Gracie’s relatives came to town last week, and her 85-year-old cousin stayed with her. Mind you, Gracie celebrated her 96th birthday this winter and lives in a rather small one-bedroom apartment.

And her cousin slept over for a week.

So where did Gracie sleep every night for seven nights in a row?

On the love-seat in the living room.

Gracie said that the sleeping arrangements didn’t bother her a bit. She simply dangled her feet off the end of the mini-sofa and proceeded to “sleep like a rock.”

Always the eternal optimist, Gracie never would have mentioned where she lay her head for the duration of her cousin’s visit, if I hadn’t asked. For her, it was of little importance. She was much more interested in telling me about the special desserts that they ate and the wonderful places they visited.

It has taken me awhile to digest the fact that a woman soon approaching her 100th birthday spent a week “couch-surfing” in her own apartment. I don’t know many women in their 50s or 60s who would give up their beds and agree to sprawl out on a love-seat for seven long nights. In fact, there may not be many gals my own age who would make such a sacrifice.

But if we want to live to be as old — and as joyful and vibrant — as Gracie, then maybe we should take a cue from this seemingly simple story.  Be gracious and be adaptable. Let us never think that we’re too “anything” (too old, too tired, too financially strained) to make sacrifices for others.

When our hearts are filled with love and good intentions,  we’ll always have enough time, space, and energy to give away.

For Gracie, there is no such thing as an “inconvenience” — there is only opportunity.

Gracie has a brilliant memory. I have a feeling that it might be photographic. She says that she “sees” the scenes that she plays out for me blow-by-blow in the life-story interview that I’m doing for her. (I just launched a personal histories arm to my business – in large part due to my relationship with Gracie.)

Gracie can tell me what she was wearing, what the weather was like, and what she ate during certain seemingly insignificant events throughout her life …. beginning around age 3. I can barely remember what happened two days ago. And I’ve got 60 fewer years to keep up with!

Perhaps it’s just good genetics. Gracie’s mother lived into her mid-80s and sounds as if she was a rather sharp woman until the end. But I also have to wonder if her unusually acute memory is the result of more than just good genes. 

Gracie doesn’t waste her time dwelling in the past or fretting about the future. And even though you could argue, “well, what would you expect? She’s 96,” I think she’s always been someone who lives fully in the present. She celebrates every moment – often with a clap of her hands and a laugh. I don’t think that these are traits you pick up this late in life. I think she has always lived this way.

So why can she remember in minute detail the interior of the church where her son was married over 40 years ago, when I can’t even tell you what I had for breakfast yesterday? I think it’s because she drinks in her surroundings, doesn’t take one moment for granted, and says a silent “thank you” for every breath she takes.

The rest of us often are just plundering through life, doing a half-dozen things at any one moment – or at least thinking about them. Gracie lives a life of faith, trusting that God will see to all of those minute details that we run ourselves ragged trying to control. 

She just goes with it – and knows that it’s all going to work out just as it should. And so she’s free to notice the depictions on the stained-glass window, the words her husband says to her as they walk through the door of the church, and the color of the dress her son’s new mother-in-law wore that day. 

So I tend to think that Gracie’s memories are so vivid because she really lives each moment …. with all of her mind, body, and spirit. She never fails to “show up” in the here and now. And her unwavering faith gives her the ability to let go and to be fully present to the miraculous details of the world unfolding around her.

I guess the lesson learned here is that if I want a “memorable” past, I need to work a little harder at living in the present today.

When Gracie and her husband returned from their honeymoon in the early 1930s, the newlyweds moved into a two-bedroom apartment. They slept in one room, and Gracie’s mother occupied the other. She lived with them until she passed away at the age of 85.

I am a Gen X’er. In my world, people get married, move into their own place, then retire, and often move again. As Gracie has explained to me, though, it’s only fairly recently that Americans have had the luxury of retirement and independent living.

When she was growing up, retirement homes didn’t exist. If you could no longer live on your own and had the financial resources, then maybe you would move into a nursing home. But not likely. Chances are — you’d move in with your children or any relatives that would take you.

In Gracie’s mother’s case, she was a widow. She received a small stipend from the government to care for Gracie. But once Gracie got married, that monthly income disappeared. Having no way of supporting herself, she became part of her daughter’s new household.

We have moved so far away from this mindset today, it’s hard to believe that we’re only talking about a gap of 70 years or so. Our expectations are out of control, in comparison. The fancy wedding, the house, the car, the entertainment system, the bulging 401K. Where do I begin?

