ONE TIRED LITTLE CHICK 03/09/00

Subject: one tired little chick
Date: Thu, 9 Mar 2000 19:34:22 EST

That is me.

We - John, Elsa, myself - went down to Philadelphia for a 4:00 p.m. appointment at Presbyterian Hospital (in the University City section, for those of you who know Philadelphia). After looking at my passel of x-rays and reports and checking me out from hoof to horn, the specialist - Dr. Gerald Williams - was pretty discouraging about prospects for surgery making any improvements. I had a lot to think about on the drive home.

Elsa is Pete's daughter, wise in the highways & byways of Philadelphia and blessed with her father's keen sense of direction. Not only did she navigate us homeward without hitting any rush hour traffic, it was a spectacular drive. Mother Nature helped out, with temperatures at 5:15 p.m. dropping to the mid-60s.

We headed to the West River Drive, which I think must be one of the most beautiful drives in the world. It runs snug alongside the Schuylkill River. Boat House Row was bustling with activity. I have never seen so many shells on the river - it almost looked like a mini-regatta. It was thrilling to see their long, slender line - 1-man, 2-man, 4-man and many 8-man crews - skimming along the river, the elegance of the oars as they dipped into the river and arched up, dipped and arched, dipped and arched. I felt taken right out of my body, it was so beautiful. (My apologies to any sticklers out there if I got any of the terms wrong. I get boggled by what is a scull and what is a shell, whether is correct to call it crew or rowing or something else.)

It made me remember a story about the mother of Ellen Lear, my very best friend. Mrs. Lear was Richmond born and bred and, like me, loved the water. She married Mr. Lear around 1913 or '14. His family lived in Chestnut Hill and were "Hillers" through & through. (How to describe a Hiller? Top drawer society, the genuine article, people who today still put the prep in preppy.) Well, they thought this gal was the cat's whiskers, lovely and refined, until... the day she took a stroll to the river and - horrors - sat on a bench at the riverside. My dears, it simply was NOT done. When Ellen tells the story, I can just see the mother-in-law reaching for the smelling salts to keep from going into a swoon. Ellen’s mother, not one to be what she considered unfairly criticized, even by patrician in-laws, declared, “I did it and I’m glad!”

If I had not been so gol-darn tired, I would have looked for a nice, friendly bench and been a river watcher until dusk fell. The three of us and the spirit of Mrs. Lear, all enjoying the beauty of the moment.

Love to you all from a tired little chick-a-biddy ~ Nan

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV