18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Thursday, April 10, 1913: Have ‘em all addressed by this time unless make up my mind to send some more. Have three left over. Wonder if I’ll get any presents. Just think I can soon call myself a sweet girl graduate.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
The previous day Grandma began addressing the invitations to her graduation—and apparently completed them on the 10th.
The tiniest pieces of paper sometimes are so special. I don’t have an invitation for Grandma’s graduation—they probably didn’t survive a hundred years— but I think that I have Grandma’s name card that was designed to be inserted into the invitations.
I have a thin file folder of mementoes that were found in Grandma’s house after she died. One item in the folder is the commencement program that I shared two days ago. Another is this name card.
In the past one hundred years, how many times did someone look at the name card,—first Grandma herself, and then later her descendants—consider tossing it out, and then decide that it was worth saving?
I’m in awe that this tiny piece of card stock with Grandma’s name on it still exists. And, I am very thankful that each person whose hands touched it over the years made the decision to keep it.