Post #22

Thought for the day:

My friends are little lamps to me; their radience warms and cheers my ways.

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Here we are only three days into the week and already it has become a bittersweet one—sad and yet happy. The bitter part is only bitter because we have lost a longtime friend, Mary Wood. The happy part of that is that we know exactly where she is now; she no longer has the pain and suffering that she has been experiencing for the past several years here on earth. We’re sad more for ourselves than we are for Mary. Grandma and I (as well as many, many others) will miss the loving, gentle spirit that was Mary, and the birthday and anniversary cards she never failed to send every year for as long as we can remember. Thank you, Mary, for brightening our lives. You will be missed.

Another dear friend of ours, Margaret Johnson, just recently celebrated her 99th birthday. Grandma and I visited her this morning in the beautiful surroundings of the Westmont Retirement Home where she loves living. About the only problem she’s having—aside from on-coming glaucoma—is that there just aren’t enough hours in the day to get everything done that she feels needs doing. Apparently it’s the philosophy of Westmont that an active mind is a healthy one because they have activities going on all of the time. Margaret—always an adventurer—participates in many of them including a game called bean-bag-baseball. That’s a game that must be a bit more physical than it sounds because, while participating, Margaret fell and broke her hip. Of course when we heard that she had broken her hip we all shook our heads and figured that, because of her age (96 at that time), she probably wouldn’t recover from it. Wrong! She not only recovered but was up playing bean-bag-baseball and other games six weeks later. A lovely lady, she writes beautifully. We helped her publish a collection of her wonderful stories of her Irish family, starting with her mother who came to America all by herself in 1887 when she was only thirteen years old, and continuing right on through the early 2000s. The book is called, A Life Well Lived, and truly, Margaret’s life is just that—lived to the fullest. This morning’s visit with her was another bright spot in our day.

On another subject, the other day I heard someone use the phrase the catbird seat. I’ve always figured that that referred to someone in a high position or position of advantage but to make sure, I asked the person what the meaning actually is. His reply coincided with my own thinking but neither of us knew where the expression came from, so I did a little research (very little) and can now tell you something you all probably know (and I quote):
“The slate-colored North American thrush has been called the catbird since the early 18th century because …’its ordinary cry of alarm…somewhat resembles the mew of a cat.’ To be in the catbird seat, to be sitting pretty, is a southern Americanism dating back to the 19th century but popularized nationally by Brooklyn Dodger baseball announcer Red Barber, who used it frequently.”
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