"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day" ~ William Shakespeare

In 1949, my grandmother was 35. Fast math — she turns 97 in February.

This past year, my parents made the ((tough)) decision to place her in Nursing Home care. When cleaning out her apartment, different items went to different kids, grandkids. She was glad to be free of her belongings, asking that we all find what we want from her years and years of keeping every little thing.

Gram really has kept everything. In some cases it was comical and gross (ketchup that expired in 1999?). In other cases, it was sentimental — old letters, old journals, notes and quotes throughout her nearly 100 years of life so far.

I received a small wooden box from my mom, filled with empty notebooks. Small remnants of a life well-noted.

Did you know that 1949 has the same date calendar as 2011? 1949... the same year my mother was born. It repeated again in 1983, the same year I was born.

I realized this recently, as I pulled out this little book. Gram's life was in full swing at 35.

(Here she is with my grandfather in 1962)

In 1949, she was taking notes about children, grocery shopping, visiting friends.

This year, I plan to share this date calendar with her. There's something about knowing time will come and go, with or without my consent. This year will pass just as it did in 1949... with joy and tears, birthdays and holidays, each season bleeding into the next with rain and mud, sun and snow.

The next time this calendar cycle comes around it will be 2022. When I'm 37, looking to 38. When my daughter is 13.

This fascinates me.

It doesn't have to fascinate you. That's ok. Sometimes I just like to be filled with wonder about silly things.

Like the calendar.