Gracie’s wedding reception was held in her mother’s living room, her honeymoon was at the family cottage in western New Jersey, and she wore one maternity dress throughout her entire first pregnancy.

Every day across the country, people are losing the lovely 3,000-square-foot Colonials that were unheard of just 50 years ago. Our SUVs are being repossessed. And our retirement savings are dwindling quickly.

There’s a lot of talk, of course, about how Americans are having to “size down” their lives in order to adjust to the new norm. But the way I see it, we need an entirely new skill set.

It’s going to take more than just doing without a few extras. We have to lower our expectations — and that’s not such a bad thing.

But how do we even begin?

It might do us some good to take a cue from the remaining members of Gracie’s generation. They’re the ones who know what it means to live simply and earnestly. They did it for a long, long time. And from what I can tell, they were pretty happy folks.

Gracie has had in her mind for weeks now that I should learn to crochet. Every time I see her, she asks, “Have you gotten your needle yet?” The answer is always, “Not yet!”

I honestly have had no interest in it. In fact, I really just hoped that she would eventually stop asking and leave me pleasantly in the dark as to how to make cute little trivets and baby-doll sweaters. I enjoy looking at other people’s creations in the craft tent at the county fair. But I’ve never once entertained the thought of making my own.

Well, she cornered me on Wednesday. Although Gracie is the most gentle, loving woman you may ever meet, she also has a feisty spark in her that I’ve seen come out from time to time.

Gracie is as determined as she is sweet. And she was not going to let me go home on Wednesday before I learned a thing or two about crocheting.

So we sat down together on her little couch, with the light over my left shoulder so as not to cast a shadow. And Gracie demonstrated remarkable patience as she walked me through four rows of crochet. At the end of every row, she would praise my progress and throw in a few extra pointers.

After the first ten minutes of pure frustration, I really started to get in the groove. And I loved it. I think that I could have sat there all night, shoulder to shoulder with Gracie on the couch, if my kids hadn’t been running in circles around her little apartment. It was so peaceful, just chatting and stitching, chatting and stitching.

I could envision our foremothers sitting around the fire in the evenings after dinner, sewing in the candlelight and sharing the latest town gossip. What a relaxing way to end the day.

My initial reluctance to learn to crochet was really just my lack of imagination. I could not envision just sitting around doing something so seemingly unproductive. Sure, I would be making something. But I could be doing so many other things — and even several tasks at once. To sit and be completely focused on a needle and yarn. Truly unthinkable.

But on my second row of crochet, I realized that this was what I – and so many other women I know – probably need most of all. A quiet, rhythmic task that is also a craft. You can talk and maybe listen to a television program, but you can’t do much else when you’re crocheting (or knitting or sewing). It is what it is.

We had to leave. The kids were climbing the walls. But I left there a woman with a changed mind. Maybe I’ll hit up the sewing store, after all, to get my own #1 needle.

Before I know it, I may be selling trivets at the local church fair. You just never know.

My mom and I decided that it might be nice to make some candies and cookies around the holidays to deliver to some of Gracie’s neighbors. From what I can tell, many of the residents in her apartment building are shut-ins (or close to it) and spend their days quite alone.

We asked Gracie to come up with a list of five or six people who would enjoy a surprise visit. She never does anything halfway. The list that she put together included not only names but a description of each person — any disabilities, approximate age, and interests.

When we arrived at Gracie’s apartment on delivery day, she was festively dressed in a red beret, holiday sweater, and silver silk pants. In typical Gracie fashion, she turned this simple outing into an occasion.

With Gracie’s detailed guide in hand, we followed this sprightly little lady as she walked with a sense of confidence and determination through the halls of her building, cane in hand. She would arrive at someone’s door, knock her distinct rat-a-tat-tat, and they would always answer.

I got the feeling that she must make social calls fairly often. No one seemed surprised to see her standing on their doorstep.

It was a lovely way to spend a couple of hours the week before Christmas. I think that Gracie’s neighbors really appreciated our visit.

But here’s the thing that stuck with me ….. While we (like so many others who suddenly appear on the threshold of strangers’ doors around Christmas) will likely disappear from their lives until next December, Gracie will be sticking around.

The sense of social responsibility that she feels is not contained to one particular season. On a daily basis, it propels her out of the comfort of her cozy apartment and into the lives of strangers — turning them into her friends.

