Centennial

February 10th, 1911 Helen Ruth Fink was born, the youngest of three to a family with deep roots. My Gram is the tap root. She's the last one in the area from a blood line dating back to pre-Revolutionary war times. And now, my Gram is 100. 100 years. I've done 100 minutes, 100 days, 100 months.. all before I was nine. But Gram? She's 1200 months, or 36,501 days, or 52,561,440 or so minutes. 52 and 1/2 million. What does that mean? What has that 100 years bookended? Whoa. Well, a whole lotta cookies and knit wear. I'd know her writing anywhere, her cinnybuns are ledgendary, half my sweaters came off her knitting needles- and I'm not the only one, her fisherman's knit sweaters kept several generations warm, with enough knit to clothe a small country. This lady even knit bathing suits!  Her Christmas stockings are spread all over the United States, hung on mantles year after year. And, last week her beloved Steelers made it to the Superbowl again. She was a fresh faced 22 year old when Art Rooney started the Steelers franchise, and has been a devoted fan for the next 78 years.
Yes, she had some bad times in 100 years, life does that to you, but she's kinda like a tennis ball (yes round, no yellow) she might get pushed under the water, but she bounces to the surface again, cheerful and bobbing along. People have said to me I'm lucky to still have my Gram. I'm lucky to have EVER had my Gram. Thanks, Gram, for a lot of lessons on life lived well. And, Happy Birthday. When I grow up, I want to be a tennis ball.