Showing posts with label Grandma Driscoll. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grandma Driscoll. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Who Is Gravel Gertie?


I feel as if I should know this nostalgic character, Gravel Gertie, as she was a recurring figure during my formative years. As a child, I would more often than not hear my mother's words, "Candy, come over here. For goodness sake, you look just like Gravel Gertie." or "Lemme just freshen up, I must look like Gravel Gertie." Message here: Gertie was a hot mess.
So I decided to dig a bit deeper to find out who or what exactly is a "Gravel Gertie". Wiki defines Gert as:


Gravel Gertie - former criminal and now wife of B.O. Plenty. Introduced in The Brow episode. In 1944 She is a widow for thirty years after her first husband sold her farm rights for a gravel pit and then died when his car backed into his own gravel pit. Tried to hide the Brow from the police after she found him in wrecked car; arrested when her hair from her clothes brush matched gray hair found near burning car. In a comic relief the Brow flees in terror when he catches his first glimpse of his guardian angel. In his struggle to escape an old fashioned lamp is knocked over; her shack burns down and her long hair is burned off. Later married B.O. Plenty and became mother of Sparkle Plenty. In a later continuity, it was established that Gertie had spent part of her childhood in an orphanage; while she was there, criminals shaved her head and tattooed onto her bald pate a treasure map showing the location of their buried loot, then allowed her hair to regrow to conceal the map ... which was belatedly rediscovered well into Gertie's adulthood. Dick Tracy was a popular strip for the railroad workers, and Gravel Girtie is the affectionate nickname of a part of the Clifton Forge line of the C & O Railroad. It stretches from Hinton, West Virginia to Clifton Forge, Virginia and delivered limestone gravel quarried from Fort Spring to the iron furnaces of Virginia as a fluxing agent.

Does this help to answer my age old question of who this character is and why I would never want to look like her? Not really. What I find fascinating is that I know Gravel Gertie at all. A minor player in the Dick Tracy comic strips, yet omnipresent in my life's script. Poor Gert, she didn't win the pretty olympics and was orphaned and abused. Her head shaved by criminals, it was tattooed with a treasure map then allowed her hair to re-grow to conceal it. Then after marriage and motherhood her hair is burned off in a fire. Tragic figure at best. I get it now, keep your hair coiffed and keep your enemies at bay. Kind of.

I once asked my mother who Gravel Gertie was and she told me that it was someone her mother warned her to never look like. A generational warning, passed down through the years. Have I passed on the tradition? I may have uttered those, "Good Lord Frick, you look just like Gravel Gert." warnings more than a few times, but I think it's safe to say the line ends her for the legend of Gravel Gert in my family. Just like the old Dick Tracy comics, my kids think Dick Tracy is a movie with Warren Beatty and Madonna.

But to me Gertie will always be something more and after today, I may just be proud to look like Gert every now and again. She was a survivor, a mother and wife, from another era who earned the right to look like a hot mess. Even thought she was a character in someone's mind, I now have my own picture of who Gravel Gertie is.

I gotta tell my mom. I just may wear the Gravel Gertie moniker as a badge of honor.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

My Grandma Was A Saint

(That is NOT my dear departed Grandma)

Witty and sharped tounged women run in my family. It's a gift really, and with each generation one steps forward to take the spotlight. My Grandma Driscoll was the spotlighter in her day. She was amazing. Beautiful and sharp as a tack, she was a bookie, yup a bookie, in the days when women didn't even consider doing those things, but Gramma was different. She loved sports, she loved politics, and her beloved Red Sox, (which is probably where I got some of it) and she would run the numbers every day with her brother-in law Louie at his dining room table. She was one special chick. Men loved her, because she could handicap a game, place a bet for them and sit down and chew the fat about the NFL, the NHL and then smoothly transition to any other topic of current events or politics with ease.

And Grandma Driscoll could tell a joke. Of course, she'd tell dirty ones, but I never really heard any because she would send us kids out of the room for those.

I do remember her telling me this joke when I got older:

Why does a bee hum??

You'd hum too if you just laid your honey.


Then she'd laugh her special laugh.

The best memory we all have of Grandma Driscoll is one Thanksgiving at the dinner table. We were all going around the table, with each member saying a little something they were thankful for, as most families tend to do on Thanksgiving. When we got to Grandma Driscoll, she said, "I don't think I'll say anything. Instead I'd like to sing you all a song."

She then proceeded to sing us this song in a very small and soft singing voice:

"Oh, there was a little bird no bigger than a turd who flew to a telegraph pole.
He stretched his little neck, and he shit about a peck,

then he closed up his little asshole."


Each and every one of her 13 great grandchildren have been taught that song in her memory.
As they say, they broke the mold when they made my Grandma.

I miss her so much sometimes and often wonder what kind of advice she would give me today.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Channeling Eve Ensler


The Fidgeco. Pronounced; "fige-ee-ko"

That's the name my Grandma Driscoll, God rest her soul, used when she referred to the female genital area. The word still cracks me up. It's not the name we in the family used regularly, for it was Grandma Driscoll's name alone. "Shut that door! The draft is going come in and go right up my dress to my Fidgeco!," she used to say. We still laugh about it today.

In our house we used a somewhat Italian form of the name, which I'm sure got butchered somewhere in translation; Pishaliti. Prounounced; "pee-sha-lee-tee". Nonetheless, it was our special name for the vajay and we were never shy about using it.

"MOM, Chris is throwing rocks at me and trying to hit me in the Pishaliti!" or

"OW! Watch it jerk, that just hit me right in the Pishaliti!"

I'm sure everyone has their own version of a name for the all mighty vagina. Eve Ensler wrote an off-Brodway play called "The Vagina Monologues" where she celebrated the various names for the vajay, the theme throughout the piece,"is the vagina as a tool of female empowerment." I saw the show in Boston with Ensler as the monologist a few years ago, and was amazed, entertained and awed at the power of Monologues message. In 1998, Ensler formed V-Day, which has raised over $50 million to benefit women's anti violence groups from The Vagina Monologues.

I am embarassed to admit, although the show's powerful message was not lost on me, for the naughty little child that resides within me, the most entertaining and memorable came when she lists the many names for the vagina.

These are just a few.

Snatch
Panty Hampster
Twat
Muff
Gash
Slash
Poonani
Tuna Taco or Pink Taco
Fur Burger
Va-jay-jay
Bearded Clam
Beaver
Slit
Love Canal
Hooha
Harry Twatter
Hairy Potter
Hair Pie
Camel Toe
Box
Cootch
Who Who
Lady Garden
Hairy Mairy
The snack that smiles back
Sausage wallet
Vertical Smile
Notorious V. A. G.
Furry Goblet
Love Canal

So please, do share here your special vagina names, so that naughty little child in all of us can live, if just for a day.



For more names click here