Idly scrolling through a local Facebook page, I saw mention of a farm where my husband's 2nd G-Grandfather's family had lived comfortably from the mid-1800s. Prior to that, they'd worked as 'excavators', children all working as labourers in the family business. Excavating... what? Only a day or two ago it dawned on me what 'excavators' meant, and a note on a census later confirmed this... they were Night Soil Men. Suddenly they were brought to life; I saw them with their two-wheeled carts, working hard at night and doing very well for themselves, it turned out. As the saying goes, "Where thar's muck, thar's brass." It's nice to be back.