
Pete was my mother's first cousin - just four months younger than my mother. Both sets of their parents were divorced when they were young. This was pretty unusual for 1920s-1930s; so, they were raised together more like sisters on their grandparent's farm. In addition to being cousins/sisters, they were also best friends for more than 70 years from birth till the day my mother died. They hardly lived much more than a mile from each other their whole lives, and visited back and forth continually. Therefore, Pete has always been a part of my life. This is a picture of Pete and me taken in 1939.

Pete is the only person living that remembers the day I was born. That must mean that both of us are getting old!! Well, Pete is 89 years old this month and is my role model for aging.
She is sharp as a tack; always tells it like it is, but never is judgmental or complains. Her kids adore her, and she still takes as good care of them as they do of her. This last summer, Pete buried her middle son - he was only 51 years old. It must be terrible to bury one of your children; but Pete was so full of faith and grace, she made it easier for everyone else.
Pete and I live 90 miles from each other, but we regularly telephone and see one another occasionally. She always is interested in everything I'm up to, asking about my family, etc. and always wants to know what I'm cooking for supper. Her grandmother (my great-grandmother) was a great cook; but was terrible at cleaning up afterwards, as she thought that was what kids were for. Pete and I always laugh about Grandmother and her ways. Pete has lots of memories to share and is my link to my ancestors.
Here is Pete recently - we were looking and laughing at some old photos.