Lilacs blossoming in the spring will always be a cherished and poignant reminder to me of Elizabeth. She and I knew each other for ten years and a few days.  For the first five years, we saw each other twice a week. I was the newly hired director of Senior Services at Neighborhood House where Elizabeth was very involved. The next five years, we saw each other regularly but not frequently. She continued going to Neighborhood House, and I remained involved there, but in a different capacity. Such details are rather superfluous when it comes to affection and respect.

I don’t recall how Elizabeth knew of my fondness for lilacs, but once she knew something, it remained ingrained in her memory. For many springs, she would call and tell me she had picked flowers for me. There was always a large bouquet of lilacs and tulips and other blossoms from her yard. The lilacs would fragrance my car on the drive home, and my home for days. This year was no exception. She called the last Monday of April to tell me the lilacs were ready. I mentioned getting them the next day, but she insisted I stop that day. Elizabeth was very kind and equally as direct. Thankfully, I stopped by that afternoon. We had a lively conversation, she was always interesting to visit with and we hit on many topics. Her mind was clear as ever and she looked lovely as always. We visited for nearly an hour. We hugged good-bye and shortly after I left, she suffered a stroke. Her good friend Patti Snyder dropped by to bring her some chicken soup, realized the seriousness of the situation and called 911.

Elizabeth Starchevich Steinmann was born October 3, 1914 in Farmington, Illinois.  She was the last surviving sibling among her four sisters and three brothers. She moved to Chicago in 1933, married and began working at Curtiss Candy Company until 1979 when she returned to Peoria to live closer to family. She and her sister, Ella, were best friends and typically traveled as a twosome. They complemented each other nicely; Ella was more reserved and Elizabeth was more take-charge.

While not exactly a private person, but definitely discreet, Elizabeth tended to downplay her accomplishments and interests. She had traveled extensively, often with Ella, and had enjoyed golfing and bowling, and did lovely crocheting and knitting.  I remarked one time about the difficulty of finding a loose fitting warm hat, and soon after, she knitted one for me. The last time I visited her, she showed me a baby afghan she made for a much-loved young friend.

At the luncheon following her memorial service, there were pictures of Elizabeth in her early 20’s and many of us remarked that she could have been a professional model.  She maintained that attractiveness throughout her life, always sporting a very put together look.

Patti says Elizabeth credited her longevity to genetics. “It’s all in your genes,” she believed. She also stressed the importance of doing one thing every day that “makes you happy!” And she told Patti to always have a project. Elizabeth had various projects: painting, pottery, flowers, tutoring children, volunteering at Neighborhood House, and taking a genuine interest in people. “She would tell me,” remembers Patti, “to always try to see the good side in people. Don’t make judgments on first impressions.”

My first impression of Elizabeth was very positive. She and Ella warmly welcomed me to Neighborhood House and were delightful reminders that age is merely a number. Their examples of hospitality, kindness, and friendship were shared with many.

Elizabeth died on May 5, 2011. She is buried at St. Joseph’s Cemetery next to Ella and in front of a row of lilac bushes. They were blossoming profusely the day Elizabeth was laid to rest.