My diary reminded me that today would have been my Grandma’s 85th birthday. It’s been nearly ten years since she died. I’m not the only one who forgets from time-to-time. It happened to Grandpa too. Probably more than once. But the last time on record was January 17, 1997:
I called Grandma to wish her a happy birthday. Grandpa answered the phone and said, “Oh she’s not home for another half our or so.” Then he paused and said, “Oh boy! Is today the 17th? I’ve got to go and–uh oh–get her something!” Needless to say, I spoke to Grandma later and wished her a happy birthday.
(In that same diary entry, I mentioned the fact that Doug came over along with his new 1997 green Nissan truck. He also had his tongue pierced only a month earlier. Just wait until Ruby and Carson are old enough to read that.)
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