I wrote about Grandma a few years ago in this newspaper.

A humorous little ditty about Grandma's "old school" work ethic. Dad and I pitched in that year to help with yard work for Grandma's spring cleaning ritual.

We may have missed a few instructions and we may have stuffed a few too many cuttings and too many leaves into too few garbage bags.

And sure enough we got caught.

One hundred pounds of angry Grandma hefted two of those bursting bags waist high and lectured us like little kids about the fact that the garbage men wouldn't carry any bag over 30 pounds ... and if we put them out she would have to carry them back from the end of the drive ... because after all, the garbage men had a union ... and by contract they didn't have to carry any bags that were too heavy ...

We could only nod and smile and obey, and laugh later about the obvious irony.

Grandma Butler passed away after 95 years and 10 days on Jan. 14 and it's tempting to write more about the hard-working soul that she was. But whenever I tell that story, people nod and people smile with a sameness that says, "I know exactly what you mean, because my grandmother was the exactly same way."

And so I don't want to eulogize Grandma as the best there ever was (she was) or the hardest worker there ever was (she probably was) but I think she was typical of her generation. A generation that knew the rules and understood hard work.

Grandma graduated as a nurse but had to give it up because Granddad couldn't abide with a wife that worked. I don't think I ever understood that and I don't think Grandma did either but she knew her generation understood.

About 30 years ago, Granddad put a new roof on the house he'd built about 60 years ago and Grandma complained bitterly about carrying the shingles up the ladder, and the fact that no woman, at 65, should have to carry bundles of shingles up a ladder, in the heat of the summer, but she knew her generation understood.

Grandma was born in Hamilton and grew up here, too. She raised her own family in the city -- three sons and two daughters. The family grew to six grandchildren, nine great-grandchildren and one great-great-grandchild.

Though she had many willing to pitch in, after Granddad died, she would rarely ask for help. And only when things were clearly beyond her ability -- things like installing the window air-conditioner.

But when the kids arrived to help the screwdrivers (all three of them) were laid out (in order of usage with screws attached) and the insulation strips were ready (cleaned) and the air-conditioner sat perched in a grandchild's wagon she'd used to bump the heavy load down two flights of stairs from the second-story attic.

But she never expected that anyone should have to do all that work just for her, because she understood what her generation understood. You worked hard, not because you enjoyed it but because it's what you did.

Nobody understands that anymore. But we'll always miss the generation that did.

Goodbye Grandma Butler and your generation, too.

Jim Kenney lives in Ancaster.