We all believed Ann Manning Tudor would live forever. Or at least until 102. Instead, she died in her Toronto home, at age 89, on September 28, 2026, surrounded by her immediate family. Serendipitously, this date was also her beloved sister Sari’s (Sara Jane) birthday. As she died, extended family members across the United States and Canada lit prayer candles adorned with a picture of Sari dressed in a nun outfit (to be clear, Sari wasn’t a nun but often showed up as a pregnant one when meeting people at the airport) to accompany Mum. Mum’s Sari candle kept vigil from a nearby table — unlit because of the oxygen tanks scattered across the room. The doctor had advised one death at a time.
Mum was cooking and walking, even occasionally dancing, and watching British mysteries, Larry Sanders, and Corner Gas with Dean until about a month ago. As it became clear she was dying, she told us she had lived a good life, that she was okay with going. We were not. No one who knew Mum was ready for her to leave. She was the hub of all our lives, a loving, opinionated, creative genius who knew how to live generously and meaningfully. When in doubt, read a book. Get enough sleep. Make homemade snacks. Drink water. Make homemade bread. Cook from scratch. Garden. Send thank you notes on homemade cards. Make sure you take time out to rest. Heal yourself, then heal others. Don’t believe what capitalism is trying to sell you (but also don’t deprive yourself of Fluevogs). Don’t drink Coke. Don’t smoke. Drink more water. Make your own homemade shampoo. Go out to dinner at Scaramouche on a regular basis with your devoted husband. Don’t use the word impactful. Learn to use lie and lay correctly. Try to accept others as how they are, not what you want them to be. Sing. Despite all their faults, love people.
She had an abundance of talents — she could sew a dress, knit a sweater, weave baskets, do Therapeutic Touch, heal a cold with essential oils, play the piano, play the cello, sing harmony, tone, make the best croissants and pinwheels, read 120 books a year, copy edit books, write and record books, make a dinner party for 20 or a caroling party for 100, make coffee cake for the neighbors, bake the best pie, listen to the woes of her children, her friends, her grandchildren and give wise, practical advice. Her long life (and yet not long enough) allowed her time to develop all these talents — she was a brilliant English major at DePauw University, winning (like Sylvia Plath) a guest editorship at Mademoiselle. She spent an adventurous semester abroad in Montpellier, France where on Christmas Day (which was also her birthday) she found a pearl in the first oyster she ever ate. She received her M.A.T. at Vanderbilt University, and married her first husband, Rolly Harwell. She gave birth to three amazing, yet annoying and needy children. She worked as a French teacher, then copy editor, then got a divorce like everyone else in the early ‘70s. There were the dark years after that, never enough time or money, but soon Dean Tudor stepped off a plane in Denver, fell in love with her at first sight, and took her off to Canada. They kindly took the children, too.
Just a word about Mum’s life in Canada. It’s not often one experiences the miraculous but Dean’s love of Mum and our subsequent move to Canada was a miracle. Although maybe it didn’t always feel that way. Dean suddenly found himself living with three fabulously moody teenagers while giving up smoking. Mum had left behind her extended family in Denver to move to a new country and a new marriage. One of the last things Mum said to Dean was to thank him for taking us on — our lives had been (and still are) transformed by his willingness to love and support us. Dean and Canada gave Mum a remarkable life. She adored her neighbors on Gothic Avenue; she created longstanding foodie traditions like the Peasant Club, the Annual Wine Tasting Dinner, and Cinq et Sept; she embraced living in a country that mirrored her values (go Universal Health Care!) and proudly became a Canadian citizen. Finally, she had time to explore all her interests — she joined craft societies, new age healing groups, participated in the Continuum Movement, sang in various choirs, each new interest giving her new friends and a wider community. When she turned her attention to writing, she was lucky enough to happen upon a supportive and prolific group of writers led by Sharon Singer. She was a member of Sharon’s Wednesday writing group for almost 20 years and when that wound down, fortuitously found another Sharon who led a writing group in a nearby condo.
She wrote twelve books, in between playing with her beloved grandchildren and giving epic dinner parties. Fast and Fearless Cooking is for anyone afraid of the kitchen or for those who want to sharpen their home cooking skills. Hesitating at the Gate, written at a relatively young 70, is a meditative and truthful exploration of aging. We Called Her Eileen recounts the life of her equally talented but more burdened (6 kids!) mother. A crowd favorite is I Love Pie, because who doesn’t. Also, it is funny and features original songs like “I Love Pie.” Her weekly emails — Scenes from the Journey — were short meditations or poems on what she had learned from life or feared she hadn’t. She wrote about her childhood in a small town in Indiana, of everyday observations, and of her love of the natural world in Toronto. When readers sent notes telling her what her writing had meant to them, she was thrilled. She also sent out a monthly list of the books she read which always caused great consternation. No one, and I mean no one, read as many books as Mum did.
Like all the Johnsons, she had a quick wit that punctured any sort of hubris. We brought the singing bowl down from her healing room as she was dying. At first, she thought none of us would figure out how to play it in the time she had left, but Ross who has inherited many of Mum’s talents, was able to make the singing bowl sing. He boasted he was an awesome Buddhist — but Mum, only 3 hours from dying, barely able to talk, said, “There’s more to Buddhism than sound.”
She leaves behind everyone who loves her — including her husband of 48 years, Dean Tudor, her children, Sarah Coleman Harwell (Tom Sleigh), Mary Vincent Harwell, Ross Marks Harwell (Julia Kinnear), her truly beloved grandchildren, Hannah Celia Harwell Fassett, Burton Manning Howell, Olivia Rose Howell, Samuel Dean Kinnear Harwell, Griffin Eileen Kinnear Harwell, her ex-husband Rolly Harwell (Kisa), and extended family including siblings Michael Johnson (Jacqueline), Jerry Johnson (Barbara MacNamee), and Mary Flower, as well as many cherished cousins, nieces, and nephews, and a deeply loved community of friends, colleagues, and neighbors. She was preceded in death by her father, Myron Johnson; mother, Eileen Rahilly Johnson; and siblings, Robert Vincent Johnson and Sara Jane Adair.
Before she died, her cousin Bob, an actively practicing Buddhist, called to say goodbye. He told her that even though she had never formally practiced Buddhism, he thought of her as a true Buddhist. This gave her great peace. She didn’t adhere to the rules of organized religion, but she believed deeply in the life of the spirit and lived her life simply, compassionately, mindfully. We hope that she and Sari, both dressed as pregnant nuns, along with their brother Dinty (hopefully also dressed as a pregnant nun), are somewhere together, laughing, playing nose flutes, and silently judging our grammar. We miss you, Mum, with all our hearts.
If you, like us, feel bereft and miss her intelligence and generous spirit, you can hear her strong, smart, and firm voice by downloading any of her audiobooks. They are available through the links below. Or buy a copy of Fast and Fearless Cooking and make a dish from the limp vegetables in your refrigerator. She would be even more pleased if you sang an “I love vegetables” song as you cook.
Audiobooks and printed book available by copying and pasting this link, or here, and Dean has archived all her Scenes from the Journey emails here.
A memorial will be held sometime in December. Place and time to be determined.
Obituary webpage here.
