My Grandpa Harry (my dad's dad) has spent the past ninety years leading a truly incredible life. His father died when he was young, just after the Kettering family had purchased hundreds of acres of farm land. Rather than bemoan the way his life had turned out my grandpa helped his mother run the farm before deciding, at the age of seventeen, that he wanted to be a doctor (more specifically a maternity doctor). Flash forward some ten odd years, and my grandpa achieved his goal, graduating from (I think!) the University of Washington and eventually establishing a practice on Mercer Island.
My dad, my uncle, and my aunt were all raised on Mercer Island too. Eventually my father bought (from my grandparents) the house he had been born in (which would, coincidentally, become the house my brother and I were born in). Given that my dad had grown up on Mercer Island, surrounded by my grandpa's patients, it's not so unusual that, years later, those patients would approach us when they learned our last name.
"Are you related to Harry Kettering?" they'd ask. "How amazing! He delivered my son!"
Grandpa Harry delivered my brother's kindergarten teacher's children as well as the daughters of a local pet shop owner, and these are only the occasions I can remember.
Later in life my dad's mother, my Grandma Molly, passed on. Luckily for my brother, cousins, and I, Grandpa got remarried to our Grandma Jane, and the Kettering family expanded to include the Bigsby clan. I regret that I do not know the Bigsbys better, but they're a wonderfully fun crowd of people to be around, and even if I don't seen them for years at a time it's always easy to fall into conversation with them.
My point is this: a little less than a week ago, on September 9th, 2009, my Grandpa Harry celebrated his ninetieth birthday. For months my Grandma Jane (with the help of my amazing Aunt Katie) has planned a festive celebration of his milestone birthday. Family flew in from Hawaii, San Francisco, Alaska, and other places I cannot recall to raise a glass to my grandpa's longevity and health. The party was held up at my aunt and uncle's home on Whidbey Island, and I have not been to such a wonderful party in ages. Friends from my grandparents' past, as well as the Kettering, Campbell, and Bigsby clans were in attendances. I got to see my Uncle David (who lives in California and who, if I'm lucky, I'll see twice a year), my cousins, their husbands, and their vibrant young children. (I apologize if the adjective is a little cheesy - I couldn't think of any other word to describe my cousins' seven young kids, each of whom have their own blossoming personality. I guess I don't spend time around children much, but it's been a while since I've met such enjoyable ones!) I also got to learn more about my grandparents, something I have been formerly remiss in doing. Throw in the matching blue T-shirts my aunt ordered to commemorated the event and you've got one weekend that I'll always treasure!
I guess I want to end by posing this question: what would you do with your life if you knew you'd live to (and, in my grandpa's case, past) ninety years old?
(P.S. I took tons of pictures, which I'll post in just a few minutes [hopefully]!)
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