My mother passed away November 16th. Her life was long (97-1/2 years) and her illness was short. She was diagnosed on Thursday night and was gone by Saturday evening. Her family was there for most of Saturday and I think she enjoyed being the Belle of the Ball.

We celebrated her life on February 22nd. This is her eulogy.

On behalf of our family, I want to thank you all for joining us as we celebrate the very long and full life of our beloved mother, grandmother and great grand-mother – Donnie.

When my sister Brenda and I were making calls and sending emails to tell you of her passing, there was one phrase that people used to describe Mom over and over again “she was a force of nature”.
I would like to tell you about our mother’s life through one of the mediums she loved most – stories.

Mom was born in Prince Rupert in 1927. Her mother, Phyllis, had moved from England to Canada for love. Ironically, her father, Alec, ended up being posted to England during the war. She had two younger brothers, Ray and Les.

Mom never really enjoyed school, beyond her Home Economics class. She did love living on the north coast and especially spending time with her adored Grandfather, the Bishop of Caledonia, on what was then The Queen Charlotte Islands. This led to her life-long appreciation for indigenous art and history, the outdoors, boating and seafood.

Mom worked in a fish processing plant for a summer or two. She was proficient at shucking a large number of oysters in quick succession to keep her brood of three children, plus numerous cousins and our dog well fed with oysters fresh from the sea. She was an early advocate for eating seaweed, which she and her brothers would haul up from the beach in buckets to eat as a supplement or alternate to vegetables, as they were often difficult to get in the north. I also credit her with my impressive abilities as a murderer of crabs.

I never recall hearing how Mom began studying dance, but it was early in her life, while still living in Prince Rupert. She loved to perform and entertain, which she did for her entire life. She really came into her own when she, her mother, and brothers relocated to Vancouver during the war. That was when her formal dancing career began, in service shows.
Later, she performed at Theatre Under the Stars in Stanley Park, where she bumped into a surprising number of famous entertainers. She had some very nice things to say about Jimmy Durante in particular. She preferred the characters roles that required dancing and acting ability. I recall her describing one of her favourites, where she was dressed as a witch doctor with ridiculously long nails and emerged from a pot of fire. Mom learned how to make an entrance at an early age.

She never stopped looking like a ballerina to me. Mom had a huge collection of dark pink vinyl 45’s that contained the music of Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky and others. As a young girl I admired the fantasy they conjured, perhaps even more than the music they produced. My mother and I often attended the ballet together. My first was Sleeping Beauty at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre. Rudolph Nureyev danced the part of the prince, and even at the tender age of 10, I knew that I was seeing greatness. And there was Mom, seated beside me, at rapt attention, while her feet gracefully danced the steps along with the corps de ballet, soloists and principals performing on stage. She knew every role.

I also recall many holiday meals that ended with the blare of my Father’s favourite pipes and drums record, while Mom danced a sword dance around a couple of crossed wooden spoons in the living room. Or the many times she would pull out her castanets (real or imaginary) to dance a spontaneous flamenco.

Eventually, the war ended, and her father returned. The family relocated to Nanaimo where she opened a dance studio, predominantly teaching little girls in leotards. It was there that she met our father, when fate (and his mother) sent him to her studio for dancing lessons. My compliments for a job well done Mom! Dad was a wonderful dancer, though he danced rarely.

Mom and Dad were married soon after and settled in a tiny cottage in Lantzville. Dad worked at the pulp mill in Port Alberni, while attending night school. It was a good life and a simple one. He eventually changed employers and ended up at Crown Zellerbach in Richmond.
They lived in the West End for the first while, an easy walk to Woodward’s where Mom worked in the carpet department. She onlyhad good things to say about her time there. There was also a Woodward’s in New Westminster, right across from my orthodontist, and she would take me for a chocolate malt after every appointment. Braces were something my mother and I had in common as she had had them as well, an exceptionally rare thing in her time.

