Teacups up or mason jar of coffee, or whiskey.
100 years ago today, my grandfather was born. He died October 10th, 2000, but he is celebrating in Heaven.
He was a pretty neat guy. I guess we all think our grandfather is the coolest, but mine was up there.
He loved horses with a passion, and he passed that on to my brother and I. He told me once he never rode a horse in his life, but he drove a team of horses til he was 90 years old, and he never plowed a field unless it was behind a horse. When he was 80, he decided he wanted some mules, and ended up with 3, Jack, Jill and Jenny; they were his pride and joy, along with his beloved Tom, the horse he bred for my brother. He was a farrier of some repute, and a moonshiner (along with my beloved gramma). He was a coalminer in the winter, and a farmer in the summer. He taught us cowboy songs, like Red River Valley and Billy Vanero, but he couldn't carry a tune, so I don't actually know how to "sing" the latter, we just kinda mumbled it, but it does seem that when I sing to horses when I'm riding, they prefer the cowboy songs. He had a soft spot for the unloved, the neglected, those creatures, both human and animal, most of us pass up as unworthy of our attention, and he taught me there is something to be valued in EVERYONE.
And so, I want to raise my teacup up to him today, on his hundredth birthday. I am honored that I was chosen to be HIS granddaughter. I'd say a party is being held in his honor in heaven, but if I know him, he's across the Rainbow Bridge today, in his cowboy hat and overalls, in the meadow where his horses run, under a shade tree, taking a nap. And that is perfect.