I noted Mum’s passing but didn’t include her eulogy. I used some of the ideas shared when she passed, and did my best to honour her. Jane Kops shared the quote at the end in her card to me. It seemed to resonate with people.
Mum’s eulogy - Shirley Christine Robertson
I introduced myself, Melanie Southern, the youngest, the baby of the family. A term I hated but it doesn’t sound so bad now…
I’m here to day to celebrate with you the life of Shirley Christine Dustow, nee Robertson. A woman of who found solace and strength in her faith.
A woman who had many roles and relationships - wife, mother, sister, teacher, grandmother, great grandmother to name a few.
And a complex woman who had many facets, and an abundance of talents.
A woman to be admired.
Mum was born in 1931 - in the depths of the Great Depression - The Dirty Thirties.
The Depression years were terrible by all accounts and the stories of deprivations and want are horrific. And although Mum would reference want and scarcity - she desperately wanted a doll with real hair for example, she chose, as a whole, to share with us the happy times. We heard such stories as,
- grandma Robertson never having points on her scissors because the kids used the tips of the scissors to shimmy open some garret door where the walnuts were stored. They spent many a happy hour cracking nuts and eating them.
- Mum had a kitten that she fed with a bottle.
- She had piano lessons and loved to play. She and Aunt Emma had singing lessons and they would sing together - and I imagine they were good!
She had fun: she would well up with tears of laughter as she retold a particularly intense spit-ball fight. This shocked me - my mother shot spit balls?
and kick the can. There were a number of tall tales related to this beloved game. And Crokinole. She loved games - you get in honestly, Teresa. And Mum was a very good winner.
And intertwined within these stories and reminiscences, it was evident that she showed resilience and fortitude - she had a fun childhood regardless of the economic situation.
And Mum turned into a very fetching teenager.
One photograph in particular is quite memorable - she is wearing a cute outfit that I thought was a summer short outfit only to be told that it was her swim suit. And then there is the winter photo of her in a skirt and the little ankle booties - great legs.
She loved clothes, didn’t she? And she could sew… she made beautiful outfits for herself and her daughters. The hours she spent pouring over pattern books and fabric whether at Schaefer’s or Dutlers in London!
She always had a sewing project on the go. Susan reminded me of the risk you took walking across the living room carpet. It was like navigating a mine field. You never knew when you would step on a pin or needle.
As I said, Mum was fetching and stylish and it was no surprise that she caught Dad’s eye at a plowing match. But that attraction had some help. Supposedly, Grandma Dustow had a birthday party for Dad and invited uncle George with the instruction to bring his younger sister Shirley along. Some birthday party.
Mum and Dad were married in 1951 - on Halloween, no less. I was incredulous as a kid when I asked Mum how they could have married on one of the highlights of a child’s annual calendar of celebrations. I mean, Halloween was close to Christmas in a child’s celebratory scale.
Yes, they were married on a Wednesday, Halloween and immediately drove to Florida for their honeymoon. They got out just in time, as a huge snowstorm descended upon Goderich the very next day. Not many people went to Florida in those days, and it was certainly a remarkable honeymoon, and an early indicator of Mum and Dad’s love to travel.
As a new bride, Mom liked to tell the story of her first harvest as a married woman. She was making a meal for all the men. Grandma Robertson came to help and brought along an Aunt much to Mum’s dismay. Mum made a roast beef - for lunch no less, and had an array of food and pies made and at the ready. She was 20 years old - maybe 21.
The women were in the kitchen and the back kitchen, if you remember the farm house, was set up with tables to feed the gang.
The story goes that all was going well, the roast was done to perfection, and the kitchen was overflowing with food - so much so that the pies had to be stationed on a bench.
I’m sure Mum was feeling a sense of pride as she lifted the roast out of the roasting pan.
This pride turned to dismay as the roasting pan with all its drippings and gravy crashed to the floor.
Grandma didn’t miss a beat. She quickly began to scoop up the gelatinous mess and stated, “Your floors look clean.”
Laughter ensured.
In fact, it was so uproarious, that Grandma so overcome with laughter, she had to sit down.
On the bench.
On the pies…
There was one less pie served that day, and in Mum’s retelling of this story, she noted that a knowing look passed between Mum and Dad as she asked him with a smirk, “Would you like some gravy, Gerald?”
She showed grace and resilience at a young age.
I’m sure she mourned that pie because I’m sure it was a thing of beauty AND Mum loved sweets.
In her mind, Dinner was something that you had to get through in order to get to dessert. In her younger days, Mum made desserts with abandonment! Gingerbread houses, chocolates, Bundt cakes, squares, tarts and pie, to name a few.
I remember in particular her pride and the care she took in making meringue. Her lemon meringue pies were a thing of beauty. Do you remember the meringue drop cookies she made with peanuts that still had their skins on?
