.One night I coerced a reluctant Margaret Anne Stewart into stealing rhubarb and plants from our neighbour’s yard. The building – a conversion to student housing in downtown Halifax – meant the once-pristine garden faced a parking-lot destiny.
Margaret loved sitting on her back stoop with a cup of tea and an oat cake, devouring every word of the morning paper – clipping articles she felt would be interesting to others. Her corner lot in Halifax’s South End meant conversations with passersby and daily interactions with Dalhousie students. After a late night of revelry at a frat house across the street, I dragged a hungover partygoer off his porch to mow Margaret’s lawn.
Simple acts of kindness meant the world to Margaret. A Tupperware container filled with leftover spaghetti would be returned clean the next day with words of gratitude penned in impeccable cursive on a recycled greeting card from 1958. She was as thrifty as she was wise. Everyone and everything were precious and held a purpose in Margaret’s eyes.
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