My grandfather, who helped raise us girls, was born on November 1st in 1904. He lived to be 92, and if he were still living, he'd have turned 101 yesterday. I spent a good bit of time thinking about him as I went through the day yesterday.

I miss him a lot. As I became an adult, we turned out to be not just grandfather and granddaughter, but also really good friends. I was 39 when he died. He was quiet but a great storyteller. He loved to be alone in the woods, but he loved his friends and good company. He loved dogs and horses, claimed not to like cats, but they liked him! He could dance like Fred Astaire and sing like Bing Crosby. He worked really hard, and in retirement he kept his own house, did the snow-shoveling, yardwork, and gardening and took care of the shutters and roof and all that comes with a house til he was almost 90! He read ravenously and was a very good listener and advisor.

And he knew me and really loved me the way I am. That's what I miss the most, but it's also what I remember the most, just the feeling of being known. We had the best talks, him in his chair and me at the old, old desk in a rather uncomfortable antique chair which, come to think of it, I am sitting in right now at my apartment!!!!

I miss the way he would give me advice in his later years. Not big advice, but practical things that nobody else took the time to say to me, like "You're doing too much," or "You need more sleep, dear." Because I live in Minnesota and was raising my family here and he lived in Vermont, we had to go there if we wanted to spend time with him. I usually went for two long visits a year.

Most Christmases, we would fly to Vermont, spending the holiday with Grampa. My husband (now ex) would usually fly back to Minnesota just post-Christmas, but I would stay on for an extra week, ringing in the New Year at Grampa's house. For a while there, I was with Grampa every single New Year's Eve. I would always dress up in a long dress and do my hair and makeup and put on pretty jewelry, and when I'd come into the living room all dressed up, Grampa would say the same thing every year: "Nice rig you got there!" (he was the only person I ever knew who called an outfit a "rig"!). We'd usually listen to big band music for a while, and then we would watch whatever old movie was on public TV: I think it was "An American in Paris" the last New Year we rang in together, 1995 or '96. Grampa would sometimes dance. I'm not a drinker, but Grampa would have his Scotch and would usually have poured me some for the toast.

Finally it would reach midnight, we'd have our toast, a kiss and a hug, and Grampa would say, "Well, m'dear...." and get set for bed. His house was so quiet. I was a little girl in that house and I still dream about it.

Once we had A.J., he too would love spending that extra week in Vermont with his Grampa. A.J. and Grampa Marvin had a special bond. I think A.J. resembles his great-grandfather quite a bit, and when I see similar traits in A.J., I smile. A.J. has that quiet confidence and the sort of ease with people, and the love of animals, of course. He remembers that Gramps called him "Old Timer," as in, "How'd ya sleep, Old Timer?" at the breakfast table every morning. A.J. was so little when Grampa started that ritual, and he tells me now that he didn't really know what "Old Timer" meant, but he liked being called that anyway. Huh.