Margaret Mary Delaney was born in 1918 in Marcus (Cherokee Cty),
IA, the youngest (by a lot). Her mother, Margaret Cecilia Kelly (from
whom we have the notable Cousin Grace - yes, that Grace) immigrated
from Cloonmara, Co. Mayo.
She was very involved with her Church. She and another lady helped the Benedictines raise money to buy & build St. Andrew's Priory in Valyermo. She and her husband also became Oblates with the monks at St. Andrew's, which is where she will be interred. Ijust learned yesterday (a few hours before her death) that she was president of a ladies' organization which intended to bring about reform to the Catholic Church in the late '50s / early '60s (pre-Vatican II). Because of their work and ideas, Pope John XXIII invited my grandmother to lunch (!!!!). Due to an unfortunate mix up with some Dominicans, she stood the Pope up, about which he eventually wrote her (to more or less say "Scusi??"). It worked out, though, and both of my grandparents were in attendance at many of the Vatican II conferences (!!!!). She was very proud to see that all of the reforms her group recommended/supported were instituted in Vatican II's reforms.
Grandma also loved art. She loved art. She was a volunteer docent at one of the LA art museums (I think it was LACMA, but I certainly can't promise you that). The house is still filled with her art books. She also loved architecture and interior design. Her pride and joy was the Brentwood house, which she basically designed herself. This is the house that was up the street from Maureen O'Hara, just up Sunset from UCLA (where my grandfather was teaching radiology). This is the house where she raised her teens, hosted huge parties (the legendary dancing-on-the-piano parties), and took calls from bands trying to book gigs at "Sara's Living Room" (poor guys didn't realize that it was an actual living room). I mistakenly called Sara's Living Room Sara's Basement, which led to the discovery that the basement was overrun with Ben and John's beatnik friends.
In my childhood, my favorite story that my dad would tell me from HIS
childhood was from their travels across Europe. The Senior Os piled 8
children into a camper van and drove all over the place [and, in
thinking about it so intently, I'm not entirely sure that this story is
from that adventure]. Grandma, Grandpa, young Brian, and baby Brigid
would sleep in the van, and Susan, Sara, Ben, John, Kevin, and Rory
would sleep in the attached tent outside [Paddy, don't forget, would be
sleeping in Heaven with God.] I guess Grandma would get up to visit the
Little Girls' Room fairly frequently, which meant climbing out of the
camper and over Susan, Sara, Ben, John, Kevin, and Rory. The way I've
heard it told is, after a few rounds of that, Kevin volunteers a nice
"Tut, tut; looks like rain!" I'm sure he got stepped on.
In my lifetime, the Senior Os lived in two houses - one in LA and one (more recently) in OC. The LA house is where I lost my first tooth (and second), where I met Deirdre and Barbara (who christened me "Egg Salad," for reasons I cannot remember -- do you guys remember that??), where Connor gashed a deep hole in his knee (ruining the game), where we climbed orange trees, where I cracked the bridge of my nose too regularly, where I learned the social value of being able to sit at a piano and lead the room in song, where there were feasts and parties and grandchildren sleeping on patio furniture cushions in every room. From this house we went on grand adventures to places like the La Brea Tar Pits and the art museum(s). We learned all about the color wheel and complementary colors. We painted and colored and drew. We read books and memorized poetry. My very favorite Grandma O poem is The Tale of Custard the Dragon, by Ogden Nash. We read plenty of books, especially Amelia Bedelia, Madeline, and Fletcher mysteries. (That reminds me of how much Grandma loved mysteries, especially with her girl Lansbury.)
The OC house is where we got to start exploring the O'library on our own, where we would watch the sun set over the ocean and sit in the jacuzzi, where we would play nerdy imagination games with the cousins or dress up in Grandma's (truly fierce) '50s wardrobe, where we did the Tom Cruise sock slide down the hall (though he really had no part of it). From this house, we went on grand adventures to places like the park, the community pool, the beach, and the fancy pants Newport Beach malls. This is where I first watched "West Side Story," which has basically since then been The Movie to Watch at the Senior Os (along with "The Music Man"). It's the house where I have watched many (many many) golf tournaments and rooted on many UCLA football games. This was my stop-over or partial trip home when I was in college. For some (fortuitous) reason, I spent Holy Saturday there my sophomore year at UCLA. I went with Grandma and Grandpa to the Easter Vigil, which was one of the biggest catalysts in what I call my "conversion" (in as much as a cradle-Catholic can convert ...to Catholicism).