That day and for days after, I kept thinking about how much she gives of herself to others.

She doesn’t need to extend her social circle. She has so many friends and family members to fill her days. But she is constantly reaching out to embrace those around her (even if she has to hunt them down). Gracie makes an effort to know each person who crosses her path in an intimate, meaningful way — a basic human need that we so often neglect in our busy, fast-paced lives.

I think that being “open” just comes naturally to her. But I also think that it’s something we all can and should work towards – one day and one person at a time.

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.

I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future.

The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me.

I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.”

- Ebenezer Scrooge

– Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, 1843

If there’s anyone I know personally who honors Christmas all through the year, it’s Gracie. She radiates a sense of peace, joy, and hope that so many of us reserve for special occasions. It’s as if she lives her life in a constant state of celebration. Gracie doesn’t need Christmas to remind her to keep first things first, that’s for sure.

I’ve been decorating my house for weeks and stocking up on all of my family’s favorite Christmas goodies. Although it’s a lot of work, my goal is to create a little haven where my loved ones can feel the warmth of the Christmas spirit. 

If there’s ever a time of year when we spend time in one another’s homes, it’s during the holidays. Those age-old yuletide visions of sitting around the fire, sipping egg nog, and singing carols don’t take place in a restaurant. Christmas celebrates “home” in its most idealistic state.

Unfortunately, though, the rest of the year often finds us too busy and preoccupied to keep up the charade. We close up shop. 

Gracie’s door, on the other hand, is open year-round – and the table is never without its tea set.

But perhaps it’s the openness of her heart that gives her face that holiday radiance long after the garland and glass ornaments have been stored away. 

Around Christmas, I try to let myself become more emotionally vulnerable – preparing for the wonder and awe of the birth of Jesus and the arrival of a jolly old man in a red suit. If there’s ever a time to believe in magic, it’s at Christmastime.

A week or so after the holidays pass, I find myself far adrift from that sweet, loving space that cradled me in the thick of the Christmas season. My heart begins to harden a bit, and I often lose sight of the lessons that Christmas brings – giving of ourselves (our time, talents, and treasures) to others and believing in a Love that surpasses human understanding. 

Gracie’s spirit never hardens. Her eyes never lose that Christmas sparkle. She truly keeps Christmas in her heart all through the year – by believing in what cannot be seen or explained, by reaching out to others every day, and by choosing to focus on what is good and hopeful.

“If you want to be happy, be.”

Leo Tolstoy

The greatest lesson that I hope to learn from my time with Gracie is not how to live into my mid-90s and beyond, but rather, how to live from this point forward (however long that might be) with the joy and sense of purpose with which Gracie approaches every day of her life.

Each afternoon we share together, Gracie must say, “Aren’t we lucky?” dozens of times. When we sit down to a plate of cookies, when the teaspoon happens to be left on the table from the previous tea-party, when the sunlight falls “just so” across the table …. She lives in a constant state of appreciation. 

Gracie epitomizes the saying, “If you want to be happy, be.” The circumstances in her life have little affect on her overall happiness. She has arranged her mind in such a way that there is cause for hope and celebration in any situation. And in almost 96 years, she must have encountered her fair share of life’s trials and tribulations (although I can only surmise – as she doesn’t talk about them).

I do know that a number of years ago, Gracie lost a young person in her life who was very dear to her.  As painful as the experience must have been for her and her family, she speaks of this young man with a twinkle in her eye and a joyous smile on her face. She harbors not a doubt in her mind that she will be reunited with him in heaven. Gracie is a woman of powerful faith.

Yet her personal spiritual beliefs do not exclude or judge. They are simply a part of who she is — loving, caring, and trusting.

It seems to me that her unwavering faith in God and her attitude of happiness are so closely intertwined – you could not begin to pull them apart. It is her confidence in God’s path for her life that enables her to surmount the fear that keeps so many of us mentally and emotionally under water. 

Not only does she live without fear, but she quite visibly feels gratitude for every moment given to her here on this earth – without worrying about what might or might not be coming next.  Instead, she opens herself up – without a second thought – to anything God might ask of her. 

I want to be more like Gracie. I want to wake up in the morning, as I know she does, with a smile on my face that surfaces from a contented, yet eager heart. I want to live each moment of every day with the unwavering confidence that everything will be just as it should be … and I can stop resisting and start truly participating in the wonderful world of not knowing and not needing to know. 