Mom and Dad moved to Richmond and built a beautiful colonial home there. I have driven by it several times over the years after my brother Doug tracked it down. It was there that they went from a family of 2 to a family of 5. Mom loved the neighbourhood, everyone knew everyone else, and they visited back and forth regularly. House parties were common then. I have photos of her in a beautiful cocktail dress, that she had likely made herself, doing the limbo under a precariously low broom handle. It was a scene right out of Dick Van Dyke.

We moved a few times during our early years. Ocean Falls, a small pulp town on the north coast was reminiscent of Mom’s childhood in the Queen Charlottes and she loved it there. We lived on Front Street, the only street suitable for cars, and were free to wander almost anywhere.

We had a boat, the Bob-A-Lyn, which was my first experience of something like camping, and a cabin in Wallace Bay. Boats were required to moor offshore, and we had to row in. The easiest place to disembark was directly adjacent to our cabin, so we had neighbours crossing back and forth over our front deck at frequent intervals. In later years I resurrected some of our photos of that time. My mother was frequently seen sunning herself on a lounge chair, on that deck, in an adorable pink and white gingham bikini, quite modest by today’s standards.

With one hotel and no other restaurants in town, the wives of the managers were often called upon to host business dinners at their homes. Mom frequently reminisced about running up and down the back alley and swapping food with the other wives in a group effort to assemble an appropriate spread on short notice. As children, we occasionally observed those evenings, crouched behind the staircase railings. The leftovers may have been how we learned about the joys of canapes and chip dip!

Mom hated leaving when it was time to move to Campbell River, though it would only be for a very brief stay. It was there that she wrote a consumer column for the local newspaper. I can clearly recall her photo at the top of that column; she was wearing shiny silver cat’s eyeglasses, which would have been the fashion at the time. I wish she had saved her columns. For someone who saved every usable plastic bag, she was surprisingly lacking in sentiment about her own accomplishments.

We had not had any real exposure to TV before arriving in Campbell River. 1966 was the year she discovered Star Trek. She was a passionate Trekkie and began a letter campaign when the show was cancelled after only a few years. Since then, she has never missed a Star Trek or Star Wars movie. My sister’s husband Dave was her regular sidekick.
Our final move, only one year later, brought us to Coquitlam, where we stayed and put down real roots. My parents lived in our childhood home for 47 years.

We were lucky. We grew up in a homemade world.

My mother was doing farm to table cooking before it was a thing. She had a butcher where she bought meat, cut to her specifications. A poultry farmer brought fresh eggs and chicken to our house every week or 2. I remember making bread on Saturdays in a scarred Mason Cash bowl that now lives in my cupboard. We had homemade root beer and popsicles frozen on those little plastic sticks in the summer. No one makes a better pumpkin pie.

She made almost everything by feel, without a recipe, and tried to pass that gift on to me, with some success. I do prefer getting my hands into a pie dough vs using a pastry cutter. Mom was serving fondue and cooking in a wok before anyone else in the neighbourhood. Jars of pickles and jams and fruit in light syrup lined the shelves of the basement workshop like jewels. I am not sure I really appreciated them at the time, wishing for storebought instead, just like the other kids. But every time I bump into a jar of mustard pickles, a rare find, you can be certain I am buying one, no matter what the price.

Mom’s ability to miraculously create a hearty meal from fridge scraps, famously named ‘mess in a pot’, likely originated with her frugal mother during the depression. As did her need to hold onto mountains of buttons, tiny scraps of fabric, empty jars, used twist ties…. Well, you get the picture. Everything, literally everything, had the potential to be useful. To be fair, it was not a rare event for me to go to Mom’s in order to search through her button box for a replacement button of some sort.

Mom loved fashion and made most of her clothing. I believe that stage shows were where she began to develop her sewing skills, by making and altering costumes. Her Mother was not much for sewing, so beyond high school HomeEc, she was largely self-taught.

