This weekend we went to our grandmothers 90th birthday party in Eastern Montana.  She’s a tiny little spit fire who shoots off the ‘F’ bomb like a sailor.  When everyone gasps she just shakes a hand at them and says, “Oh who cares.  I’m Fxxxxxx 90.  I can do and say what I want!”

I love it and  want to be her when I grow up.  The only difference is that I hope to God I’m not working as a bookkeeper until then.  She plans to retire next month but hasn’t fully committed to it yet because she’s not sure the ‘young’ employers will know how to fill out the hard bound balance ledger correctly.  I’m pretty sure she’s right.

She’s lived in the same house for over 60 years.  More years than I’ve been alive.   It looks like it was made for little fairy people.  Small Doors.  Small rooms.  Small cupboards.  We sleep in two separate tiny bedrooms on little tiny single beds that are over 50 years old.   Even the claw foot tub looks like its made only for children.  I’ve never taken a bath in it because I’m not positive I’ll be able to get out of it if I do, not by myself anyways.  The original toilet is  so small that it has a ten inch rubber foam ‘extension thingy’ that makes a squeaking farty noise when you sit on it.  I laugh out loud every time.  When you look into the deep long hole down to the water you can’t help but think, “How in the world does she keep this contraption clean?”

It was a great party.  Having lived in the same tiny town almost her entire life, ‘everyone’ was there. Lots of kooky relatives and more old people, really old people, in one room than I’ve ever seen outside of a nursing home.  It was awesome.

Lots of laughing and joy.  They are all celebrating that they are old and not dead yet.

Eating Cake and drinking wine and enjoying every bite and every sip.   Because when your  90 who cares.  You can Fxxxxxx do what you want!”

Happy 90th Birthday to YOU!!!!