Yesterday we celebrated Grandpa’s 100th birthday. It was 100 years ago that Norman Steinmiller was born in Rochester, the youngest child and only son of Clara and August Steinmiller. Now, Grandpa died at the age of 93 so we started our birthday celebration at White Haven Cemetery. Luckily there was no snow – White Haven is one of those cemeteries that have only flat grave markers.

What do you bring a spirit for his birthday? Spirits, of course. Grandpa was not a big drinker, but in his last few years he really enjoyed a glass of Bailey’s before he went to bed at night, and we’d give him a bottle at Christmas, birthdays, etc. So we had a toast to Grandpa and then moved on to part 2 of the birthday celebration – Charlie Riedel’s for cheeseburgers. Grandpa never felt comfortable at fancy restaurants, but he loved all of our local hamburger joints. You have to admit that Rochester does hamburgers well, and Grandpa liked his well-done. He was from the generation that had to cook his meat to the point of being dried up and burnt to ensure that it was safe to eat. We ordered ours on the rare side and went home for celebration part 3.

While we ate cake and ice cream, we read aloud some of the messages Grandpa had written us all over the years. Grandpa was a closet poet, and on everyone’s birthday or on holidays he would write us a little poem that was usually silly, but always ended with a note of how much he loved us all.

Here’s a poem he wrote about an Easter Egg hunt he had prepared for the girls.
“As Easter is now in store,
find something and go for more.
They could be here or there,
most anyplace and everywhere.
We try to please what you might use.
If we didn’t, please excuse.”

That was Norman: faithful husband, loving father, doting grandfather, church goer, all around nice guy. RIP, Grandpa. One day we’ll be together again.