Our childhood was in the time of evening gowns and cocktail dresses. I remember her swishing in, wearing some sparkly dress and smelling of Chanel No. 5, before heading out to a business dinner or event with Dad. She was the first woman in the neighbourhood with hot pants, and she looked great in them. Palazzo pants, the same. She knew clothes and knew what looked good on her. She should have worn red all the time – it was her colour and in keeping with her boundless energy and love of life.

Our mother was an amazing quilter. We all have quilts she made for us as babies and adults, warm keepsakes to remember her by. As we were going through her things we found a wide array of quilted wallets, zipper storage bags, grocery bags and miscellaneous pouches custom made to exact dimensions for a particular pair of scissors or her passport. Even mundane objects warranted enough consideration to become a thing of beauty.

I feel so fortunate to have those memories of her, along with our quilted wall hangings, advent calendars, placemats, and a myriad of other things she put her hands to. I recall the many afternoons and evenings when she would sit in her chair crafting holiday ornaments, or crocheting warm hats for people who were unhoused, or sewing and knitting for her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. My sister and I both wore wedding gowns my mother had made. Not a project for the faint of heart.

I shall miss Mom’s counsel and problem-solving skills when I am repairing a damaged garment, or trying to make a jacket, or unable to find the dropped stitch in my knitting. She always knew what to do. Her 4 sewing machines and 1 serger are testament to the many hours spent in her sewing room making beautiful things.

I especially recall our Christmas dresses the year I was 10 and Brenda was 9. She had made these beautiful, completely glittered dresses with long bell sleeves. When she put them on us to be hemmed, we had to be blind-folded and were forbidden to put our arms down in case we might touch the fabric. How I loved that dress.

Our brother was very active in sports, particularly baseball and hockey. Mom attended every practice and every game, no matter what the hour, until he was old enough to drive himself. She volunteered, doing a myriad of things. Unsurprisingly, she was always very involved in the end of season dances and parties, which were large affairs. I am quite certain I understood the importance of a liquor license at a very early age as Brenda and I would often accompany her, reluctantly, during the long hours of setting up.

One of Mom’s true loves was Guiding. The first Brownie pack was started at our local school when I was about 9. Mom volunteered immediately. She started as a Grey Owl and never left. She rose up the ranks as Tawny Owl and finally Brown Owl, though I had already moved onto Guides by then. She was a quartermaster, a trainer and a commissioner and ultimately a member of the Millenium Trefoil Guild.
I found a card and pin congratulating her on 55 years of membership in Guiding, which was almost as long as the 62 years she and my father were married.

It was a tradition in guiding to collect pins and badges of memorable achievements and events and attach them to a camp hat. After so many years, my mother’s collection had resulted in a densely forested camp hat, as well as a vest and 2 camp jackets. A large zipper pouch contains badges and pins that came long after all of these garments were full were full and had become dangerously heavy to wear.
Today, February 22nd, is World Thinking Day. This is a very special day in Guiding and was one of the reasons we chose this date to celebrate Mom. Since 1926, this the is day when 10 million Girl Guides and Scouts around the world celebrate their sisterhood. It is that sisterhood that Mom loved being a part of.

I think one of Mom’s favourite events each year was the annual Teddy Bear Picnic. She loved talking with the children and lovingly hand-stitched small holes, missing eyes and torn ears on their stuffed animals. I have a photo from the newspaper of her doing just that. She was quite sad when it all went away during COVID and she never failed to mention it when that time of year came around.

And of course, Mom was very active here, in this church, with her beloved community. I also attended for many years in my youth, and she has always kept me up to date with the comings and goings of the church members and their families. You were all an important part of her family.

She was a member of the alter guild, a sides person, gave communion and served as a warden. She contributed to many of the hangings in the church, looked after coffee and lunches and volunteered at rummage sales and Christmas teas. She even counted the contents of the collection plate, not her favourite task.

