Mom smelled of Tosca cologne and dusting powder.

She did her hair in pin curls and made it look so easy.

When she brushed it out, it was soft and glossy and perfect.

She "put down" bushels of tomatoes in what I remember to be a monstrous kitchen in Caledonia with a red handkerchief wrapped bandana style on her head.

She used a fascinating wringer washing machine and hung clothes that moved as frozen figures on the line in winter.

I remember being allowed to go outside with the important job of husking corn when it was in season.

Going to the curling rink and Mom being the prettiest woman there.

Being sent outside after being dressed for church with a chaperone- so I wouldn't sit in a puddle before everyone was ready to go.

Her saving me when my siblings put me into an old buggy and were heading for the local hill to see how fast/far it would go.

The paintings of trains that Mom did on the walls in the boy's room.

Her being so pleased with a piece of gaudy costume jewellery that I had looked at in a store window for weeks and had saved to buy. She had it for years.

Her patience when trying to teach a mathematical concept using the apples and oranges as the analogy.

Her knowing how to cook kippers and finnan haddie and that they were really good.

Mom's listening to hair-brained schemes without flinching and supporting the learning experience that came with it-good or bad.

Mom always listening patiently to problems and saying that she didn't expect me to take her advice, but here it was. I often did.

Her saying that if I needed an to get out of an uncomfortable situation that I could use the excuse "My Mom says I can't" and she would back me up.

Making suet pudding together at Christmas time.

Her stopping to identify birds and their songs, looking at beetles and crawly things with great interest.

Her nursing half alive plants along.

Her defending dandelions as a pretty flower.

Year after year Mom wrapping almost all the Christmas gifts after Kathryn & Robyn had gone to bed, chatting and having a glass of beer...and her still coming back.

Her driving off in a huge Lincoln Continental, big as a boat, to holiday through Ontario and Quebec and ending up in PEI where she bought land with a plan to retire there.

The relief I felt when she stayed nearby.

Her travelling throughout Australia upon her retirement and how she had loved the experience.

Her having answers for both the simple and the most obscure questions, as Robyn said "Connie was our Google".

Her love of reading, reading widely and sharing what she had learned and her smiling at Giles, Calvin and Hobbes and Snoopy, and Woodstock.

Sitting together watching Road Runner cartoons and of course, cheering for the coyote.

Mom never repeating a confidence.

Mom, I have been so very lucky to have had you as a teacher, a guide, a protector, a confidante, and most importantly my friend.

Thank you for being you and having me.

Heather

I am very lucky to have not only had Connie as a grandmother, but as my next door neighbour, friend and confidant. She was always warm, honest, forgiving and kind to me. I would occasionally (okay, often) sneak into her kitchen for a ginger snap or two (or three, or four). She gave us all fuzzy red socks for Christmas, and seeing them worn throughout the year always made me smile and think of her. We would talk about books we had read (she was a sci fi fan!). I loaned her my copy of the Iliad and never got it back. She was a horrible driver (sorry, Connie...but knowing you weren't completely perfect makes it okay that I'm not, either). I love you, Connie. Always.

I find myself without quite the right word to describe how I'm feeling about the loss of the extraordinary Connie Young, which is unfortunate because she would have known the perfect (and completely obscure) word that describes this sort of feeling. She would have used this word to dominate a Scrabble game. As usual. My grandmother was in so many ways one of a kind. She taught me life lessons by simply living a life that was guided by the things she believed.

I always understood that she was brilliant and, while I know this quality was in part due to her natural abilities, I also came to appreciate that her vast knowledge stemmed from her relentless curiosity about the world and a drive to find answers to her questions. And she encouraged us to do the same, although my approach to finding such answers was often to call her, as her knowledge on an astonishing number of topics was almost unfathomable. Connie somehow always seemed wise beyond her years. She had an extensive vocabulary, and used it on occasion to take control of a game of Scrabble or Perquacky. She made it known from a young age that she wouldn't ever *let* me win, and that when I did I would know I had earned it on my own merits.

I remember Connie doing everything in a slow and methodical fashion, and it forced me to slow down when we were together. There was always plenty of time during a meal for interesting conversation. I think her patience, in part, contributed to her impressive ability to grow and nurture houseplants, particularly one Christmas cactus I recall that was never without at least one beautiful pink bloom. She loved to sit and watch the birds any chance she got. Birdwatching wasn't simply an activity you did just because you happened to be sitting on the porch; it was the reason you went to the porch in the first place.

