When we were getting ready for my Grandmother's 100th birthday party in 2012, I wrote down a few memories, thinking that there might be an opportunity to share them. As it turned out, I ended up giving a toast, which worked out ok, I guess.
She died last night, and that's sad, but 101 years is still a wonderful life, and I thought I'd memorialize the good times. Death is sad, but life is to be celebrated nonetheless.
Life with Grandma Anna
A few memories from the last fifty years (Glory be to Peter Ann! Has it been that long?)
Boat rides to 45C with Uncle Jim, and my dad making the swim to Astounder Island.
Going to Odessa in the big green Pontiac Lemans to visit Uncle Larry, and maybe getting to ride Wildy.
Swimming at Sand Lake, with Uncle James diving off the dock and swimming back underwater while Ace looked frantically for him in the waves.
Going to the dump with Uncle Eddie in his truck.
Bunco, always happy to see us, when we visited Aunt Margaret and Dick.
The beautiful cedar strip boat that Grandpa Hugh kept in the boathouse, and how he liked his newspaper folded just so.
Using fish eyes for bait.
Playing bingo at the Knights of Columbus and always being one number away from a win.
Going “up street” in the morning, and invariably running into a few people, and maybe bringing back some apple tarts from Round’s bakery.
A trip to Ste Anne de Beaupre with Uncle Larry and Father Brady.
Those steep stairs up to the 2nd floor of the house on Stone street, and the horn blast of the Boat Line’s new triple decker, which played la cucaracha as it got ready for another day of thousand island tours.
The skeleton key under the mat and the big red chesterfield in the living room. “Don’t climb on that, lover.”
Riding the scrambler at the Lansdowne fair.
The washing machine in the kitchen with the terrifying wringer that I think someone got his arm caught in one time.
The boathouses, which always seemed like they were going to fall in the water and never did.
That salmon you caught on your trip to British Columbia, and your picture in the Reporter.
Looking through photograph albums at the apartment and talking about Floods, Kelleys, Mcglades, Dempsters and Shortalls.
Going to London with Anna and my parents in 1975 and trying to make the grenadiers at Buckingham Palace smile.
Taking the water taxi from the old cottage to the Inn with you and my new wife on our wedding day in 1997.
Naming my beautiful daughter Anastasia and watching her admire you in a horse and buggy at the Provincial for your 90th birthday party.
And bringing her back, almost a teenager, with her sister, Evie for your one hundredth.
Thanks be to god for that.
She died last night, and that's sad, but 101 years is still a wonderful life, and I thought I'd memorialize the good times. Death is sad, but life is to be celebrated nonetheless.
Life with Grandma Anna
A few memories from the last fifty years (Glory be to Peter Ann! Has it been that long?)
Boat rides to 45C with Uncle Jim, and my dad making the swim to Astounder Island.
Going to Odessa in the big green Pontiac Lemans to visit Uncle Larry, and maybe getting to ride Wildy.
Swimming at Sand Lake, with Uncle James diving off the dock and swimming back underwater while Ace looked frantically for him in the waves.
Going to the dump with Uncle Eddie in his truck.
Bunco, always happy to see us, when we visited Aunt Margaret and Dick.
The beautiful cedar strip boat that Grandpa Hugh kept in the boathouse, and how he liked his newspaper folded just so.
Using fish eyes for bait.
Playing bingo at the Knights of Columbus and always being one number away from a win.
Going “up street” in the morning, and invariably running into a few people, and maybe bringing back some apple tarts from Round’s bakery.
A trip to Ste Anne de Beaupre with Uncle Larry and Father Brady.
Those steep stairs up to the 2nd floor of the house on Stone street, and the horn blast of the Boat Line’s new triple decker, which played la cucaracha as it got ready for another day of thousand island tours.
The skeleton key under the mat and the big red chesterfield in the living room. “Don’t climb on that, lover.”
Riding the scrambler at the Lansdowne fair.
The washing machine in the kitchen with the terrifying wringer that I think someone got his arm caught in one time.
The boathouses, which always seemed like they were going to fall in the water and never did.
That salmon you caught on your trip to British Columbia, and your picture in the Reporter.
Looking through photograph albums at the apartment and talking about Floods, Kelleys, Mcglades, Dempsters and Shortalls.
Going to London with Anna and my parents in 1975 and trying to make the grenadiers at Buckingham Palace smile.
Taking the water taxi from the old cottage to the Inn with you and my new wife on our wedding day in 1997.
Naming my beautiful daughter Anastasia and watching her admire you in a horse and buggy at the Provincial for your 90th birthday party.
And bringing her back, almost a teenager, with her sister, Evie for your one hundredth.
Thanks be to god for that.
I love every one of these.
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