My maternal grandma passed away in September of last year. It feels more appropriate, in typed word, to use the word “grandmother”, but she wasn’t a grandmother. She was Grandma, 100%.
In many ways, she wasn’t at all traditional. She liked to drink beer, which I remember shocked me when I was a young kid. She hosted parties with her friends in her backyard. She liked to talk loudly and laugh loudly. For most of my life, she was single, and very happy to be that way. She dyed her hair auburn.
But she also had habits that were more old-fashioned and timeless, particularly when it came to her homemaking. I got an inside look at how diligently she kept house because, when I was young, she used to hire me to come help her clean occasionally. It was one of my favorite things to do. She would play the country music station as we worked. She would keep laundry going, wipe down counters, and shine her wineglass collection. I would get up on stools and counters to clean blinds, and dust her wooden shelves with Lemon Pledge. I’d help her freshen up the guest room, straighten the quilts on the bed, and fluff the pillows. We’d take a break for lunch, when I’d be allowed to have my own can of soda, which was a huge treat for me. As she would drive me home, she’d hand me my payment, and I always felt so important to have my own crisp bills to put in my purse.
She also loved to entertain. One of my favorite traditions was going early to her house on Thanksgiving to help her set the tables. She liked to make them beautiful and fancy, with real wine glasses for everyone, even the kids (who filled them with sparkling cider). Sometimes, I would create pretty place cards to put on the plates. We’d make sure the special dishes were clean and ready for food…serving bowls, gravy boats, and baskets for rolls.
Even as a kid, I was impressed with her attention and care to the upkeep of her home. Everything from windows to baseboards to blinds received regular maintenance. Outdoor furniture was wiped down for backyard parties. Food was presented in pretty tins or bowls. She would make homemade Chex mix for snacking, and her signature bon-bons for Christmas. She knew what cleaners to use where. She knew the secrets to getting different kinds of stains out of different kinds of materials. She had extra pillows and blankets and toiletries for out-of-town guests.
After she passed away, my family moved into the house she had lived in for awhile (the full story can be found here). Me, my husband, and our four (almost five) children now live in the small but cozy 2 bed 2 bath home in Chandler, AZ, where she spent the last several years of her life.
While I knew the opportunity to relocate from Texas back to AZ, back near familiarity and family, was going to be a huge blessing in this season of our lives, I did not anticipate how privileged I would feel by being in my Grandma’s space. In fact, I was kind of dreading it…I wasn’t sure if it would feel too weird, or too painful, to be in the same rooms I have so many memories of being in with her.
It’s quite the opposite; it’s healing. I can feel her around me in all the ways she set things up, all the comfortable details she cared about, the restfulness she prioritized. I think it’s a true testament to my Grandma that she cultivated a space and filled it with memories in such a way that we, her family, desire to be in those places because they remind us so much of her and feel so much like her.
And it’s not only that…I feel a bit like a little girl again, moving around my Grandma’s space, cleaning it, tidying it, and receiving such valuable instruction from her. Her teaching isn’t with words, anymore, but I am still learning from her and the legacy she left behind. Her home is like an organizing dream; Lazy Susan’s in every cupboard, small containers to hold bits of this and some of that. Shelving and linens and chests. Baskets…so many beautiful baskets. Tissue covers that match the aesthetic of each room (and hide the squished boxes that inevitably result with children around). Her home speaks of the humble, wise knowledge that prioritizing tidiness and coziness is no small thing.
I guess I didn’t realize how much the feeling of a cared for home contrasts with one treated with indifference. We’ve heard the expression, “if walls could talk”, but, being here, it kind of seems like they can. They tell of laughter and conversation, drinking and eating, attention and service. I thought it was going to be odd to live in her home, but instead, it almost feels more like home than any place I’ve ever lived.
I’ve often thought about how I hope to not be a burden to my children, and grandchildren, when I die. I aspire to make sure I don’t have boxes of junk for them to deal with, or debt to take care of, or unfinished business to attend to. I dream of, even, leaving something behind to bless them…something like money, or property. But I never really considered how much a space could bring peace to someone. How I could nurture an environment that feels homey even after I leave, with little treasures of organization and practicality for them to benefit from. I underestimated the impact that seemingly small or silly items might have. We want her dishes, not because they are special in their own right, but because we remember her hands holding them, piled high with food, on Christmas. We want the pictures because we remember admiring them each time we visited her house as kids. The things in her home are practically helpful, yes, but they also hold decades of meaning, built year by year by a woman who, I’m sure, had no idea the kind of impact she would leave behind.
Being in her space is inspiring. I want to care for it as she cared for it. I want my children to have the same memories I do of this place, of joy and laughter and care and attentiveness. It’s impressing on me the sobering truth that a legacy isn’t created overnight. I won’t be able to, at the end of my life, realize my time is approaching and get things ready to my satisfaction. It starts here, and now. I starts with my own habits. Once established, I can pass on wisdom to those around me. I don’t have much money, but that doesn’t mean a cozy, well kept home is out of my reach. I can pay attention to where I’m putting my attention; is it on the fleeting, the temporary, the self serving? Or is it on the place that I want to welcome people to, and the people I want to bring in, and the comfort I want to offer them, in the form of a cup of tea, a treat, or a soft chair?
My Grandma spent years and years of her life quietly serving others. Well, not quietly…she was pretty loud and laughed a lot. But humbly. And kindly. She’s not with us physically, but it still feels like she is caring for us, in a lot of ways. I feel honored to be in her space. I hope that one day, I can pass that same feeling on to someone else.