I can almost see Gracie looking out her living room window at the heavens as she says her silent prayer each night before bed and each morning as she awakes. She is joyful, thankful, hopeful, and above all – faithful. And she never stops asking, “Lord, what can I do?”

I called Gracie around noon on Wednesday to tell her that I would be bringing a picnic lunch for my kids. We needed to get on the road to my parents-in-laws’ by late afternoon, and I was trying to fit in a number of activities in a short amount of time. Multi-tasking as usual, I thought that we could combine lunch with our weekly visit.

When we arrived at Gracie’s half an hour later, her small kitchenette-table was set as if we were sitting down to a formal Thanksgiving dinner.

Small china plates held triangular ham-and-mayonnaise sandwiches. And individually-wrapped servings of Cabot cheese were placed to the upper left of each plate and just above our napkins, which were tucked neatly inside red braided napkin-holders. Set at a perfect angle towards the back of the table, a little china serving dish held several petit fours for our dessert. She had filled ceramic juice glasses with fresh milk for the kids, and the china teapot was steaming with hot water, keeping warm in preparation for the boiling water which would soon be coming off the stove.

I discreetly placed the lunch box filled with my hastily-made pb&js under our coats on a chair by the front door.

After we sat down, Gracie picked up a card that she had pre-deposited next to her place setting. It contained a Thanksgiving wish sent to her by one of her many friends from afar. We always say the blessing at Gracie’s – even if we’re just having tea and cookies. So her friend’s good wishes became our prayer for that day.

Gracie has been trying to teach my children the proper way of asking for and receiving food at the table. Each week, she gently lifts the plate of cookies or brownies from the table, holds it just in front of my daughter, and asks, “Would you care for another cookie?” Then she waits patiently while my rather timid child decides whether she’s brave enough to reach for something.

So on the day before Thanksgiving, we sat and dined like royalty – eating dainty, lovingly-made tea sandwiches and drinking tea from delicate china cups. The table was covered with an elegant, white plastic tablecloth with pink flowers given to her by a 96-year-old neighbor, who is extraordinarily proficient at catalog-shopping via money orders. Everything around us had been placed with intention by a loving hand and a pure heart.

The fact that it was the day before Thanksgiving had little bearing on Gracie’s efforts to create a beautiful, inviting setting for her guests. She does this every week. And I would guess that she has been doing it for friends and family for well over 80 years.

While my life often consists of throwing pb&js together in two-minutes-flat so that we can cram an ice-skating session in before school starts (or any other variation of activities in succession), our time at Gracie’s feels like the calm in the eye of a tropical cyclone. The afternoon is a respite filled with ritual and tradition — the beautifully-dressed table, the pouring of hot tea for one another, and the moment of stillness while we listen to Gracie recite the blessing.

If my kids didn’t start getting antsy, I could sit with Gracie in this soothing, peaceful space for an entire afternoon. But the eye-wall of the storm closes in on me every time. There is dinner to be made, clothes to be washed, kids to be bathed, and work to be done.

Yet there is a lesson to be learned here. If Gracie’s home can provide a comforting haven for the soul, then why can’t my own? Granted, the number-one feature of my house is a couple of kids running laps around the staircase most hours of the day. But I can create rituals and traditions in our household that foster the quiet together-time that we find around Gracie’s table.

It’s just a matter of taking the time to be intentional.

I will begin small – perhaps lighting the candles at dinner, keeping fresh flowers or greenery as a centerpiece, or even sitting down with my children for afternoon tea parties.

Gracie has reminded me that the best way to show our love is through our time and attention … making ordinary together-moments true “occasions”.

Today was Gracie’s son’s birthday. He turned 63. She often refers to him as “the little one,” in comparison to his 70-year-old brother. I don’t know why it should surprise me that a 95-year-old woman should still be so utterly in love with her babies. A mother’s love has no end. In fact, it seems to just keep on growing.

In case her son decided to come by for a visit on his special day, Gracie had taken out five special gifts that he had given her over the years and had placed them on her kitchen counter. One item was a silver bracelet that her youngest had made at Boy Scout Camp over 50 years ago. She said, “This is special to me because it means that my little boy was thinking of me when he was away at camp.” As she told me this, her face lit up like a young girl in love. And that’s the thing — she was still that besotted girl. I’m sure when her eldest’s birthday comes around, her cheeks will blush in just the same way.

