Straight From The Hart

Confessions Of A Word Person There’s nothing more diverse than people The things they cherish, that turn them on The things they collect and want to “keeple” Their treasure stashed when day is done. Some like their cars, matchbox or antique Old and battered or shiny and sleek. They polish and buff them then drive them around Taking pleasure in gear shift and motors that sound. Some delight in dishes, with patterns that match And vases and pitchers, or just one of a batch. Some collect ducks, or elephants, or pigs Some look for paintings to enhance their “digs”. But for me, I love words, How they sound, how they rhyme, How they roll off my tongue,   Absolutely sublime. Like abstruse and duende, oppugn, fancify, Prodigious and resile, cachinnate,and belie, Vademecum and bedizen, coterminous too Fugacious, inexorable, and then derring-do. I could go on forever for there’s no stopping place, Tapetum is a

Straight From The Hart By Joan Rowden Hart Bill Nichols, We Will Miss You. Contrary to popular belief, courage and bravery and perseverance are not found just in those with strong bodies and good physical health. Sometimes  we find  those attributes reflected in bodies worn out by pain and years of struggle with physical handicaps, and the frustrations of just making it through the everyday moments of life. Bill Nichols was one of those people. Born in 1941, he was afflicted with polio at a very young age and spent his early life on crutches and then these past several years in a motorized wheelchair. But that didn’t keep him from  enjoying his life of working and building a successful business. In high school at LHS, he was elected President of the Sophomore Class in 1958.  Under his senior picture in the 1960 Magnet yearbook, was the caption   “A Merry Heart Goes A Long Way”,  which turned out to be a most accurate description of the life he was to live out so victoriously for

Straight From The Hart By Joan Rowden Hart That Silver Haired Daddy Of Mine I was born in 1943.  My parents are both still alive and in some ways in better health than I am.  If you do the math it will be obvious that I belong to a rather elite group of senior citizens  who still have their parents with them.  You can believe me when I say I know how fortunate I am. My dad has spent a lot of time writing his autobiography, thereby giving me a first-hand glimpse into the kind of life he had growing up as a boy in these Ozark Hills, and of my grandparents’ home and family life. On this Father’s Day weekend, I am sharing with you some of his stories.  He can write better than I can, but in the interest of getting as much into the space allotted to me through the generosity of the Lebanon newspaper, I am going to paraphrase his writings. He was born to Lloyd Melvin Rowden and Amanda Jane Smith Rowden in 1923.  They had met while in their teens and “courted” by riding

My Mother’s Song Books One of my earliest and fondest memories is watching my mom sitting at the kitchen table  writing down the lyrics of her favorite songs in a brown composition spiral bound notebook as she listened to them on the radio.  Obviously it took many “listenings” for her to eventually capture all the lyrics. She had been doing this for years as a young teenager before I was born and accumulated a big stack of those little notebooks you could probably buy at the “dime store” in those days for a nickel. My mom, who is only 16 years older than me, was born Wilma Lorea Dame and now widowed as Wilma Lorea Ward, was married to Fritz Rowden when Lois and I were born, and then to Clarence Lindsey, the father of my 5 handsome brothers. Several years ago I asked her about the books and found out she had thrown many of them away after my sister had transcribed them into a computer program.  It took me a while to convince her it wasn’t the lyrics that I wanted.  It was the old faded