Today, in honor of the 110th anniversary of my Grandma Gertie's birthday, I hung my laundry in the basement. As a child, I spent many a rainy day roller skating in my Grandma's basement to the music on the Victrola, weaving in and out of her freshly washed clothes all hanging on the lines. She had a fabulous wringer washer; nothing more that a tub with an "on and off" switch for agitation and an attached wringer through which she would feed the dripping wet clothes repeatedly until they were ready for the line.
Grandma Gertie, aka Gertrude Anna Murray, was born on November 18, 1893 in Chicago, Illinois. She was my mother's mother, and the Grandma I knew best. She married Grandpa Jim in 1919, then raised two children, ran the household, and later often cared for all 5 grandkids. Here we are in April 1956. My mom is on the far right with Grandma next to her. I'm the short one, about 3-1/2 years old. Then my half-brother, Brian, three cousins: Kathy, Marge, and "little Jim" in front, and my Grandpa Jim on the far left. Grandma's hair may have still been brown then, but I only remember it all gray.
Grandma Gertie was always old to me, yet ageless. She had a great humor, loved to play the fool, would sing and dance in the kitchen with the broom, burned the toast every morning (no automatic toasters then) and made fried chicken unparalleled to this day. Here she is in 1982 with my son, Joseph. Not sure who was having more fun!
This is my last picture of Grandma Gertie taken in November 1985. She died in December that year. I've long studied this picture. At first glance she seems tired; like she was ready to go. And yet there is the tiniest hint of a smile, I think, like maybe she knew some secrets that only someone who had lived a full life of 92 years could know. Hey, Gram, would you whisper a few of those secrets to me in my sleep tonight?
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