Edith Hall

 

I have no idea why Edith Hall popped into my mind this morning as I was waking, but she did.

She was my grandmother's friend from forever. Both women have been dead since the mid 1900s. 

The word "spinster" was a perfect definition of Edith. I don't know where her money came from, but she owned a two-family house on High Street. My grandmother thought it was family wealth. Edith was frugal. Although she never forgot someone's birthday, the cards, like all cards she sent, were recycled, with the name of the giver crossed out and her own signature below.

When Rick1 and I returned from his tour of duty with a U.S. Army band in Stuttgart, Germany, we rented the 2nd floor apartment. The rental, costing $80 a month, was arranged by my grandmother.

My parents had rented the same place as their first apartment too. I doubt if anything had changed from their rental to ours. I doubt if it had changed from the 1920s. Our stove was identical to the art work drawn by Lori deBoer. The tub had claw feet. 

When I was nine, my grandmother arranged for me to learn some crafts with Edith, or Miss Hall as I called her. She was clever and I learned to make paper flowers out of construction paper, origami and other things. I didn't like going there. The apartment was overflowing and I wanted to be home with my own projects and books. My grandmother found a way to tactfully tell Edith, I wouldn't be continuing. 

Looking back, I feel a bit bad. I'm sure she was delighted to have the company.

When Rick1 and moved in, her apartment was even more crowded than it had been in my childhood. Now, I realize she was a hoarder, probably suffering from dementia. She was relieved to have us there to help protect her against "the man who comes in and steals from me." I spent many an hour helping her find what was "stolen." 

It was time I didn't have. Between a full-time work schedule and part time work at a dry cleaners and a husband who believed that I should perform all traditional housewifely duties (pre-Betty Frieden) every minute was precious. 

We didn't have a phone, but could use hers if necessary. Getting to it was like beating a path to through the jungle of things.

Finally, we decided we needed to move and we found a cottage on the property of our Italian landlords. Although the rent was $120, the frequency with which we ate with them more than made up the difference although I had a much more modern kitchen. Our daughter's middle name is that of our landlady. It was a relief to be away from Edith Hall.

Only recently has hoarding and dementia come to the public attention. With the wisdom of age, I wish I'd been more helpful to this woman. It wouldn't have hurt me to have more craft lessons, maybe monthly instead of weekly. She was a good teacher. I could have checked on her after we moved. 

My experience with her did help me deal with my beloved step mother's dementia. More often in the present day I ask myself when faced with a choice, "will I regret not doing this?"