Grandma was pretty quirky for as long as I remember, but she first started showing clear signs of Alzheimer's about 15 years ago (half of my life; all of Michael's). I always thought it was (objectively) interesting that her mind tended to go back to her youth, when she was engaged to my grandpa. It was a hard journey. Last October, Susan (& Eileen,
Blake, and Aran), Ben, John, Rory, and Brian (et al)
gathered to celebrate Grandpa's 95th, and a raucous night was had as
always. Any time a majority of the 8 get together, there's plenty of
drinking, singing, and fighting, which is one of the greatest things
about being an O. There is no party like a real O'L party.
Saturday morning, I awoke on Grandma's couch, filled an "I Love My Grandma" mug with coffee, and got to sit with her for much of the day. I'm very thankful I got that time. Michael and I said our good byes that afternoon, and about an hour later she passed away with her husband, her eldest daughter, two sons, and her 2nd eldest granddaughter at her side. I'm sure by now she has had several meals with Pope John XXIII, squeezed Padraic, Sara, and her family enough to make up for the years without them, and come to know all of the wonderful things her earthly mind missed lately. I do love my Grandma, and I miss her dearly already; however, I am so thankful to have such an advocate in Heaven, and I look forward to feasting with her at every Mass until I can join her in the communion of saints.
In my lifetime, the Senior Os lived in two houses - one in LA and one (more recently) in OC. The LA house is where I lost my first tooth (and second), where I met Deirdre and Barbara (who christened me "Egg Salad," for reasons I cannot remember -- do you guys remember that??), where Connor gashed a deep hole in his knee (ruining the game), where we climbed orange trees, where I cracked the bridge of my nose too regularly, where I learned the social value of being able to sit at a piano and lead the room in song, where there were feasts and parties and grandchildren sleeping on patio furniture cushions in every room. From this house we went on grand adventures to places like the La Brea Tar Pits and the art museum(s). We learned all about the color wheel and complementary colors. We painted and colored and drew. We read books and memorized poetry. My very favorite Grandma O poem is The Tale of Custard the Dragon, by Ogden Nash. We read plenty of books, especially Amelia Bedelia, Madeline, and Fletcher mysteries. (That reminds me of how much Grandma loved mysteries, especially with her girl Lansbury.)
The OC house is where we got to start exploring the O'library on our own, where we would watch the sun set over the ocean and sit in the jacuzzi, where we would play nerdy imagination games with the cousins or dress up in Grandma's (truly fierce) '50s wardrobe, where we did the Tom Cruise sock slide down the hall (though he really had no part of it). From this house, we went on grand adventures to places like the park, the community pool, the beach, and the fancy pants Newport Beach malls. This is where I first watched "West Side Story," which has basically since then been The Movie to Watch at the Senior Os (along with "The Music Man"). It's the house where I have watched many (many many) golf tournaments and rooted on many UCLA football games. This was my stop-over or partial trip home when I was in college. For some (fortuitous) reason, I spent Holy Saturday there my sophomore year at UCLA. I went with Grandma and Grandpa to the Easter Vigil, which was one of the biggest catalysts in what I call my "conversion" (in as much as a cradle-Catholic can convert ...to Catholicism).
Grandma was pretty quirky for as long as I remember, but she first started showing clear signs of Alzheimer's about 15 years ago (half of my life; all of Michael's). I always thought it was (objectively) interesting that her mind tended to go back to her youth, when she was engaged to my grandpa. It was a hard journey. Last October, Susan (& Eileen,
Saturday morning, I awoke on Grandma's couch, filled an "I Love My Grandma" mug with coffee, and got to sit with her for much of the day. I'm very thankful I got that time. Michael and I said our good byes that afternoon, and about an hour later she passed away with her husband, her eldest daughter, two sons, and her 2nd eldest granddaughter at her side. I'm sure by now she has had several meals with Pope John XXIII, squeezed Padraic, Sara, and her family enough to make up for the years without them, and come to know all of the wonderful things her earthly mind missed lately. I do love my Grandma, and I miss her dearly already; however, I am so thankful to have such an advocate in Heaven, and I look forward to feasting with her at every Mass until I can join her in the communion of saints.
