Rebecca, David and Jonathan all spoke at the Celebration of Janet Wendy's life. So did Dorothyanne, and a dozen or more of the people who came to the Celebration. So far I am able to post Rebecca and David's texts on which they based what they said. I will add a few more, especially Jonathan's, as I get them.
Here's what Rebecca said:
Anyone who knew Mum knows that she was supremely unpretentious, didn’t stand on ceremony and hated waste. So please don’t feel constrained to stay put in your seats. Feel free to get up, wander about, have a look at the memorabilia we brought to share with you, and please, help yourself to a cuppa and a bit of nosh so the catering doesn’t go to waste!
Our mothers are usually our first teachers. Mum taught me a great deal – or at least she tried. I wasn’t always the best pupil. One of the things she taught me was gardening – not just planting and harvesting, but composting, the role of wildlife; in short, the ecology of our back yards. To this day, gardening is one of my greatest joys in life.
Some of my earliest memories involve my mother and gardens, or gardening. When we lived in Sydney, Australia -- I would have been about 5 at the time -- we had a lovely, lush jungly garden that included banana palms. Among the wildlife in that garden was a blue-tongued iguana (actually, a lizard; JML). To my child’s eyes, this was a huge reptile and the first time I saw it, it scared the bejeesus out of me! I remember Mum came running to rescue me when I started crying at the sight of it, but she explained there was nothing to fear; the iguana lived in the backyard, just as we lived in the house. It belonged there.
A few years later we were living in Edinburgh. Our first house was a rented cottage on the outskirts. It came with its own gardener, a grouchy old fellow who expressly forbade us from messing around in his garden – something both Mum and I found most frustrating. The next year, we moved house again to suburban Greenbank crescent. The garden was smaller, but it was ours to play in and grow in.
That’s where Mum gave me my first garden – an old concrete washtub in the backyard. The seeds she gave me to plant were radishes. Many years later, when my husband and I moved to our first, and current, home Mum gave me some seeds from her favourite annuals to get my new garden started. She loved blue flowers. Perhaps they reminded her of Dad’s blue eyes. One of these was morning glory seeds. Twenty years later, the descendents of those morning glories are still growing.
So in honour of Mum, we brought a few party favours. At the back of this room, you’ll find two baskets of seeds – one radishes, although not descended from those Edinburgh radishes, and one of morning glory seeds. If you are so inclined, I hope you will take one to plant in her memory.
Now I have to mention that preparing these seed packages was a labour of love most fitting for Wendy. It cost next to nothing, the materials were practically free, and it took endless hours of patient labour. I owe a big thank you to my dear friends, DorothyAnne and Suzy for their help in that labour.
Also in the spirit of celebrating Mum, we thought we would share with you one of her signature dishes. Many of the people who wrote to express their condolences mentioned Wendy’s warm hospitality. As children, we always loved company because it meant Mum would make one of her special desserts and a favourite was Pavlova – a fluffy meringue cake covered in whipped cream and fresh fruit. On the same table with the seeds are some recipe cards for Mum’s Pavlova so you can continue to share her hospitality. I’m very grateful to my wonderful friend Carol for designing these and arranging to have them printed.
While I’m thanking the people who helped put this celebration together, I can’t forget to mention that the beautiful floral arrangements are the handiwork of my talented sister-in-law, Desre. And my little brother Jonathan
Before I turn the floor over to my brother David, I’d like to share with you a message from my neighbour Nancy. She wasn’t able to join us today, but dropped by last night with a lovely gardenia, which we brought today, and a note about how important it is to celebrate the life of a loved one, especially after that person has died of a long illness. Mum was quite ill the last year of her life. Those of us closest to her watched that amazing dynamo of a woman waste away, so that is our most recent memory. We really look forward to hearing your memories of Mum when she was what she was for most of her life… My husband Richard called her “the Energizer Bunny”.
If you are feeling tongue-tied but would like to leave a written message, or just jot some notes down for what you want to say, we have some blank cards at the desk over there.
At about 5 p.m. we will play a slide show of pictures from Wendy’s life. So please don’t hesitate to come see me if you would like to say a few words before then.
And now, here is my brother David…
My mother insisted that Rebecca and I would be confirmed in the Anglican Church because, as she said, she had made a promise. I still remember most of the creed from my confirmation, despite fighting against it at the time. My mother's determination and sincerity are memorable, and I repeated the creed in churches from Cyprus to Manitoba, including the words, "I believe in the life everlasting". In what sense do we really believe in everlasting life?
Thinking about God and trying to do the right thing are two gifts my mother gave me. Whether you believe in God or not, it is easy to believe in the continuity of a remarkable life like my mother's. Meeting a remarkable and diverse group of people who knew and loved Wendy makes it easy to believe in the immortality of the spirit that lives on indefinitely through the lives of others and those that they touch.
Yet each of us knows only a tiny piece about the remarkable and complex woman who was my mother. We may know that she was kind, humble, patient, but not unfailingly so. She was also tough, hardworking, thrifty, and down to earth. She had a soft spot for the rascal and the scallywag, and took joy from the revenge of the underdog. She lived with the sure knowledge that bad guys would eventually get their come-uppance, sooner rather than later if she had anything to say about it. But no-one could call her vindictive--perhaps more like an avenging angel.
My children called her grandma with a certain awe as if she were a superhero. Chris, the eldest, remembers the Maori hula dance for Grandfather's 80th birthday, catching fish by hand on a cottage dock, and of course her legendary thrift. I think the superhero that was grandma will also live on in their children and grandchildren.
But maybe the life everlasting is simpler than that, and more profound. Over there under the window is an unfinished woollen hat, a work in progress. Her life was well lived, but it is unfinished like that hat. It is for us to go on and do the good things that need to be done.
David Last
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