English Ivy

Today I want to tell you about my grandma Ivy. Yesterday she passed away at 98 years old.

I liked to call her English Ivy, just to myself as an endearment. Yes, because she was English but also because she was the kind of woman who quite invasively won you over.

She was the epitome of femininity in my eyes, for so many reasons; her home was always spotless, she always had a beautiful potted herb garden and roses growing in the back, even with limited yard space. Inside her home, the first thing you would see after opening the door was the royal arms delicately painted on a small porcelain plate and lined in gold leaf. She kept African Violets in dainty bone China dishes along her window sill. She always had a clean, pressed, white, lace table cloth on her dining table and her bedroom was a reflection of the same. White eyelet cotton, lace edged sheets and pillow cases - always pressed. A floor length white table cloth on her bed stand made the room feel ever so romantic. She kept a mirrored tray of perfumes in crystal bottles on her dresser and she always wore pearls or better. Her closet was full of kitten heels and jewel toned dresses. Her hair was always perfect, she kept a weekly appointment for a blow out and was the only woman I knew growing up who would shower with a shower cap on to keep her hair just so. She had a shoe box full of makeup and another full solely of lipsticks, which was a wonderment to me as a child and she took great pride and care in “putting on her face” daily. She lived alone for an impressively long time.

In her kitchen she had an entire cupboard shelf full of neatly stacked Tupper ware and every single one of them had the correct lid. (As an adult I find this endlessly impressive). She drank Gin and tonic and that’s where I got my taste for it. Beefeater, of course.

She was friendly with most of her neighbors and loved being social. She was always in the know and cared about inclusivity. My mom told me once about a time when she was a teenager and a young man came to visit. He was white and came up to the house while his black comrade stayed in the car. Grandma Ivy marched straight out and mandated that he come in for tea as well. She wouldn’t have it any other way. She had a dry sense of humor and she was always poised. Late in her life I witnessed her experience an incredibly embarrassing moment, still she never lost composure. Not once.

She talked about the war days. She read books about the war days. She watched shows about the war days. I didn’t listen well enough.

The last time I saw her, I broke her out of her nursing home for a lunch adventure. She refused to eat anything except French macarons and English Breakfast tea. It was a grand afternoon.

She was very polite and not very affectionate. She became quite awkward every time I told her that I loved her but eventually I said it enough that she came around…”I love you too Elizabeth” in her perfect English accent. Uncomfortably in the beginning, warmer towards the end. She did make all of us grandchildren feel loved in other ways though. She never forgot a birthday and I would look forward to her card with delight as it was the sole piece of mail I received yearly growing up. She had pictures of each one of her grandchildren framed and every time we came over, she would display them proudly. She would switch the photos out depending on which family was visiting. I figured that out once when we came up and my cousins’ photos were out when we arrived in the evening but ours were out in the morning. If multiple branches of family came to visit at the same time, she would squeeze every single one of our smiling, framed faces onto that tiny table beside the sofa. She wanted us to know that she cared.
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Grandmas are really special, its much easier for them to love you because you are always on your best behavior when you visit. They have more time and patience for you because they know that you will eventually be going home to your parents, at which point they will return to their life of leisure. They are also the wisest of the wise. Typically, they have lived through more than you can even imagine and have a lot to share about it. You probably won’t appreciate that until long after they are gone. Their time is the greatest gift that they can give you and I am so fortunate for all of the time I got to spend with grandma Ivy, listening to her war stories and learning the art of feminine mastery.