Today was my grandmother’s 27th birthday. She had a small, family get-together. She’s just as young as ever. Someone invented a party game that we played. It involved tea bags and baseball caps. Because all of the natural talent runs through that side of the family she naturally won the game.
She played it three times, beating great-grandchildren seven decades younger.
I have video of that, but I’m keeping it just for me.
A few years ago we had a “surprise” party for her. She danced her way into the room. And then she danced her way back out again.
Here she is on that night:
That’s her son, husband and my mother. My uncle later married The Yankee and I. He embarrassed me with an off-color joke at the Christmas table last year. It was the kind of thing that you’ve heard worse, but you’d never ever imagine such a thing coming from him. They’ve all been a lovely family to grow up with.
Anyway, we sang Happy Birthday twice tonight, because why not?
Happy Birthday to my grandmother, who has been the neatest grandmother you could have, even though you can’t hand-pick them.
(She probably would have let me choose, if I’d thought to ask, because she’d spoil us all that way. Her other two grandchildren would have to be allowed to do so, too. She has always been very serious and conscientious about her grandmotherly duties. If I could pick, I would pick her every time.)
