It’s hard to believe I’ve been taking the same Saturday morning art class for over 3 years (with a few breaks here and there). One of the recurring homework assignments is a self-portrait–mirrors only, no photos!

For this one I tried something new to me: “Inktense” colored pencils. You basically draw as you would with dry pencils, then go over the colors with a wet brush to produce a watercolor effect. I know my instructor will have some bluntly constructive criticism, but also some praise for working outside my usual black and white comfort zone.

Guess I’m on a roll with the Tata sketches. Nice to do one in person.

I’m not saying Tata’s old, but his first tablet came with a chisel!

I’m here all week.

This week, my family was treated to a photo of Tata drawing. Leave it to Ariana to bring out his creative side!

This got me to thinking about how we pigeonhole people based on age. My whole family, myself included, tends to gape in awe at my 102-year old grandfather. Becoming a centenarian, of course, is relatively uncommon, and something to be proud of.

And yet, ripe old age is not something bestowed upon you like a knighthood. What does it feel like to be a 102-year-old? Probably a lot like it feels for me to be a 37-year-old, or my dad to be a 66-year-old. It’s the culmination of something gradual. You have a little less stamina, and a little more wisdom, but everything feels like it happened yesterday.

The blessing of living to be 102, and having a great-granddaughter, is that you’re reminded that there’s a tomorrow, too.