After my grandma died a few years ago, we found a book of A4 file paper (remember that?). It has been covered with fabric with pink-coloured leaves, and wallpaper with an orange and blue leaf pattern. The binding is reinforced with string. Despite these efforts, a number of sheets have fallen out.
In the margin, Grandma has written hundreds of 2 to 5-letter words, all in capital letters. The definitions are next to them.
Here are the first five entries.
AMYL | AN ALCOHOL RADICAL
AMIE | A MISTRESS
ALAR | OF A WING
ADAM | A GAOLER / STYLE OF ARCHITECTURE (the latter added later in different ink)
AUFL | (GER) ADDI EDITION
Some are crossed out and updated. The ink and handwriting changes – presumably because she worked on it over time. Apart from special sections like Greek alphabet and abbreviations, the words are arranged in A to Z order, but some letters have more words than the original structure can hold, so there is overflow onto other pages. But she didn’t take the book apart and put it into a folder, it remains in its original form.
After my grandma died, we found a book of A4 file paper. It has been covered with fabric with pink-coloured leaves, and wallpaper with an orange and blue leaf pattern. Inside, Grandma has written hundreds of 2 to 5-letter words. The definitions are next to them.
We call it a dictionary, but it might not be.
Since I learned about it, I’ve loved trying to figure out what it was and why. Then I spent time just enjoying the mystery and treasuring that we will never know. We won’t ever be able to find out, after all.
Whatever Grandma’s intention was with this book, I have been entrusted with it and it is my most prized possession.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot in 2025, as my grief for Grandma and other family members who died around the same time has settled a bit. I’ve been preoccupied with what we leave behind, what we show and tell people who are close to us, and what we don’t. The physical artefacts like Grandma’s dictionary, and also the pictures we paint of ourselves, the things we show and hide, and the impact this has on others.
No one knew when Grandma made it. My guess is in the 1930s or 1940s. The leading theory is it was when she was in domestic service in the house of the Misses Yeomans in North Yorkshire. All I know about the Misses Yeomans is that there were three of them, they were sisters, they lived somewhere in the Whitby area and they could afford to have live-in help. I like to imagine they lived together because they were witches or, at the very least, lesbians.
I’ve been preoccupied with what we leave behind, what we show and tell people who are close to us, and what we don’t. The physical artefacts like Grandma’s dictionary, and also the pictures we paint of ourselves, the things we show and hide, and the impact this has on others.
No one knows why Grandma made it either. Leading theories here are that it was an aid for Scrabble or crosswords. She loved both and this would have been an extremely useful tool. I wonder if she gathered the words and definitions from crossword puzzles or from a neatly-bound ‘official’ dictionary, and used what she learned in Scrabble.
Grandma’s dictionary is an amazing object in itself and so I think of it often. But it’s been on my mind a lot in 2025 for some new reasons. My brain often chunters over the connections between the dictionary, what I think it means, and my own life.
It makes me think about what we keep and give away. Grandma didn’t throw her dictionary away but she didn’t tell any of her family about it either. My guess is that she didn’t think it was valuable, didn’t think it was worth talking about, or had forgotten about it. But it is extremely precious to me.
It makes me think about what we spend our free time doing. Grandma didn’t have much of an education but her dictionary shows how she loved words and learning. I had much more of an education, and I spend an unholy amount of time scrolling, but like to keep my brain ticking over too. I see a collector and completist urge in her word-gathering and I see that habit in myself. I’m now a keen gardener, like my also departed grandad and dad, but that’s another essay. The continuity brings me a lot of comfort and helps me feel connected to them.
I see a collector and completist urge in her word-gathering and I see that habit in myself. The continuity brings me a lot of comfort and helps me feel connected to her.
Grandma’s dictionary makes me think about how we never know what others will think of us when we’re gone, or what will be important to them. Grandma would be very surprised that I am writing about this here. I really don’t think she would see it as interesting to me, or others. I wonder if I will leave anything that will be of interest to future relatives. It won’t be one of the many Miro boards I make. But this short essay on the internet could be a good start.
What would be my dictionary? I wonder if it’s my disused musical instruments. Most people who know me now don’t know I was musical in my youth. Could dusting those off be my dictionary equivalent-project for 2026?