When we were kids, my grandmother, Nanny May, would take my sister and I to the Palmer Road parish picnic every August. It was an event I looked forward to more than Christmas. We’d load up in the backseat of her blue Toyota Echo as she smoked cigarettes, listened to country music, and sipped Diet Coke. We’d always tell her how much we hated the smell of the smoke so she bought a citrus air freshener to spray every time she’d light one up. Though it was just another layer of chemicals, we were satisfied. This was the same woman who gave me a puff of her cigarette when I was two years old in hopes that I’d never start. It was unconventional but it was effective. My how the world has changed.
She was at peace as she drove west on Highway 2, playing songs from country singers like George Jones, David Allan Coe, and Alan Jackson. I think a big reason why I started singing was because of her and her love for music. Though she never had the chance to hear me sing while she was alive, I know she can hear me now. If I’m ever feeling down or lost I sing to her and those clouds start to clear up, because as she used to say, “It never rains in St. Louis.”
We knew we were close to the picnic when we saw the multicoloured triangle flags hanging from the telephone poles. The first year I went, I saw those flags on the way back home and said, “We saw that at the picnic!” It became the picnic tagline for years to come. You always knew where to find Nanny at the picnic. You could be sure she was parked in her red Coca-Cola folding chair under the tree facing the stage. She didn’t have a lot of money, but she would save up hundreds of dollars every year and change it all for loonies and toonies so all of the grandkids could take handfuls of coins and play the carnival games. That was her way of contributing to the church while seeing the eyes of her grandchildren light up as we filled garbage bags of toys and treats from our winnings. We were floating in pure bliss and all of our childish worries were washed away, to the point where Nanny would have to remind us at least six times eat something because we had forgotten about food altogether.
Aside from the games and food there was a dunk tank, pony rides and live music all day. My great aunt, Evelyn, was famous for singing her comedic renditions of, “The Hat Song” and “Shaving Cream.” We’d sit with Nanny and laugh at how wacky it all was. As I look back on it now, the whole event was simple and beautiful. The warm August air, the sea of folding chairs, the clouds of cigarette smoke, the sound of someone hitting the bullseye and the splash from the dunk tank’s most recent victim, the smell of fresh lobster rolls and pony droppings, and all around good-hearted people—I’ve been to Disney World, but this was better.
I visited her grave last year, behind the Palmer Road church. I don’t often hang around cemeteries but I was in the neighbourhood. I sat down and smiled. What’s death anyway? In my memory, she is alive and well. I can hear her voice as she says my name, I can see her smile as we feed the birds, and I can feel the unconditional love from her hug. She is still my teacher when it comes to following my heart. The people we’ve loved and lost are not only still with us, they are the fabric of who we are. I love you, Nanny. Big as the sky.
Peace of the Shore 