Nanny Moss wore white, short sleeved blouses and long skirts.
She played her guitar in her spare time.
In her house, she only drank tea from bone china. Her daughter does the same. Her daughters daughter does the same as well.
Nanny Moss would have a day of setting her curls and then they were done for the week. A perfect grey page-boy style bob, as the thickness of each strand could hold the curl in an effortless way.
A woman with strange thoughts and strong principles and a colourful life. A life so colourful that I never knew the depths of it until stories I heard after she passed.
A seasoned woman. A feisty, brave, bitingly hilarious woman.
When Nanny Moss passed away, I was very upset. We had a special relationship. Her friendship was my religion, my effort as a young one in finding something to devote to myself that meant something to me. I thought I was giving. I got a lot more out of it than I expected, I think.
And it did. It meant a lot.
When Nanny Moss passed away, I was very upset at her funeral. Especially before she was buried. They took off her rings. Nanny Moss had beautiful rings. One was a perfect rose, clusters of small diamonds. The other was a ring. Just a ring, but present always. It meant something to her, as simple as it was. It was constant.
I begged for them to put her rings back on her fingers. Her daughter told me that she didn’t need them anymore. They would be taken to be kept. To be kept for safe keeping. If not, someone else might take them.
That daughters daughter composed herself. The rings really meant nothing. The spirit means a lot.
When I moved to Toronto, I had a romantic idea of moving to a big apartment building. I had a dream of sitting on my fire escape and playing my ukelele with my rollers wrapped in a scarf, singing and staring into a summers night.
I don’t play the ukelele.
Those were dreams from the romance with my grandmother and the influence she had on me to be brave and bold and pin my curls and argue religion and drink from the finest china in the smallest house.
We may even be just several strong spirits housed in welcoming people.
I always thought I loved Audrey Hepburn. I really think that I just always thought she was my Nana.