Ann, and her identical twin sister Helen, who survives her, began life on a family farm in Gardner, Massachusetts in the midst of the Great Depression. Born to hard-working Lithuanian immigrants who celebrated life’s milestones with vodka and foot-stomping parties in the barn, Ann blamed a lack of strict supervision for their many mischievous escapades, including driving a neighbor’s car into a lake and leaving two neighborhood boys trapped in the barn’s hayloft for an entire day.
In 1950, Ann married Elbert “Bud” Hopkins, an Irishman and World War II veteran, whose time as a jukebox salesman gave way to a career at Raytheon as the two decided to settle down. The tale of Ann and Bud’s most memorable date involves polka, a dance hall, and a valuable life lesson that drinks tasting like watered down orange juice can still contain plenty of vodka.
Ann and Bud raised three sons, Jeffrey, Thomas, and Peter, who managed their own fair share of mischief despite ostensibly being better supervised. In 1957, Ann, Bud, Jeff, Tom, and four-month old Peter moved to a new slab ranch in Framingham, MA, the home where Ann would continue to live until her passing. After losing her husband in 2001, she painted the house bright pink and later dubbed it “Flamingo Ranch,” decorating the yard with her favorite pink birds. Until the very last week of her life, Ann lived independently and vivaciously with a streak of “Lithuanian stubbornness.”
Her sons, her daughter-in-laws LouAnn and Olga, her grandchildren Christine, Mark, Sam, Emily, and Victoria, and her great-grandson Aisley will remember fondly her love of tea, pastries, colorful scarves, snowflakes, and white wine; her "tea times" on the porch—a tradition that began her lifelong friendship with her next-door neighbor Lucy, who also survives her; her love of mystery novels and classic movies; her dedication to feeding the birds; and, finally, her endless upbeat energy, embodied by the endless stream of cheerful cards she posted from her home, each one filled with encouragement, wisdom, “mad money” and relevant (or simply amusing) news clippings from the Herald. Her grandchildren, especially, will hold dear childhood memories made with a Nana who, even so many decades later, never forgot how much fun it could be to break a few rules, make a few messes, and go on an adventure without ever leaving home.
Ann Hopkins put caring for those she loved first and foremost, and she, in turn, was loved by everyone lucky enough to know her.
There will be a private, family-only service on Sunday afternoon. In lieu of flowers, a donation can be made to the American Heart Association, St. Jude's, or a charity of your choice.
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