But the thing Mom loved the most was doing the prayers. While going through her things I found a large stack of carefully handwritten prayers, dozens and dozens of them. They meant something to her. They embodied her faith.

My mother was incredibly kind and took the time to get to know people everywhere she went. She knew all the local shopkeepers by name, and would chat with strangers at the grocery store or on the bus. She knew the life story of the regulars at the Food Bank and the taxi drivers who brought her here each Sunday. She was quick to give and receive hugs, even with virtual strangers who seemed to accept them with a surprising degree of comfort.

When I was in high school, Mom would invite my painfully shy physics tutor to stay for dinner, then drive him home so he would not have to take the bus when it was cold or wet. Growing up, The Province newspaper arrived on our doorstep every morning at 5:45 a.m. Mom and Dad would pull apart the pages and read it as they sipped coffee and ate their breakfast eggs, exchanging headlines and snippets of the news. I would often emerge from my room to find the young paper boy seated next to my mother at the dining table, drinking a hot chocolate. I am not exaggerating when I say that boy was there almost every single day.

Mom’s kindness was not limited to humans. I recall her taking an injured garter snake to the vet for a few stitches, I am not sure exactly how that turned out.

It was during our teens that Mom and Dad began their camping adventures. I think the very first trip was to celebrate their 25th anniversary. They rented a truck and camper and off they went for a week, leaving us in the care of a friend’s twenty-something daughter. It must have been a success; they bought their own truck and camper a year later and began to take regular adventures. Eventually they moved up to a fifth wheel and then a motorhome. Their trips became longer, including bigger adventures such as driving the Alaska Highway and a return to Prince Rupert and Haida Gwaii. Through the years they found a number of places that became favourites, and they would often return year after year.

Wherever they went, their traditional last stop on the way home was the Dairy Queen in Hope, where they both ordered Blizzards: Smarties for Mom and Skor for Dad.

Mom was true Lifetime Learner. When we had all left school and were (mostly) living our own lives, Mom decided to study Mandarin. She started at our local high school and moved on to more advanced classes at SFU. She practiced diligently and listened to tapes to perfect her pronunciation. She could often be found wandering through the house with her Walkman, repeating phrases aloud. It turns out that during that time, Tyler was also studying Mandarin. More accurately, he would listen to her tapes and genuinely seemed to like them. I believe he was 2 or 3 at the time, so I am not sure much of it stuck.

After a few years of study, and practicing on local shopkeepers who never failed to look surprised when they realized an ageing Caucasian woman was having a conversation with them in Mandarin, she decided it was time to take her skills on the road. My mother and her mother were off on an adventure to China, a country that was not at all well-traveled in the early eighties. It was certainly one of the highlights of her life and she spoke of it often. What I wouldn’t give to hear about the thin breakfast congee or delightful sticky buns one more time.

That trip may have been the genesis of the many travel adventures that followed with Rick and our widowed mothers. Mom embraced it all! She gamely climbed the cobblestone streets of the Tuscan hill towns. She and Nikki accompanied me to San Francisco on one of my business trips, where Laura acted as their guide. We ate messy BBQ and listened to country music in Nashville, the blues in Memphis and had a stopover at Graceland. Spain was definitely one of our favourite adventures, in spite of the unseasonably warm temperatures. She really deserved an “I survived the Alhambra” t-shirt after our walking tour in a toasty 45 degrees C. During our trip to The Big Apple, we took a backstage tour of Radio City music hall, and contemplated what Mom’s life would have been like if she had been 6” taller and joined the Rockettes.

The relative relaxation of Maui must have been a nice break for her as we mostly spent our time lounging about the pool. Mom had always loved the water. In fact, water aerobics was her exercise of choice for many years, and she would often arrive for her work-out in a bathing suit she had made herself.

