Over the weekend we went to a birthday party for B's mother. She turned 100 years old earlier this month.
Yes, she received a birthday card from President Obama, as well as her local Congressman and about a hundred other friends and relatives. She has a big family (she had seven children), and many of them came to Pennsylvania to celebrate her birthday -- people from as far away as Texas, Colorado, Washington, Massachusetts.
The party was at her assisted-living facility, which was kind enough to lend us the activity room for the afternoon.
After the party, many of the clan gathered at a campsite for s'mores and sparklers.
On Sunday there was a picnic, where the youngest member of the family introduced her kitten to the centenarian.
Sunday afternoon brought a trip to the old homestead -- a farmhouse that had been in the family from sometime in the 1800s until the children -- B's generation -- had to sell it in 1986.
They passed it on to a family that were actually distant relatives. The now-elderly couple still lives there. On Sunday B's mother, age 100, saw the "new" owner, age 90, for the first time in a number of years.
We took a tour of the house, which, honestly, looked more its age from the inside than the outside. But, I was told, there were two new bathrooms. When the house was in the family -- and B and her brothers and sisters and cousins used to go there in the summer -- there was just an outhouse attached to the back of the building. A lot of things about the house seemed different since she was a girl, reflected B, including the kitchen which seems much smaller than she remembered.
The house is now registered as an official historic site.
And here's the view from the front porch, down the road toward the Pennsylvania Turnpike and the little village of Morgantown, Pa.
Would that we all had such great memories of childhood ... and the genes for living such a long and fruitful life.