The other day while flipping threw the paper I saw an article about a lady who passed away who had lived to the ripe old age of 114. That's right one hundred and fourteen years.

 Folks, now I've got to admit that's what you call living. Now if I've got my numbers right, she was born BEFORE the Spanish- American War.

 Here I am in my early 50s, thinking I'm finally getting to the home stretch and when she was my age, in the scheme of things, she was barely out of her teens. One hundred and fourteen, that's hard to believe. When you say to her, did you remember so and so, she lived it. Though at the time, it was just life to her, like the things going on around us — we hardly give them a passing thought.

She would have been about 18 at the time of the First World War, the so-called War to end all Wars. This would have been the time before the Internet, cell-phones, even TV, probably radio, if they could afford it. Maybe she had a sweetheart that left for France on one of those troop ships, hoping to make it past the German U-Boats. Or he was in the trenches, for months at a time, but it would be weeks before she would know, even if he was alive, or maybe dead.

 She would have been close to 20 when he came home, talking of all the strange customs of those people across the big pond, with their funny accents, and coffee made with sugary sweeteners, — names like espresso and cappuccino.

She would have been close to 30 when Wall Street fell. What we know now as the Great Depression. But back then times were hard anyway, then all of a sudden they just seemed to get harder. That car they could barely afford when they bought it — well, it just got pushed to the back and the wheels, they used them for the wheels of the cart they pushed to town now instead of riding.

Finally FDR became president, and the New Deal, and the CCC camps (Civilian Conservation Corps) and people started finding jobs, not great jobs, but at least enough to feed the family.

But then a man named Hitler came along. They started seeing his name in the paper right regular. But that was a world away, it didn't have anything to do with us.

 But then one Sunday morning, after church, just sitting down to Sunday dinner, the neighbors started calling to tell them to turn on the radio, something was going on at some place called Pearl Harbor. Wasn't it just a few years back that the War to end all Wars was fought. Now her sons were looking at her, “Momma, we just can't sit here.”

 So for four years she prayed and finally it was over. But gone were the sons that left that day, one gone for good. She would never be able to put flowers on his grave, and the other home, that sweet child came home a man, never again to be the little boy who cried over a scratched knee, but in a few years, she saw parts of that child finally returning.

But then came Korea, and he was gone again. But they never called it a War, they called it a Police Action. But to her there was no difference, her child was in danger. Finally, he came home, a little more tired, and a few more lines around his eyes. But this time he was home for good.

Twelve years of peace, maybe a few more. But by this time her son had children of his own, and the distant rumblings of some far off place called Viet Nam were calling. But by this time there were three wars going on. One in Viet Nam and two at home. One on the college campuses, the other, the halls of Congress and the streets of Selma, and Birmingham, and Atlanta. Where would her grandchildren make there stand?

More years passed, her grandkids married, and had their own kids. Great-grandkids, she thought she'd never see that.

She's by herself now, but that's all right, though she misses him laying there in bed at night. But the great-grandkids want to stay over so much, she's never by herself. And before she knows it, the seventies and eighties have passed by. By now they’re grown, and someplace called Iraq starts making the papers.

Did they forget the day they said we finally ended the War to end all Wars. And here I am 10 years later, turning one hundred, and as I'm watching Willard Scott on the Today show, hoping they didn't forget to turn in my picture, they flip to the plane crashing into the Twin Towers.

I forgot to write her name down the other day when I read the article, but as I read about her I thought about all she had seen. But one thing I remember is how they said she was always a happy woman, but with all she saw in her life, if she had been a little bitter, I would have understood it.

 But she wasn't, so maybe we need to take a little lesson from her:  Though it might be a little rough today, tomorrow might be a bit brighter.