Home, Sweet Homes - Southwood Drive, Woodland, CA (Part III)

Southwood Drive is a short street that runs between West Street—a main thoroughfare—and McKinley Avenue. Just twenty-two homes line this quiet stretch. During the years we lived there, the neighborhood was a mix of young families and older residents—widowed women and elderly couples who had lived there for decades.

As time went on, many of the older residents passed away or moved to assisted living, and younger families began to move in.

One of our dearest neighbors was Irma Windsor.

Irma was 74 when we moved in, and she lived right next door to Joe. By that time, Joe had already become her unofficial handyperson. In those early months, Irma would smile and wave at Megan and me, but that was about the extent of it. That changed within a year. Soon, she was coming over for coffee, and our visits gradually grew longer. Irma and Megan became especially close.

She became Megan’s adopted grandmother.

Megan’s biological grandmothers lived in Southern California and Ohio, so Irma’s spending time with her was a true gift for our family. Irma had one grandson—a teenager—so she eagerly made space in her life for our energetic little girl.

By the time Megan was four, it became a routine for Megan to hang out at Irma's house: as soon as we pulled into the driveway after work, Irma would already be outside waiting. Megan would run off with her while Joe or I started dinner.

Their afternoons together were sweet and simple—games of Go Fish, reruns of The Lawrence Welk Show, and dancing around Irma’s living room. Sometimes when we went to bring Megan home for dinner, we’d find both of them asleep on the couch—Megan curled up at one end, Irma snoozing at the other. It always tugged at my heart.

Irma’s birthday was on Christmas Day, so we started celebrating her “un-birthday” every June. We’d host a dinner with cake, presents, and laughter—just for her. Even though she was diabetic, Irma made the conscious choice to enjoy something sweet every day—and she always shared with Megan.

Once, Joe asked her not to give Megan snacks before dinner. Irma agreed, and from then on, she sent the treats home for after the meal. Later, when we told her we were cutting back on sugary snacks altogether, Irma proudly sent Megan home with a slice of pumpkin pie—because, as she said, “Pumpkin is a fruit.”

Irma had two children, Nancy and Jim. Nancy and her husband Albert lived on farmland outside Woodland. They didn’t have kids of their own. Nancy worked at UC Davis and stopped by her mom’s house every morning to check in and get ready for the day. She also left a quarter each morning in a small ceramic figurine for Megan to find.

One day, Megan discovered a coin there but didn’t take it. It wasn’t a quarter—it was a Susan B. Anthony dollar. Megan explained that since it wasn’t her usual “gift,” she didn’t feel right taking it. The next day, Nancy was at our door to ask if everything was okay. When she heard what Megan had done, she was deeply touched. Even at five, Megan had principles.

Irma once told me, half-joking, that it was a shame Joe had already married me—she would have gladly married him herself. She truly adored him. (And honestly, who doesn’t?)

In December 2000, Irma entered hospice at Nancy’s home. As her condition worsened, we visited every evening. Nancy had set up a hospital bed in her living room, and we would sit close, hold Irma’s hand, talk with her, feed her ice chips—just be with her.

On the night of January 5, 2001, we pulled up to Nancy’s house and found her waiting at the gate. She told us that Irma had passed just minutes before we arrived. We sat in the car for a few moments, silent, letting the weight of the moment settle.

Irma was 81. Megan was just shy of her seventh birthday.

Southwood Drive—and the world—was a better place for having had Irma Windsor in it.