Tribute Wall
In Memory of
Audrey Margaret Lentine
1937 - 2022
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Samantha Tzagadouris posted a condolence
Friday, February 25, 2022
Such a wonderful tribute to Nanny, Laura.
My memories are similar to what everyone else has written about.
Her love, compassion and empathy. Her wit and humour. Her direct line with the nanny prayer line.
Every Sunday we would drive to Toronto to visit Nanny and Papa and Willie.
The noise and love filled the house every visit.
Hanging out in Nanny's kitchen, going through her well stocked pantry and asking "what's this?" About every item. Nanny would answer fully and truthfully with patience every time.
Something I try to remember when my own daughters ask questions to me over and over.
The meals, most importantly the bread, were always amazing!
I remember the tray of "nanny rolls" being brought to the table and always reaching for the very middle one. Filling up on mashed potatoes and bread.
Sliding into the bench by the window for dinner and escaping by crawling underneath the table when I was finished.
Running all over the house with my brother and cousins. Playing with dough nanny had made that day, throwing it at the walls and ripping wallpaper off above the door. Something as a child we thought was hilarious. Our parents quickly taught us it wasn't funny, but Nanny, she laughed right along with us sheilding us from the angry murmers of the parents.
She taught me how to gamble, and how to make bread, she always had a spot for me on her lap and always had time to talk
I called her before every test or exam. I called in the nanny prayer line for jobs. When I would call her after it was over to tell her how it went she would always say "oh good! I can get up off my knees, they were starting to bleed!"
Nanny was there for every phone call to help support and make things better without ever asking for anything. She always knew what to say and how to make it better.
We bonded again after my second daughter. Not only was I her "only" but I also had 2 girls, just like her.
She loved and cared and helped with no strings attached.
I still expect to hear your voice when the phone rings at mom's house.
My heart is broken and a piece of me is gone with you.
I'm so happy you and papa are together.
Love you for always
Audrey Lentine's Only Granddaughter
Your Only
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Cathy Lentine Posted Feb 26, 2022 at 6:21 PM
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Daniel Johnstone posted a condolence
Friday, February 25, 2022
I’d like to share a bit about Nanny and talk about some of my personal memories of her. My mother’s beautiful words about her spoke so exquisitely of so many aspects of her personality and life that on this front I don’t have much to add. Instead I’ll talk about the Nanny I knew and how she appeared to me: as a grandmother, a mentor, a friend, as well as an utterly exceptional, luminous, and almost mythical being.
I spent quite a lot of time at Nanny’s house when I was very young, regularly visiting for many hours multiple times per week. Of the house I have so very many memories: watching TV in the living room over lunch eating Papa’s sublime egg salad sandwiches, playing with toys in the basement or digging in the dirt in the backyard, and of course of decades of holiday gatherings paired with delicious meals and desserts. Bearing special mention, however, is Nanny and my special ritual of making “gloop”. Outwardly, the process of making gloop involved me putting a random mash-up of ingredients in a bowl which was then baked into something only technically edible and ultimately, perhaps to their chagrin, fed to Papa and Willie. This being said, the ritual was much deeper than this; the most wonderful part of it was just sitting in the kitchen with Nanny and talking or watching the little TV she had in the kitchen, just the two of us for hours on end (for the sake of full disclosure I suppose Walter, Papa’s pet pigeon was also with us but as lovely as he was he didn’t add much to the conversation). Nanny was an excellent teacher; as I enacted culinary war crimes on the ingredients she gave to me from her pantry she would, more and more as I got older, tell me about baking and how to properly use these ingredients. Later in life this transformed into little baking lessons; I’ll never forget how effortless it looked when she made perfect pie crust and taught me how to make it myself. Even from a young age, though, Nanny did have to make meals so some of the alleged “gloop” time was in fact spent by me watching her cook and bake and explaining to me what she was doing. The variety and quality of things she could create at a whim was absolutely astonishing and I learned so very much by watching her.
Though we talked much about cooking and baking, Nanny was extraordinarily sharp and well read and, of course, our long conversations extended also to other topics. To hear her discuss something was such a wonderful spectacle; she was passionate and opinionated and intuitive and I hope that my communication skills are able to capture the exuberance she so often conjured. She was a strikingly empathetic woman; in addition to the fact that she was so clever and so well read there was, on top of all of this, an almost uncanny way she was able to read people. Perhaps some of the people reading this are all too aware of this; an account of this aspect of her would be incomplete without mentioning that she occasionally (maybe more than occasionally) used it to cause or prolong arguments and push people’s buttons. Still, it was an integral part of her and she wouldn’t have been Nanny without it. It is with this extraordinary insight that, when we came to her for consolation or advice at the very lowest points of our lives, she knew just what to say to make it seem all better. Her words had the power to protect us, to bolster us, and to make the terrible things in life seem at least manageable as opposed to utterly overwhelming.
Until very recently I have, after finishing high school, spent much of my time away from Toronto. Even so, Nanny never felt distant since she was always just a phone call away and was thrilled to talk to me whenever I’d call. Throughout my undergraduate years, my first time away from home, we spent hours upon hours talking over the phone; we were too geographically distant to converse over a mixing bowl so this is, I suppose, what we did to make do. This time in my life was also the beginning of the other major ritual we had: before I’d write a test in a math course, I would always call her and she would wish me luck and say she would pray for me. Take note that, in addition to being a mathematics student, I took many more mathematics courses than my degree required and the nature of these courses is such that they had tests in lieu of any final papers or projects; all of this is to say that I wrote an extraordinary number of tests and thus that this led to an enormous number of phone calls. At the time I remember thinking, and even saying to her, that it was just a fun, silly thing we did and perhaps I even believed it then. This is not the truth of the matter: around this time in my life I began to understand how anxious I could become and how this anxiety, if left unchecked, could be a major detriment to my academic performance. The nature of the ritual, I understand looking back, was to centre me and to calm me down so that my anxiety wasn’t able to dampen my abilities. On her last day (somehow I don’t think I ever said this directly beforehand) I made sure to tell her this, how much our “calling before tests” ritual meant to me and that it wasn’t silly but was so important to me and that I couldn’t have performed anywhere near as well without it. In the past few weeks, however, I’ve realized that she must have always known this from the very start. Again, she could read people and look directly into their soul. I may not have known how much I needed to talk to her during these short little phone calls but, upon reflection, I’m sure that she did; her desire to love and protect those dearest to her knew no bounds.
There is a sense in which Nanny isn’t truly gone because of how much of her lives in her descendants. She told me that, like myself, she was seen as somewhat of a strange child; apparently her father nicknamed her “odd Audrey” when she was very young. Much of her strangeness is present in her descendants but of course what is also present is her cleverness, her intuition, and her desire to fervently protect those who are dear to her. In addition to this are many little things too: vocal ticks, modes of speech, patterns of expression and argumentation, all of which live on in bits and pieces within those who were close to her. Her presence is certainly too potent to ever fade away entirely. I love the concept of celebrating Nanny’s life and in recent days I have spent substantial time thinking about her and sharing stories and memories with others who held her dear but, as lovely as this has been, losing her has utterly devastated me. I feel like I have lost a part of myself, like I am less than I was before. Time will dull the pain but, unfortunately, there is truth to the above: Nanny cannot ever be replaced and her loss is one that will be keenly felt by those close to her for the rest of our lives.
I love you Nanny. I’m happy you’re not in pain anymore but, god damn it, I thought you were invincible and that you at least wouldn’t have left us quite so soon. I’m happy and my life is good and I know I have more love and support than most people could ever dream of but things are going to be harder without you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for loving Christopher and Boadicea and the little family we’ve started together. Thank you for making gloop with me.
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Cathy Lentine posted a symbolic gesture
Wednesday, February 23, 2022
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I can't believe I can't pick up the phone to call you. My hand still picks up but before I grab the phone I remember. I was so relieved at first because you were no longer suffering that it took this long to feel the pain of losing you. I don't know how to live without you but I will somehow carry on. Life will never be the same but you and Papa had great family and gave great love and in the end that's all that matters. Love never dies and I know you are okay now. Stephen says you are about 25 years old in heaven. Enjoy your time and don't worry about any of us after all we are all Audrey Lentine's relatives and that is something lovely. Until we meet again, I love you forever, Cathy
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Stephen Tzagadouris uploaded photo(s)
Tuesday, February 22, 2022
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I will never forget our visits to Toronto to Nanny's house, or the pool party's at the Johnstone's. They are lasting fun, happy, supportive memories that have made me who I am today and I cherish them.
When I was small Nanny would make play-doh with me and let me throw it all over her house. One time it stuck to the wallpaper and pulled a huge strip off with it when it came off. Of course she didn't care, she was just happy I was having fun.
She taught me how to play cards and gamble with real money (small change) and somehow I always ended up winning.
We talked a lot over the phone my whole life. I always kept her apprised of what was going on with me and my family and she was always genuinely interested. One of her favourite things to say during these conversations (and mine to hear) when I was applying for a job or what-have-you was "Well, did you tell them that you're Audrey Lentine's grandson?!" No one, of course, would understand the weight that carried with it--but I sure did!
I really, really miss you Nanny.
I'm glad we had the time we did.
It brings me some comfort knowing that you're reunited with Papa now.
Love Stephen, Audrey Lentine's Grandson
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Michelle Oconnor posted a symbolic gesture
Tuesday, February 22, 2022
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So sorry to hear of Aunt Audrey's passing. She was a wonderful, gentle person and her door was always open to everyone. I have posted a picture of all the Lentine's taken at your house for Grampa's 75th birthday. Hoping the wonderful memories you have will sustain you, Cathie and the rest of your family during this painful time.
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The family of Audrey Margaret Lentine uploaded a photo
Tuesday, February 22, 2022
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