Gerte

For all you Canadians and art history buffs out there I am well aware that is a picture of Emily Carr. The first time I saw Gerte I thought I had just seen Emily Carr's ghost. The resemblance was uncanny. Turns out the reason was in part that Gerte emulated Emily Carr and some days seemed to think she was Emily Carr. This is why I want to be careful with this post because I don't want people to get the wrong idea and think she was just an old woman suffering from dementia. Yes, Gerte was definitely a little odd but man this woman had lived. I absolutely adored her and spent many an hour inside her apartment, where she was housebound due to illness, listening to her stories and reading passages to her from her books. We would always drink Roastaroma, fake coffee made from chicory and barley.

She had been a journalist and lived a life that many would mock while at the same time secretly want. She roamed the country with her two kids in tow in pursuit of her work. I was never really clear what happened to her husband, or if there even was a husband.

Her apartment was larger than mine but a single room as all the apartments were. On three walls she had wall to wall bookcases that stretched to the ceilings. They were crammed and overflowing with a jumble of books, papers and stories she had written. Walking into her apartment was like walking into a musty antiquated library. I loved it. Although I must admit to being a little perturbed when I noticed the floors seemed to have a definite sag to them under the weight of the books. Scary structural damage aside, that is how I envision my apartment someday.

Because of Gerte I can play the flute. I mean really play the flute. I had always played but the flute was secondary to the piano and quite frankly I never really practiced except right before festivals and the conservatory exams when suddenly I would have a flurry of last minute cram sessions. When I moved into that apartment I did not have any toys to distract me. No television, no computer, nothing. My piano was in storage so I used to practice that elsewhere. One day out of sheer boredom I dusted off my flute case and started practicing. Usually in an apartment this can be a problem. Not here, not with Gerte.

When I would quit playing Gerte would come bang on my door and say, "Why are stopping? You have not practiced nearly long enough." When I would leave her apartment she would say, "Now dear, get on home and I had better hear that flute." Ok lady. She was one task master let me tell you.

She died almost immediately after I moved out. The landlord said he could not believe how much junk there was to remove. That worried me. It wasn't junk. I only hope someone or some institution inherited her books. Her collection was amazing and definitely not junk.

Gerte must have been at least 45 - 50 years older than me, but I count her as one of my dearest friends. I will always treasure the hours we spent together pouring over books and discussing her favorite topic of politics.

Well my friends, that is Gerte. I hope you were able to catch a glimpse of the fine lady that I once knew.

Today's question is an obvious one. So who in your life became a friend, a friend that on the surface you would not have believed possible?