Today is my Grandma Esther's birthday. She would have been 109 years old. She did make it to 92, she died in February of 2000. I swear she stuck around to see if Armageddon was going to arrive, and when it didn't, she decided it was time to let go and move on. I do love a group photo, though, and this one I think is of her confirmation class. She looks to be fourteen or fifteen, so my guess is that this was taken around 1923. Esther is seated in the first row, the second girl from the left. At this age I can see some resemblance that both my mom and I inherited from her, a little of sis Martine as well. Happy birthday, Grandma. I hope your soul is happier wherever you are now than it seemed to be in this life. Thanks for introducing me to the deliciousness of fresh green peas when I followed you through your vegetable garden. And showing me how sweet a carrot can be when pulled from the warm soil and crunched down after just a cursory brush against her apron to remove the dirt. I learned something about baking in her kitchen and sewing at her machine in the upstairs landing at her house. I marveled at how she always had Juicy Fruit gum hidden in the depths of her purse. If I asked very nicely, I would be allowed take a bottle of 7Up to share with my sister. They were nested perfectly in one of the crisper drawers in the refrigerator. I'd pop off the lid and carefully divide the soda between two small glasses. Martine would take a sip and push the glass away, she preferred orange pop. Then I'd get to have the whole bottle. Yes, I knew of her preference. But I thought I was more likely to be allowed a soda pop if I promised to share it. I always was a calculating little stinker. I'm pretty sure Grandma knew that, too.
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