A Tribute to Joyce "Sr." - My Granny

With almost a year since my last post, it seemed to require my grandmother's passing to inspire a revival of the "Journey of Joyce" blog.

Yes, this blog post is in honour of Joyce Wilson.  I was her namesake, she - my paternal grandmother.  "Granny" as we Wilson kids affectionately called her.  Granny - a widow of almost 30 years who until the last half decade or so remained fiercely independent, living alone in her lovely rural cottage of 'Ashley'.  It was only when the ugly disease of Alzheimer's took a grip over her that she lost some of that independence. Particularly cruel when my Gran could previously recall - and grill you - on specific details from a trans-Atlantic telephone conversation held 6 months earlier.

Her best friend, pseudo-sister & sister-in-law, Florence.  

Though she spent most of her adult life in Britain, Granny was proudly born a Canadian, and she enjoyed adventure on the oil fields of Trinidad in her younger years.  Joyce lived an exciting life, a far cry from her final decades spent in a small village where her property backed onto rolling hills and sheep pasture.  A time in her quiet and peaceful later years where adventure amounted to a trip to the 'Horse & Jockey' a hundred yards up the road, or into Wem for the weekly groceries, mass, or to have her hair set.

The backyard view from 'Ashley'

So as a tweenager full of attitude, I must confess to you that the summer my sis and I spent in the U.K., we would have to break up our time at 'Ashley' for the bright lights and action of the big city of B'ham!  But with some distance of miles (i.e., thousands) and time (i.e., two decades) - I look back increasingly fondly on the bond that was formed with 'our Gran' during that summer and those genteel times that we shared.

Take the weekly grocery shop - a 3+ hour affair where shoppers and staff alike would make way for the woman who would hand-pick one-by-one each potato to ensure the perfect roast potato for Sunday dinner.  For those of you who have tasted my roasties, they pale in comparison to Gran's!  In fact, Gran's Sunday dinners were - and I will dare to suggest will forever remain - unparalleled, with preparation beginning before dawn (we would go to Saturday night mass so Sunday morning could be left open for intense cooking).  She taught me much about the art of cooking and baking... tips and skills I still use today.  

No Granny-quality meal, but we did our best:).

And oh,... her lemon cake,...  Every ingredient measured to the 1/2 teaspoon, with a ruler never far away to ensure precisely equal pieces.  Speaking of measuring, grocery store trips had my Gran arriving with supplies in hand, including empty pop bottles marked with permanent marker showing the level where they had been filled to.  Why you might ask?  OF COURSE to ensure we weren't being 'taken' between purchases with a lesser amount of liquid in the bottle.


Sunday dinners promised an afternoon walk around Colemere Lake, (where Louise and I would giggle like little girls as Granny apologized for her 'broccoli toots'), and also when we could anxiously anticipate deliciously creative meals made from leftovers on Monday night.  Don't get me wrong, Gran amounted to much more than her impeccable cooking abilities, but her character, her love for things being done well and properly, and her love for family was often demonstrated in this tangible way.  

One of my last visits to 'Ashley' with the  infamous driveway gravel.

Though in her later years it was difficult to see Granny's sharp mind in decline, it did offer us opportunity to experience her softer side.  To see her gush & giggle at the sight or mention of a baby.  The arrival of her first great-grandchild, my niece, gave her unparalleled joy - and I remember her being in awe of Becs picking up one piece of gravel at a time off of Ashley's driveway and dropping it onto the lawn.  She would smile from the window as she watched us build daisy chain crowns in the garden. 

It is these memories that flood to mind as I grieve the loss of my Granny and as I celebrate a wonderful life lived.  And while I am thankful for these memories, I am more thankful of God's promise that Joyce - my Gran - is in her eternal home with her Maker and her Saviour.  Of the promise that I, too, will one day join her in my Heavenly home.  Are you confident this day of the promise of your eternal home?

Joyce (Sr.) and Joyce (Jr.) - My Gran

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going” (John 14:1-4).