Tuesday, June 10, 2025
These past few days have had me reminiscing over the fond memories, lessons, and lifelong habits passed on by my Nanny. In revisiting these moments, I’m realizing just how much of her lives on within me.
Year after year, Nanny, Mum, and I would attend the Nutcracker Ballet in Halifax. The emotion behind the orchestra, the passion of the dancers, and the beauty of the costumes created a magical world we shared together—a tradition that felt like our own secret December ritual.
She and Mum also introduced me to the Royal Nova Scotia International Tattoo. To this day, the sound of the pipes will always feel like home.
As many of you know, Nanny was a passionate reader. We frequently exchanged new titles, always eager to discuss the latest chapter or recommend a new favorite. In a way, we had our own private book club. (As a side note, we both highly recommend Elanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman and Looking For Jane by Heather Marshall)
During my undergraduate degree, we would email almost every night. Our conversations ranged from course material to intersectional feminist theory, from philosophers to personal reflections. She supported me fiercely, always encouraging my independence and modeling what it means to be a passionate, thoughtful, and strong-willed woman. She urged me not only to do right by others but to do right by myself.
One of my most cherished memories is of her and Poppy traveling to support me as I presented my undergraduate thesis. It meant the world to have her there.
Finally, I want to share a poem that Nanny shared with me many years ago, but which has stuck with me to this day.
Nanny, when I grow old I, too, shall wear purple.
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
