99 and counting

Browsing my Facebook News Feed early this morning, I was astounded to see my cousin Paula wishing my grandmother happy birthday.

“Darn!” I thought (keeping it clean here — this is the family section).

Grandma turned 99 today. While I was enjoying the sunshine and spring training baseball here in Florida, my father’s mother added another notch in the years-on-the-planet belt. How did it get to be March 8 so fast?! (Time marches quickly when the skies are clear and the temps are in the 70s.)

Cousin Paula, with whom I’m competing for Second Favorite Granddaughter honors, had posted the news. She was more on top of things than me. Neither of us will ever claim the title of Most Favorite Granddaughter; that one belongs to Cousin Cheri, who was first grandchild overall and lives within 10 minutes of Grandma’s apartment. I add accolades every time I send a letter from some far-flung location; Grandma loves mail. But Paula is the Only Daughter’s Only Daughter, she’s delivered two great-grandchildren and she’s percolating a third, so we’re in a close (ha!) race for Second Favorite (get in line, Kay, Betsy and Mollie).

(Grandma doesn’t have favorites. I’m only kidding. This is a race only in my mind.)

Within seconds of my announcement that I’d missed sending a card to Grandma for her birthday, my Beloved was on Google finding the florist nearest to her. He called and asked if he could have flowers delivered today to a woman in town who was turning 99.

I swear. That’s all he said. No name. No address. He provided his credit card and contact info, and a beautiful bouquet was on its way with an enclosure that said “Love, Monica.”

I rock.

Or at least my Beloved rocks. To-may-to, to-mah-to. The point is, Grandma lives in a town smallest enough to be the only resident turning 99 today. Or she’s that awesome.

She’s that awesome.

Happy birthday, Grandma!