One Christmas, she made a Pavlova that was a thing of beauty. I didn’t fully appreciative it as a kid. I remember being disappointed as I’m not a big fan of meringue, but I did appreciate how impressive this cloud of a dessert looked.
And while I don’t care that much for meringue, I did love her pies. Her shredded apple pie with a strudel topping was one of her favourites to make. Her rhubarb pie was tart but Fred loved them… On occasion, she would make a pecan pie.
But I believe Mum’s favourite dessert was ice cream. She often said that whoever invented ice cream deserved a place in heaven. Both Mum and Dad loved ice-cream. There was always ice cream in the freezer growing up, and we had a lot of it. It was sometimes plain, or between waffles, fresh strawberries and ice-cream in June, and ice cream floats all year round.
Now here is the secret for making a good float that I don’t want to be lost with Mum:
Mum showed us that you need to cram the glass full of ice cream so you could only add a little bit of pop at a time. When you ran out of pop, you added some more. It was a delicious and rewarding process.
I’m sure Mum gave the person who invented ice cream a big hug in heaven.
They should have bought shares in Baskin Robbins. I remember one visit there in particular - I was in school studying in London, and they invited me out for ice cream. Of course, I was directed to order first, and while I ordered a single scoop, they ordered banana splits and triple scoop sundaes. I felt so foolish with my little stinking scoop of ice-cream. What was I thinking?
Yes, they lived large. No single scoop would suffice for them in life.
Nothing was done in half measures when it came to their dreams and goals. When they travelled for example, they made sure it included whipped cream, sprinkles and a cherry on top. And they travelled far and wide.
I wished they had added some sprinkles to their day-to-day life but you can’t have ice cream sundaes and banana splits every day.
To be accurate, Mum’s double scoop ice cream sundaes came in the form of her children and in particular, her grandchildren. They were her joy that surpassed anything Baskin Robbins could scoop up.
In summary, Mum is to be admired.
She was born in the Depression - at a terrible time in history
She was born in a terrible time for woman, in my opinion. Yes, woman were considered “persons” in that they could vote (thank you Fab Five), but opportunities for women were so narrow and restrictive.
In 1951, the expectation was for a woman to have a clean house, look good and have well behaved children. On the farm, women were expected to manage the hen money, and manage it well.
But by the 60s, that ideal was blown out of the water, and by the 70s women were ordered to burn their bras, and get out of the kitchen.
Well, Mum was already out of the house - knee deep into managing the farm and the pig operation by that time. She managed something like 200 sows and the farrowing aspect of the operation. Hen money be damned, she was a business woman.
What is remarkable, is that she had to navigate these different eras with all their conflicting expectations with few role models or supports. I mean, Gloria Steinman, although admirable, was not particularly relatable on the farm.
I believe societal expectations grated on Mum. She had so many talents and interests and abilities that being boxed into one category or another were too limiting for her. She was an independent thinker, and had strong opinions. No one was going to define her.
I saw in my mother, the soul of an artist and with that came a heightened sensitivity and passion. You cannot play a piano liked she played without being finely tuned yourself.
Remember the great care she took in creating her music worksheets for the school children?
Yes, she had 6 children and taught music - at one point she taught 2-3 days a week -
Yet she spent hours creating beautiful worksheets for her students. They were filled with elves carrying half notes to the staff, or the work sheets were embellished with all kinds of flowers and embellishments.
I already mentioned here artistic endeavours baking, and sewing but she made flower arrangements and Christmas center pieces using greenery and candles that were stunning to say the least… She dried flowers and spent hours in the garden. She gave great thought to decorating and went to great lengths to add beauty to her world.
Janet reminded me that Mum was ahead of her time. She cut out the flowers to make a live edge… 50 years ahead of her time…
And with all the demands and work on her time, I admire that she still found moments to nurture her inner artist - her essence.
Like everyone of us, she had her strength and weaknesses, quirks and flaws and idiosyncrasies
but look what she lived through.
Look what she accomplished.
So many memories and the impact she has made on us and lives of many others.
Mum lived large. Mum and Dad lived large. As noted, they didn’t limit themselves to a single scoop in life. They went for the ice cream sundae banana split extravaganza in many aspects of their life.
So, if you have been single scooping as of late, I encourage you to embrace Shirley and Gerald. Dream big. Plan and strategize to make those dreams and aspirations come true. And when life derails you, dust yourself off, evaluate and make adjustments as needed.
But keep dreaming, keep planning, keep curious and what ever happens, keep nurturing your inner essence.
You have a good role model in Shirley.
So I bid adieu to Gerald and Shirley. And end of an era, so to speak. How do you put that into words?
I’m going to use the words of Canadian author Anne-Marie MacDonald from her book, As the Crow Flies. Here is her perspective:
"When a parent dies, a planet disappears, and the night sky will never look the same again. It doesn't matter how grown up we are when we lose one. And when both are gone it's as though we are permanently without a kind of roof - invisible shield, first line of defence between ourselves and our mortality, gone."
