One Hundred Five

My great grandma turns 105 today. 105.

Here's an article: Woman Nearing 105th Birthday Still Immersed in the Joys of Life.

She lives with her son and daughter-in-law, my dad's parents, and has for several years. She was against it for a long time--wanted to stay in her own house by herself for as long as she could. She's very independent. She drove until she was, I think, 95. She babysat me when she was nearing 90. She's amazing.

Her daughter and grandchildren and great grandchildren are coming from California to celebrate. I, too, am headed to Hutchinson tomorrow. I never know what visit will be the last visit with her. She just keeps on.

I don't think I will ever publish this poem, so this is a piece of her. By me. 2008.

Great Grandma’s Kitchen

Oh, how we rolled
out the dough. How she beat it
with her bony hands and taught me
to press evenly. How the rolling
pin was too big for me
to handle. How she brushed
on the butter, the melted
yellow, and made impressions
in the dough. How she let me
sprinkle on the cinnamon with even
shakes. Then roll it all. Roll it tight. And
cut it in circles to line a circular pan.
And then how she mixed
the icing and showed me how to work
a wooden spoon. How I then painted
the icing on pillowed rolls
like she did, the white dripping
into puddles. How she watched
Lawrence Welk while we waited
for the pan to cool and set two
plates on the table. How she
let me lick the icing from my fingers
because she did it too.