THE ISLAND

From the Isle of Wight again. As Jane Austen writes in her third novel, Mansfield Park, to her, there is no other place in the world like it, so she calls the Isle of Wight ‘The Island.”

Olde England is a name for this land that I do not think is a coincidence. There are customs here that the locals maintain rigorously and which remind me of my grandmother. It’s tidy. It’s clean. You can always ask for a cup of tea and if you like milk in it, they will bring you “a white tea.”

This place reminds me – powerfully and poignantly – of how much I miss my grandmother and the stories she told us so often. To this day, I enjoy listening more than talking. Sometimes, passing by these English houses so traditionally adorned and decked out, my heart aches for her and I so wish we could take tea. But she lives far away in the in the Urals. I haven’t hugged her for so many years, and every year it seems that the whole world conspires to make the way there even more difficult.

I think I started to understand the secret of why people in England have a high standard of living and enjoy longevity. The answer is the continuity of generations. When in my part of the world every generation wants to start everything from scratch, when the next revolutionaries say they know the best, I think this is the recipe for disaster. One day when we begin to respect and appreciate the elderly, perhaps this will be a sign that life is getting better. Moreover, something to think about as in a couple of decades, we will all have hair just as “white” as theirs.

And yes, this is the grandmother who instilled in me love of English literature like the beautiful novels she often reread: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë or Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen .

Today is Grandparents Day in the UK. So sheers to my dear granny.