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That's Viv, and she's turning 80 today. Don't worry - this isn't going to be one of those sappy, heart-warming stories that ends in death, illness or any of the trappings of old age. Yes, she's 80, and she's not as spry as she used to be. But she's still pretty damn spry. She's aged beautifully and gracefully. She still makes her amazing turkey and noodles for every family get-together. Still makes the best pie crust I've ever tasted, filled with blackberries, apples, and gooseberries she grew and picked herself. She still ventures into the woods behind her house to pick wild elderberries for her homemade jelly. She makes homemade salsa so hot it'll blister the skin on the roof of your mouth, just the way she likes it. She still makes the occasional quilt, including one recently made for Clara Jane's dolls.

A poor child of the Depression, this woman has never thrown anything out, ever. When I was around nine years old, I decided to start a stamp collection. I told Granny, and she disappeared to the attic, returning with glass jars brimming with stamps she'd pulled from mail she'd received for decades. Granted, that took a lot of the fun out of the collecting, since I managed to fill my stamp book in one afternoon. But still - who keeps every stamp she's ever received? Viv, that's who.

Granny's a tough ol' bird, although I'd never seen her wear jeans until two months ago. She could be a tough ol' bird in skirts and dresses, thank you very much. With Grandpa being on the road so much, she often took both the male and female roles in the family. Even now, if shelves need to be built or a snake needs killing, don't ask Grandpa to do it. Granny's got her own power drill and a snake-killing rake; she'll take care of it.

Not only did she raise my mom and uncle with Grandpa on the road, but she's also taken care of every single stray that's come her way, animal or otherwise. Spare cousins, her siblings, nieces, nephews - anyone whose ever needed anything, she's always been there to provide, probably because of all that junk in her attic. She was the oldest child in a large, poor family. As a young adult, she paid for her mom to give birth to the youngest sibling in a hospital. A few years later, when my mom was born, she had to forgo that luxury herself. But that's how she is, always putting everyone else's comfort and needs before her own.

These days, she doesn't get nearly as many strays of the human variety. Which is just as well, considering that there's a sign above her house that only animals can see, leading them to her. I have never seen such a motley crew of critters in my life. Every summer a possum shows up, named Blossom. It's a different possum every year. Deer come from the woods to feed in her yard. Even the snakes sometimes catch a break. A few years ago two rather large black snakes took up residence in the rafters of Granny and Grandpa's A-frame storm shelter. Instead of going after them with the rake or a shotgun like she normally does, Granny let them be, but not before naming them ... I can't remember their names, but I want to say they were Adam and Eve.

There was Lady, the fattest dog in the history of obesity, who lived to be close to 20 years old on a diet that was 85% gravy. And Elmer, the yellow cat so named because he stuck to Lady like glue. Then there's Elmer 2, the spawn of Elmer 1. He's still around, along with Bobbi, so named because of her lack of tail. Elmer 2 and Bobbi have a relationship that mirrors Viv and Chuck. Elmer 2 would surely starve to death or die of horrific injuries to his person if Bobbi wasn't there to make sure he's taken care of.

A bit off-topic, but it should be noted that Elmer 2 had to have his tail amputated a few years ago. The story was that he'd gotten into a fight and suffered some sort of tail-rotting injury. Personally, I think Granny's trying to send a message to the strays: "Sure, you can stay here and I'll feed you, but it'll cost you. I'll be needing your tail now." For the record, I don't know if the tails are in her attic. I doubt it, but that's just not something I want to know for sure.

I do know that the braids that are piled on top of her head in that last picture are in a plastic bag in her attic. They were almost waist-length when she cut them. And you just never know when someone might need some perfectly good human hair.

Granny's been married to Grandpa Chuck for 60 years this September, bless her heart. No one knows for sure when that photo was taken; it mysteriously appeared shortly before their 50th anniversary. That photo still sums them up today: she's exuberant and affectionate, and while he seems rather aloof, he loves her, too. I can imagine them in that same pose right now, at ages 80 and 82.

When I was a little girl and hadn't learned that a person's outside doesn't necessarily represent their inside, I loved my granny more than just about anyone in the world, because she was so beautiful. She had this bouffant red hairdo that was almost as big as Dolly Parton's, and in my eyes, that made her just about perfect. Now that I'm old enough to know that outer beauty doesn't always equate inner beauty, I know that this isn't the case with Granny. She has always been even more beautiful on the inside than that magnificent beehive on its best, tallest day.

For the rest of my life, this is what my heart will look like every February 13th.