This inaugural blog post is dedicated to my mémère, Olive Anita (Plante) Buchanan. Olive, the eighth of nine children, was born to proud French Canadian parents Hormisdas (1878-1950) and Mucy (Forget) Plante (1878-1977) in 1914 in Pawtucket, Rhode Island. In 1945 she married the love of her life, a crimson-haired sailor in the United States Navy and the man I lovingly came to know as Pépère, Duncan Archibald Buchanan (1916-2002). Mémère loved a man in uniform and enjoyed regaling us with the story of how it was she who noticed Duncan and asked him to light her cigarette as a conversation starter in a bar sometime in the early 1940’s. Being the clever lady that she was, Olive, at the end of the story would admit to having had a match in her pocket all along. Upon their wedlock, Olive moved across the country to Duncan’s hometown of Bremerton, Washington where they would spend the rest of their lives together.

In 1952 Olive’s niece Gladys Theresa Muncey (1930-1981) found herself pregnant and unmarried, an unfortunate situation for a young Catholic woman to be in at the time. Gladys’ mother was Olive’s older sister Estelle Pamilia (Plante) Muncey (1901-1972) and together with their mother Mucy, these ladies decided that the best plan of action would be for Olive and Duncan, who had no children of their own, to adopt the newest family member. In March of 1953 while staying with her aunt and uncle on the west coast, Gladys gave birth to a healthy baby girl and thoughtfully placed her in the care of the loving couple. The Buchanans raised their daughter for eighteen years in the same home on Ironsides Avenue and frequently brought her on trips to Rhode Island to visit Olive’s family. It wasn’t until my mother was a teenager that she realized that the candy-wielding man who showered her with love on those trips, the person she knew as “Uncle Bill,” was actually her biological grandfather William Shaw Muncey (1892-1971). Olive may have been my second great aunt by DNA but she wholeheartedly filled her role and will forever live on in my heart as my mémère.

Sadly, Olive passed away in February of 1992, only two months before I would give birth to her first great-grandchild. However, her legacy lives on in the lives of my mother’s children, and in the lives of my siblings’ and my own children. Someday when my own granddaughter is old enough to understand, we will pass these family stories to her so that she can feel the love and strength of the women who came before her. Until then I will be her rock, her advocate, and her biggest fan in hopes that I can aspire to be half the mémère that Olive was to me.