1921.

In 1921, my grandmother, Bonnie Bell was born. With her birth, a whole new genre of greatness was born. And as you can figure out, her birth eventually lead to the Reg's birth, which ultimately lead to my birth, which gets us to this very moment in time.

Without my grandmother's life and her almost perfect portrayal of a stoic, yet loving, homemaker and southern woman I wouldn't be who I am. She was athletic, intelligent and crafty. She was MacGyver, but my grandmother. She loved the Lord and she loved me. She told me to do better, to try harder and then taught me how to do so.

She wasn't exactly "warm," but I've never experienced warmth and love like you could find at 500 Browning Street (literally and figuratively, because my grandfather was known to build a fire if the temperature dropped below 75) . She may not have been delicate, but she knew how to take care of things. And people.

I'd never call her a party animal, but when she laughed, everyone laughed. She couldn't carry a tune in a dump truck, but when she sang, everyone sang.

She made you want to do well and do right. She made you want to succeed and be the best.

She loved the Razorbacks and made sure no one wearing burnt orange ever entered her home.

If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't love chocolate chip cookies with the fervor that I do and really, I wouldn't think or act how I do.

She's the reason for so many things.

She was and is my hero.

If she were still alive, she'd be 90 in two days. I'd give anything to cut up a watermelon with her or put on an ugly pink suit and stand in front of a bush. Hell, I'd love to go to the lake and lay-out. I'd even be willing to sit and stare at a Christmas tree with her if it meant getting even a moment of her time.

Happy Burrday, Grandmother Bonnie. I really hope they serve pan-fried chicken and chocolate pie on Sunday-- or maybe some of that really weird fluffy pink stuff that you used to fancy. I'm still so proud to be your granddaughter...and I'm really sorry I live in Texas now.