Connie had a deep respect for all of nature, and was a very generous supporter of a variety of conservation charities. As a child, I remember having some difficulty grasping the concept that Connie had adopted a panda or a tiger or some wetlands in my name for Christmas, which was part of my gift most years. I really put Connie’s love of nature to the test one year when I accidentally released a bag of crickets in my room while pet-sitting a friend’s gecko the day that Connie was coming to visit. Although, she never complained to me about it. I can't really recall her complaining about much, though she did help me understand very clearly that slurping of any kind was unacceptable. Connie also had a great ability to reuse and repurpose almost any household item. In my youth I didn't understand why one might choose to reuse a twist tie until it was just a piece of gnarled wire, but when I finally asked Connie so as to satisfy my curiosity, she explained that growing up in war times had taught her not to be wasteful. Again, it became an opportunity for me to appreciate that Connie did very little without a thoughtful explanation.

Connie was an incredible role model for what it meant to be a strong woman, though I don't know that I can think of a time that we ever really spoke about it. Growing up in my family, feminism wasn't really something I ever thought about. It was just understood that women are strong individuals who can do anything and be anything because of course we can and there's no need for any further discussion on the topic. I didn't realize for some time that the matriarch of my family was such an inspiring pioneer. She wanted to study chemistry and physics because most girls didn't, she worked as a computer programmer before we owned our first Commodore64, she fixed things, and wore plaid jackets, and travelled on her own, and invested wisely in the stockmarket. I can't recall that she ever made much of a fuss about it; the way that she taught each of us that women are strong and powerful and independent is that she was all of those things.

Connie, I wish deeply that I had the words to thank you for everything you were, for everything you accomplished, for everything you taught me, but I simply don't. It might be something I would have called you about, and you would have listened intently with interest and shared an anecdote or a piece of information you had picked up in your travels that in some way was relevant to our discussion. You were a truly unconventional grandmother, and I shared that with people every chance I got because I was - am - so proud that you were uncompromising. You are missed greatly and loved always. Always. XO

On Tuesday morning Connie died. It's not tragic, but it is sad and I miss her. But she was old and she didn't really like old people. We called her Connie because she felt "grandma" is a category and not a person. The kids and I visited her usually on Sunday mornings - coffees and hash browns in hand. If I was visiting in the afternoon I'd bring her a beer in my purse and we'd sit downstairs and watch my kids feed arrowroot cookies to the pigeons. I have been mentally trolling through my memories of her - hoping not to lose even one. She was an incredible lady. She was born in 1918 the same year as Nelson Mandela, Rita Hayworth, Betty Ford, a part of that great generation who lived through the depression and the second world war; she was remarkable in ways only a person who has persevered through difficult times can be. She was quirky, savvy, and smart. Mensa smart. She loved bugs. She would always take off her glasses to examine a bug closely - it was her trademark move. She loved the heat. She always called Willie "cat" e.g. "hello cat". She rode her bike from the farm to Muskoka! And it likely only had one gear. She kicked ass at Scrabble and even when I was a kid she never let me win - she always kept score. I have her old Scrabble board at home in its original Simpson's bag. She saved everything. Milk bags, tinfoil, cardboard boxes, newspaper clippings, yogurt containers. So many yogurt containers. She was the first person to ever cook me a sweet potato. Sometimes she would drop Morgen and me off at high school and she never minded when we suggested a spot a block away. She used to say that you weren't road worthy until you could drive up Spadina in rushhour. When I was a teenager I loved to drive her on errands. She would always pay to take my car through the carwash and fill it with gas - even if it was only a 5 min trip. Ruby told me that she's not really gone - she's in heaven. I'm not sure if that's true, but if there's a heaven - Connie is in it.

Sorry to hear of the passing of Aunt Connie. I have good memories of her on Young farm at the family gatherings. She always had good advice, like when she took the gun powder we found in Uncle Lionel's room and were wondering what to do with it.

Ferriss

My sincere condolences to Heather And Bruce Hales in the loss of your Mom, Mother-in-Law and Grandmother to Kathryn and Robyn and Great Grandmother to Alice and Estelle. Connie was a wonderful lady and may all your wonderful memories of her bring you còmfort at this time. Love Sha