Dear Fa-So-La-La, Shieldmaiden and Spuddy Buddy,
Your great-great-great grandfather's daughter died yesterday. Think about that.
Aunt Nettie Bishop Thomas was 98; she was the sister of my great Grandma Henley. Their father was your great-great-great grandfather, Elder W.A. Bishop. He was the handsome fellow in the spooky old portrait that used to hang upstairs at Bailey, the one with the eyes that followed you around the room. He was born around the end of the War Between the States. And his daughter died yesterday.
I spent one of the best New Year's Eves of my life with Aunt Nettie (pronounced "ain't", in the old Tennessee way) and Grandma Henley. I was probably 8 or 9. They were true Southern ladies. We watched Guy Lombardo, shared ladylike giggles and drank tea til midnight. GiGi Louise told me the next day that it was probably the only time either of them ever stayed up that late for anything other than birthing babies, and I should feel honored. I was. I am.
You have longevity in your genes. Live wisely and well, my dears.