Over that time, and our many adventures, my Mom and Rick’s Mom, Nikki, became fast friends. They were happy to share a bed, looked after each other, tried to figure out the complexities of hotel room technology together, and occasionally swapped clothes when the need arose. Wherever we traveled, the one necessary requirement was an oatmeal breakfast. No matter how fancy the hotel, the lack of oatmeal reduced a 5 star stay to a 2.

Mom found beauty in the sights of course, but also in things as mundane as a doorway, a staircase or a streetlamp. She would often pause and look up to point out something the rest of us had missed. But no matter where we were, or what we were doing, her most frequent question was “What direction is the hotel from here?”

Israel was unfortunately our final adventure, not long before COVID happened. Perhaps it was time. Both Moms were beginning to slow down and clearly too determined to tell us. In recent years our adventures had become more measured with trips to Ucluelet to watch the waves and the sunsets and just enjoying being together. We celebrated New Years Eve there, though none of us managed to make it to midnight.

Most importantly, Mom adored her grandchildren and great grandchildren and they loved her back. She was not a grandmother that watched from afar, but rather one that sat on the floor, read to them, made meals for them, helped with homework, and took them on adventures. She was never too tired to play. I am sure all of them recall visits to Rocky Point Park, or the playground at Harbourview where Brenda, Doug and I had attended elementary school.

Mom was often called into service when I was away on a business trip. This was helpful for me, while also cementing her relationship with Andrew and Laura.

I recall a time when Rick called her in a panic; Laura’s hamster had gone missing. Mom raced over to in time to keep Laura home from school to search. Flour was scattered, tinfoil traps laid, and the cats locked away in a bedroom to avoid a potential incident. Hammy was eventually found, unharmed, behind the backdoor bench. Mom also taught Laura to sew. I recall the time they made an entire wardrobe of squirrel clothes from fabric scraps. I have the photographic evidence.

When Andrew was still quite small, Mom would take him on walks that often ended up at the nearby fire station. She would chat with the firemen while Andrew tried on their hats and sat in one of the trucks. On the occasion when I would take him myself, they would always ask after Mom. Andrew recalls a time when he was in Grade 4 and trying, unsuccessfully, to do his math homework. He was stuck on a specific problem that neither he nor Mom were able to solve. She took Andrew to school early the next morning and sat with him and his teacher, Mrs. Beale, and they learned how to solve it together. She never particularly enjoyed math, unless it involved quilting, but was happy to do it for Andrew. Lifetime learner.

As a child, Tyler would come to Mom and Dad’s after school one day a week. Mom was pretty good at coming up with things to do, like showing Tyler how to crush pennies on the train tracks. This included making sure he knew to spit on the penny so it would stick. They would return a few days later to retrieve the flattened penny. This is an activity rich in nostalgia, though perhaps one that should be undertaken with caution.

In recent years, Mom would often be found in the pool, paddling about with Tyler’s two children and chattering about whatever subject interested them at that moment. They had all kinds of toys to play with when they came for a visit but preferred the old button box, so much so that they requested, and received, their own button boxes for Christmas.

Mom always had little scraps of paper floating about the house: on her side table, in the kitchen, on her desk, next to her bed… you get the picture. The vast majority had a first name and a phone number, often insufficient information to understand if the number mattered and what result we might get by calling it.

We were pleasantly surprised to see a sticky note on her fridge that said “Favourite colour – green”. Having never been certain about her favourite colour, this proved to be a very helpful note. On closer inspection, we realized it was the answer to a challenge question when she logged into her online compass card account.

However, we also found scraps with little quotes, things that meant something to her like “When looking for faults, use a mirror not a telescope.” Or “It’s never too late to be what you might have been”.
If Mom was jotting down a quote today, I think it might be something like this excerpt from one of the songs she remembered from the war and really loved. This is for you Mom.

I’ll be seeing you
In every lovely summer’s day

In everything that’s light and gay


I’ll always think of you that way

I’ll find you in the morning sun


And when the night is new
I’ll be looking at the moon


But I’ll be seeing you

Thank you