In loving memory of Catherine Nestoropoulos, my Yiayia

My grandmother - my Yiayia - recently passed, and I miss her deeply. Everything reminds me of her. So this week I am doing something different. I am using this space to honour the strong, vivacious, playful woman who helped raise me. This week I am sharing an excerpt from her eulogy as a continued tribute to Catherine Nestoropoulos. 

May she live on in me, in our family, and in our memories.

We have all always admired Yiayia - from a very young age we looked up to her for her strength, her independence, and of course, her iron will. This was a woman who could do it all, and did. If something needed fixing, she would figure out how to do it herself. And she never asked for permission - No, she demanded acquiescence.

One of my all-time favorite memories of Yiayia is one we all affectionately refer to as “the chainsaw story”.

The event in question took place one summer at the cottage when myself, my brother Thanasi, and my cousins Katie and Christina were in our teens and Yiayia was around 80ish. My mom, Marlene, and Yiayia had brought all 4 of us up for the week or weekend. At the time, the garage was full of discarded bikes of questionable operation that we would ride around the neighborhood with little concern about silly things like “brakes” or “flat tires”.

On this specific evening, we kids decided it would be a great idea to build a bike rack using stray pieces of wood we found in the garage while my mom and Yiayia were inside watching tv on one of the 3 channels. So, being the industrious grandchildren of the great Catherine Nestor that we were, we got to work with what we got. 

It wasn’t long before Yiayia heard the banging and came outside to see what all the noise was about.

She walks up to the garage to see Thanasi struggling to use a very rusty and very flimsy old saw to cut a piece of wood. 

“What are you kids doing!?”

Uh oh - BUSTED - we all thought we were about to get in trouble for making a mess or using tools we weren’t allowed to. But to our surprise that’s not what Yiayia was upset about.

“You can’t cut anything with that!” and then she walked over to her car, popped the trunk, and pulled out…a chainsaw.

Enter, my mother. Just as fast as Yiayia got the chainsaw going, my mom was right there next to her yelling at her to stop and put the chainsaw down.

Well, Yiayia did not like being told what to do. And she REALLY did not like being told what NOT to do. 

So now we have:

• My mom: yelling at Yiayia to put the chainsaw down
• Yiayia: angry, chainsaw roaring and shaking in hand, screaming “Marlene you don’t tell me what to do - Thanasi don’t listen to her - hold that so I can cut it!!”
• My brother: quietly and wisely doing what the old lady waving the chainsaw was telling him to do
• And the 3 of us girls: very alarmed, convinced that this is how Thanasi was going to lose a hand, and also joining in the yelling that “we changed our minds and don’t need anything cut anymore!”

Well, of course, Yiayia got her way.

She sawed away at the piece of wood, Thanasi still has both his hands, and we abandoned our vision of a bike rack with dividing bars of uniform height.

Yiayia was always there to lend a helping hand, whether you asked for it or not. 

She was one of a kind and to this day I think of her whenever I see a chainsaw.