As I sat listening to Gracie reminisce about being in the hospital awaiting her second son’s arrival, it was as if I were talking with one of my girlfriends who just gave birth a year or two ago. The memories are as clear for her as they are for any one of the new moms I know. She remembers the other two women in the hospital who had babies on that day. And she recalls exactly how her eldest son reacted when he heard the news. 

Last week, Gracie and I stopped by to visit her 96-year-old neighbor. I’ve met her before. She can’t speak very clearly, so you just have to smile and nod when she talks to you. But there is one story that she tells with perfect clarity. This sweet, quite alone-in-the-world woman looks down at my three-year-old daughter, and she tells me that she had a daughter too, but she died of cancer. As she recounts this difficult story, her eyes are filled with as much grief and sadness as Gracie’s are brimming with love and celebration. 

In the end … the love that we have for our children may be the single greatest love of our lives.

In our youth-centered world, we often only recognize two different mothers – the young mom in the trenches who can barely come up for air and the grandmother with the grown children and their budding families. But what happens when those grandchildren grow up and move out and begin having kids of their own? Then we have something else altogether. I’ve never given much thought to the perspective of a great-grandmother. Watching your kids become grandparents …. while all the while, in your heart, they are still your precious babies, running around your ankles while you’re trying to put dinner on the table.

I was humbled today when I realized how many elderly women I have known, and yet, I have never fully appreciated the mothers that they continue to be … even though so many new titles and roles have been layered upon them. 

This afternoon, Gracie poured white grape juice in wine flutes to celebrate her baby’s birthday. When I left, I could tell that she was still holding out hope that he might stop by to share a birthday toast with her. I sure hope he did.

 I bumped into Gracie in the hallway of her apartment building about a year ago. I was delivering a meal for Meals on Wheels to her neighbor, a woman who had just had her 95th birthday bash. When Gracie stopped to talk to me outside her door, I almost fell over when she said, “Yes, my friend in there is 95, and I’m 94 1/2!” She looked not a day over 70.

Gracie invited me and my two kids in for tea, and we stayed for over two hours. She zipped around the apartment preparing tea and cookies — teaching my rather uncultured children the fine art of a proper tea party. Watching her energy and zest for life, I made a mental note to get to know this spirited woman better. When we left that day, I had every intention of returning for a visit shortly. But the best plans of a woman with young children …

This fall we began attending the community church in town on a more regular basis, and it was there that I crossed paths with Gracie once again — she was my son’s Sunday School teacher. The moment I saw her walking around the table cleaning up supplies at the end of the lesson, I knew that I had to make a move. This woman radiated such peace and happiness. “Gracie, would you like to have tea?”

And so it began – Wednesday tea with Gracie. I look forward to it all week. She has the water boiling when I get there, the teapot warming, and the cookies on hand. The table is set with a beautiful floral china set that someone from church mysteriously left at her door. And Gracie is always dressed as if she’s going out for a nice dinner somewhere — makeup on, hair set, and donning two or three necklaces and a different pair of earrings every week.

On our first “date,” I showed up in my ‘around the house’ clothes that I often wear around town, too – but really shouldn’t. My hair was still in the knot I put it in to wash my face in the morning. And I definitely wasn’t wearing any jewelry. But a comment that Gracie made that day stuck with me, and because of it, I arrived in jeans with combed hair the next week.

Over tea, we were talking about her relationship with her mother, who lived with Gracie and her family until she passed away in her mid-80s. When her boys grew up and moved out of the house, Gracie and her mother spent a lot of time at home alone. “But we always made our faces and dressed up for each other,” she said. “My mother didn’t want to look at an ugly face and neither did I, so that’s something we just did for each other.”

I had never thought of it that way. I’ve certainly subjected many a friend and family member to “not-so-good face and hair days.” Not to even mention my husband! Gracie had a few things to say about that too. “My grandmother gave me some good advice,” she said. ” She told me that every day when the children were otherwise occupied, I should lie down for ten minutes before my husband arrived home from work. That way I would greet him with a relaxed, happy face when he walked in the door.” Gracie put on a nice dress and swept her hair into an “up-do,” too — if you’re not smiling that 21st-century-mom smile already.

Things are certainly different today. But Gracie did provide me with some food for thought. I’ve been a little bit more intentional about the way I present myself on a day-to-day basis since then — even if it only means putting a brush through my hair and slapping on a little mascara.