In 4 days my Gramma will be 100.
And she lives with me.
And we’re starting to ramp up celebration activities!
A 3 digit countdown

We added a countdown in our front yard. Our neighbors are wonderful. They just are. We have a group chat with about 6 of us on there and we keep an eye out for each other: when we leave our garage doors up; when they’re gone on a trip and our kids get paid to feed their cat; celebrating graduations, birth of grandkids, etc, etc, etc. We’ve hosted block parties, tailgated birthday cake at the end of driveways, gathered around firepits during covid, waved at each other, and called each other by name for years. I sincerely love and appreciate our neighborhood!
So we celebrate together.
Dinner on your 100th Birthday
Which brings me to birthday dinner. Last year we celebrated Gramma’s 99th birthday on her birthday. So we had family/friends/neighbors on our driveway and shared cake and punch. It was a beautiful memory.


This year the celebration will be a little larger, and some of the older generation want guaranteed air conditioning (it was hot last year before sunset), and NO FLIES! Somehow, I would’ve thought that complaint would’ve come from the younger generation, but NOPE!
So we’ll party at her church on Saturday, and she’ll worship on Sunday!
So….that brings us to dinner on her birthday. I’ve brought it up a couple of times this week. She can have anything she wants. Cost is not an issue. There will be some family members here, so there will be a jovial atmosphere, and Saturday to look forward to. But finally last night we had a quiet uninterrupted moment together, and I asked her again what she wanted for supper on her birthday.
She seemed a little hesitant, almost embarrassed to answer, so I waited, wondering: what would I ask to eat on MY 100th birthday?! Finally, she said, “Well, I want peanut butter and jelly on some of your homemade bread.”
I laughed out loud. It’s so simple; it’s perfect; it’s HER!
How Old are You?
She remembers when sliced bread came out.
She has told about getting sliced bologna for the first time at the grocery store. And no, it wasn’t packaged; it was in a log.
She loves candy because she never had any as a kid.
She lived before plastic.
Before air conditioning.
Before indoor plumbing.
Before everyone had a car.
Before phones.
And here I sit writing about her on my phone, in my AC, thinking about lunch, and I wonder:
(Is it just me, or is this blog becoming the perfect ad for Jif peanut butter?)

