But soon there breathed a wind on meMy grandfather turns one hundred years old today.
Nor sound nor motion made
Its path was not upon the sea
In ripple or in shade
One hundred years.
He's as healthy as a horse, a retired Merchant Marine. He's shorter than I am now, though. (So there is always hope, folks.) He does not have internet so we filmed ourselves singing a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday to a camera and my parents played it for him on their iPad. They said he loved it. He can't hear to talk on the phone so I write him long letters. He writes back and sends birthday and Christmas cards with funny little notes. He has never raised his voice to me and he's navigated life as a widower for the past twenty and a half years. He built all of my barbie furniture and a full-size teepee in the woods when I was little and when I was big he made matching cedar chests for me, a small one for my jewelry and a huge one for bedding. Both are still going strong, built to last.
Just like him.