When I think of my grandmother Evelyn, I do not first picture a grand occasion. I picture the small blue house, the kitchen windows open to the garden, and flour on the table as she showed us—patiently, again—how to shape a loaf of bread.
Her generosity was rarely announced. It appeared in practical, unmistakable ways: an extra chair pulled to the table, a parcel of food pressed into your hands, a quiet hour given to a neighbor who needed company.
We will miss her deeply. We will also keep meeting her in the habits she gave us: making room, feeding people well, and sending them home knowing they were loved.