Straight From The Hart

Christmas is over.  The stockings once hung by the chimney with care have been emptied of their goodies and are folded and ready to be put away until next year.  The lights that twinkled so brightly in past weeks have lost their glow and have been wound neatly around one of those light reels that those of you who are super organized buy and use, or thrown into a shoebox by the rest of us too tired to deal with them now. The ornaments have been carefully removed from the tree branches and placed back in their designated boxes.  The smaller children who once nestled so snug in their beds are playing with toy trucks or the fashion doll of the year, and older kids are decking out their tablets and smart phones and other electronic gadgets in the new colorful “skins” so prized by teenagers today. Leftovers from the dinner of Christmas past are chilling in the refrigerator awaiting a resurrection in days to come in casseroles, soups, and sandwiches. Trees and garlands and wreaths a

Larry Winfrey has given me permission to share this testimony.   Grab a box of Kleenex and maybe a sweater for the cold chills you will get in the middle of it. "During my recent medical crisis, I was unconscious for two days. The following is what I experienced during that time. If you have the time and the inclination, I would be interested in your thought. I am pasting what I have sent to others who have inquired. Thank you! Thank you for expressing interest in hearing what happened to me during the two days of unconsciousness, it has had a profound effect upon me. Whether real or imagined, or you believe it or not makes no difference, it will all depend on your relationship with God. Nor will it affect my appreciation for you. I could not breathe! I remember thinking I was dead and that I was not ready to die. I thought of my family. I did not see any bright light or passed loved ones. I did not see any angels enveloped in a holy penumbra. What I saw was Sata

Lois and I posted a memorial picture and poem about Kay in today's LDR in case you get a chance to see it. I had to tweak it a little bit and shortened it a lot to make it fill the newspaper spot, but here is the poem in its entirety: It seems like only yesterday, That day you went away. But 50 years have passed since then And we’ve missed you every day. Your pretty smile with the bluest eyes We never will forget, We know God had a plan and so We trust His wisdom, yet The memories come and linger on, Like a slide show in my mind. Though you were with us only 16 years. The video frames unwind…. The games we played on Wood Street Hitting hedge apples with a stick, Lighting firecrackers under a tin can And running away so quick. Practicing our songs around the old piano Sibling harmony so sweet, So we would have a “special” to share each Sunday In the church on Taylor Street.. The night your boyfriend smashed an egg Between his palms, but then It broke although he said it

T.S. Eliot, writing in The Waste Land, penned the words, “April is the cruelest month.”  In the years since then, there have been many paraphrases and most of them have identified  November as “the cruelest month”.  In a way I agree, but not completely. I have found over the years that November, more than any other month, is a mixture of laughter and tears, joy and sadness, bleakness and sunshine, and yes even new growth mixed in with the decay. The first time I realized the specialness of the eleventh month of the year was in 1963 when Milan and I chose the 16th day for our wedding. But it was only one year and one week later, in November 1964, that I realized how cruel and cold November could be when my youngest sister, Kay Rowden, died in a car crash out on East Highway 32, a road long known for its own brand of cruelty, with the curves and washboard hills taking their toll on many a car over the years.  Kay was 16, and a junior at LHS.  Her best friend, Beverly Cole, surv

Wow!  Did you feel that earthquake Tuesday night?  Well, okay, so it wasn’t really an earthquake.  It was just the country moving to the right.  For me, it was the World Series, the Superbowl and March Madness all rolled up into one.  I am not a sports fan and not even sure what those words are I just wrote, but I think I”m beginning to understand all those Facebook messages and Tweets that clutter up my computer during major sports events. I was very excited as so many conservatives begin to show up on the winning board.  I use the word “conservative” on purpose.  I”ve given up on Democrats and Republicans because those words are pretty much meaningless any more.  They used to be apt descriptions of political philosophies but nowadays you can’t always tell one from the other.   But a conservative is a conservative regardless of any other label.  Unfortunately liberals tend to be the same way.   But reasonable and thinking liberals will eventually become conservatives.  Ronald

Has anyone seen our Ebola Czar?  No, not Ron Klain.  (Although no one has seen him yet either as I write this on Thursday afternoon.  But more about that later.) But I’m talking about the one we have had since 2009.     Her name is Dr. Nicole Lurie.   She is an assistant secretary in the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) and her job is   “to lead the nation in preventing, responding to and recovering from the adverse health effects of public health emergencies and disasters, ranging from hurricanes to bioterrorism.” Her job description is to help the country prepare for emergencies including the responsibility of developing  “the countermeasures - the medicines or vaccines that people might need to use in a public health emergency”.   She has been referred to as the “highest ranking federal official in charge of preparing the nation to face such health crises as earthquakes, hurricanes, terrorist attacks, and pandemic influenza.” In 2004 Congress passed The Project

Dinosaur Bones & Other Childish Dreams - original poem about Lorna Dinosaur Bones and Other Childish DreamsI threw away an old bone my granddaughters found while visiting last week. When mommy and daddy came to get them, little Lorna couldn’t wait to show them her dinosaur bone. The look on her little face when I told her I had thrown it away will haunt me forever. I learned my lesson that day. I will never destroy a child’s dream again, even if my coffee table gets covered with “dinosaur bones”. The Dinosaur Bone While playing in the yard last week she found an old bleached bone; She brought it to me, so excited her little eyes just shone “This came from a dinosaur” she said. You’ve never seen such pride; It was the find of her life for a four year old, her brown eyes open wide. As the day wore on she laid it down; Other things got her attention. I found it on my coffee table and decided not to mention That it was left over from table scraps we'd ha

To My Precious Granddaughters - original poem for my granddaughters TO MIKAYLA AND LORNA   Mikayla, our first born, with color so bright, Long reddish blond hair, your pride and delight; Fair skin, bright blue eyes, so much like your mother; Your little girl pictures look just like each other. Mikayla JoAnne, with my name and my genes Expressing yourself with such dramatic scenes; Opinionated, creative, intelligent one; Artistic, persistent, you’ll work til it’s done. My ice-skating grandchild, through many a fall You get up and get going again strong and tall. You love Barbies, and horses, and books of all kind; With your beautiful body and quick to learn mind. Little Lorna, our ladybug, with mischievous grin With Momma’s curly hair, and Daddy’s strong chin; With dark eyes full of twinkles, and laughter so giggly; Never still for a moment, all playful and wiggly.   Lorna Delle, you’re your daddy and papa put together Stayi

Memorial Day Memories -original poem for Memorial Day MEMORIES OF MEMORIAL DAY It was just an everyday phone call, It was just a simple request; But, oh, the memories it triggered, Memories so precious and blessed. My grandmother’s beautiful flowers, peonies and lilacs and flags, We picked them and handled them gently, laid in baskets and boxes and bags. Through April and May she would tend them, as they grew with bright buds and full blooms We children were not allowed near them, we were tantalized by their perfume. Eagerly, we would wait for that morning that she called Decoration Day; That’s what her flowers were grown for as April came, and turned into May. We usually walked to the cemetery carrying baskets and bags filled with flowers; We looked at all the gravestones with interest, sometimes we would stay there for hours While all of the adults were visiting with friends they had not seen for years. We never really comprehended the me