My grandmother, Betty Allison, died last week. She was a fashionable lady who had traveled the world. We’ve spent last week going through her things. It’s funny what you can learn about someone from the stuff they leave behind.
My grandmother filled tiny notebooks with meticulous notes about her life. They say things like Ella visited June 5, 1987 or dinner with Tom November 15, 1990. Just a person’s name and the date, but none of the details that I would find important like what they talked about or what they ate for dinner.
She collected matchbooks and decks of playing cards from the various countries she visited, sorted the mountains of clothes and shoes in her closet by color, stuffed the sleeves of her coats with newspaper, and put pieces of chalk in with all her jewelry. I looked that one up and found out that chalk keeps silver from tarnishing.
I won’t tell you how old she was because she believed that it was impolite to ask a woman her age. I didn’t even know how old she was until my mother mentioned her age to me recently.