My friend Tannis chased knowledge and adventure

I had a foggy idea of Winnipeg from childhood. A middle-aged niece of my maternal grandmother lived there, and she would visit us in Toronto for family occasions. Her dry and tepid humour, no-nonsense approach and sensible shoes gave me the impression that Winnipeg must be a very cold place — with no joie de vivre.

Ironically, when I moved to Winnipeg in 2002 after a courtship with my future husband, I could finally and positively confirm my childhood assumptions. Yes, I did experience many winters at -32 C, but the latter conjecture was far from the truth.

To uproot oneself from your place of birth and to start life anew in another city is not easy. Once I settled into matrimonial bliss, moved to the ’burbs, and secured a fulfilling job, the goal before me was clear: make new friends. And I did. I made new lifelong friends who I cherish dearly. While age is indeed a number, I often wondered about the genesis of one intergenerational friendship.

As fate would have it, I landed a fundraising job at The Manitoba Museum. Soon after starting, I was tasked with overseeing a tribute dinner for George T. Richardson. In the execution of the gala, I had a chance meeting in the elevator with Tannis: statuesque, elegant and impeccably dressed. It was just the two of us.

While descending to the ground floor, Tannis turned to me and remarked that I resembled a niece of hers. I thanked her for the compliment and then attended to the sold-out celebration of Mr. Richardson as the Hudson’s Bay Company’s first Canadian governor.

About a year later, I left the museum to pursue another career opportunity. Tannis found me. It was an unexpected and happy occurrence to reconnect when I picked up the phone and heard her voice. We continued our friendship over many get-togethers: early morning empowering womens’ breakfast events, lunches at her condo, and Winnipeg arts performances.

In 2014, I asked Tannis to join me at the James Avenue Pumping Station — a passion project of mine — so she could share in my excitement in saving it from demolition. Her sense of adventure undaunted, it was joyful at that moment to watch this spry octogenarian navigate old wooden planks creaking under the weight of our feet, in semi-darkness, with the Red River swiftly flowing beneath us.

Over the last 12 years since I moved to the west coast, our regular phone calls filled an hour of chatting about our lives, world politics and the happenings in our respective cities. But it was always interspersed with laughter, and a mutual expressed delight at our caring friendship.

Her advice over time covered a diverse range of topics. One year she was telling me not to be squeamish about my cataract surgery (“from my experience, the advancement in the process is amazing, so just relax and treat it as an adventure”); or she was musing about the “limitless discouragement” one may encounter to reach their goals; or gleefully talking about the importance of being “gainfully active” during one’s life (even offering to be my editor during a stint I had as a blogger).

Years after my grandmother died, I wrote about her unique, often sharp-tongued, but loving personality. Tannis responded that she wished she had met her, encouraging me one day to compile all my stories into a book. “There are so many ways that we each relate to other people and deduce their meaning,” she said. “Your stories espouse the attitude of acceptance. What a better world it would be if we all could take others at face value.”

I was Tannis’s junior by 37 years. She was too young to be my grandmother, I reasoned.

So how did our bond endure the generous age gap, and the physical distance between us? Her wise counsel and stories of living almost a century sustained us both; her ability to quote Ulysses by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, in her 99th year, a testament to her stamina and desire to stay connected, in the present, and to the poems of her past. Mere weeks ago, at my request, she quoted her favourite Tennyson lines so I could hear the words again and ask for their meaning.

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’

Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades

For ever and forever when I move.

In late 2024, when we last met for lunch, her advice for the day was that I cannot learn things by myself; I can only learn from the company of others.

Eager to be a part of who I am and want to be, she was my personal cheerleader. My life coach from the sidelines.

When Tannis produced her memoirs several years back and mailed me a copy, the insecurities I held about my personal failings assuaged when the inscription leapt off the page: “it was a happy day when we became friends.”

I am grateful for that fortuitous meeting in the elevator. My dear friend Tannis gifted me with a deeply meaningful Winnipeg friendship that I could not have imagined in my childhood.

Lisa Abram writes from Victoria, B.C.