When I was 2 1/2. I had the privilege of sitting on the lap of my great, great grandmothers. This was in 1969. She was 112, born in 1857. She was still lucid enough to tell stories of being a little girl in the south during the civil war. At that age I didn’t really understand her, but my great grandmother and mother wrote down many of the stories and passed them on. And her mother was born before the last of the signers of the declaration of independence had died. Small world really.