My very wonderful Italian mom (doing what all
mom's do), taken in her late 80's. I sure miss her.

My mom was born at the cusp of the 20th century. I came along very, very late in her life. She'd had a miscarriage many years before me, falling down the steep front stairs to their Victorian house on a rainy day.

She saw newspaper photos of the Wright Bros. first flight when she was just a girl, and lived to see a man land on the moon, live, on TV.

Her father (my grandfather), was born in the very early 1800's, and outlived five wives and all his children from those previous marriages (the last two wives before my grandmother, both died in childbirth).

He was 80 some years older than my grandmother when they were married. I believe she was in her early teens when they took their vows.

He passed when my mom was just a pre-teen (at 103 years old). My mother was the oldest of their three children, born about a year apart.

My grandmother (who lived to be 101 years old) never remarried. My grandfather had left her very financially secure.

His father (my great grandfather), was born in the mid 1700's and was already well on his way to becoming a successful Mediterranean shipping baron when the U.S. Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776.

I was the first child from either side of my families to be born in the U.S.A. (although I was mostly raised in Italy and France).

I am only three generations removed (on my maternal side) from the signing of the U.S. Declaration of Independence.

Amazing!