Árdís - 01.01.1963, Blaðsíða 22

20
ÁRDÍ S
this varies according to the individual and to the state of his
health. To those who have lost their sight or have poor vision
time would naturally seem long. Many are handicapped one way
or another, but few complain. One fine old gentleman here, over
ninety years old, has an interesting hobby, he writes. And what
do you think he writes about? He writes of the Glory of God and
His goodness and divine guidance. He writes prayers of thanks-
giving and asks God to watch over his loved ones and keep them
safe. I have never read anything more sincere and beautiful than
these meditations and prayers thus expressed.
Organized groups like our Vancouver Icelandic Male Choir
with their director Mr. S. Sigurdson frequently visit Höfn, to
entertain. Picture shows with coloured slides of local events or
pictures of Iceland are especially welcome. The jolly birthday
parties put on once a month by “Sólskin” honoring the residents
whose birthdays fall in that month are much appreciated—coffee
and cake are served, a short musical program enjoyed and then
everyone sings “Happy Birthday to You”. A sing-song is always
welcomed—and all take part. There may be some flat tones or a
quaver in the voice betraying a tender memory of other days long
gone by. Perhaps too, a few tears slip unheeded down wrinkled
cheeks, as the strains of “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” are
sung, bringing the pleasant evening to a close.
But how do I know all this and why should I feel qualified to
write an article on Höfn? It is because I live here. If you should
visit Höfn and I hope you do, please come to room number eleven
and I shall be happy to welcome you to my cosy little “home”. I
think this is a good place to spend the sunset years—within sight
of snow-capped mountain peaks, the Fraser river almost at our
doorstep. Not far off lies the Pacific Ocean dotted with islands
and beautiful bays. It is nice to watch the sun sink low on the
horizon sending its rosy rays across the western sky, with the
promise of a good day to-morrow. It is then that I am reminded
of an old song that I love,
“For memory has painted this perfect day,
With colours that never fade,
And I find at the end of a perfect day,
The soul of a friend I’ve made.”