One of the happiest people I know sells hotdogs from a cart located in an abandoned parking lot beside an automotive repair shop. The cart is a basic model, I suppose, not one of those fancy trucks or trailers. Because of his location, which is adjacent to a busy state highway, he does a nice business, but is hardly wealthy. He could be wealthier, but he never works on Sundays. He works at his cart from the beginning of April
There was a strange scene on my flight to Chicago this morning. After I boarded and sat down in a first-row aisle seat, a woman (I suppose in her mid-50’s) came rushing from the back of the plane to the front galley with a look of sheer panic on her face. I will admit that I thought there was something terribly wrong. Did she receive an emergency phone call? Did someone have a heart attack? “My cell phone,” she yelled.
I well remember my grandma saying, “He’s good people.” According to my research, the earliest citation I found for this phrase is around 1881. While it isn’t standard grammar, and it sounds odd to most people, it makes some sense to me. Saying “he’s good people” is much the same as saying “he is family.” I recently heard someone use the expression, which made me reminisce about my grandma and my Uncle Roy, a crusty old fellow with massive, gnarled