Straight From The Hart

September is National Food Safety Month.  It was created in 1994 to heighten the awareness about the importance of food safety education.  But since 1994, the issue of our food safety has been expanded to include much more than handling, preparation and storage.  Now we find that politics has been introduced into the equation with Congress having to write legislation and provide regulations, especially with regard to how our food is labeled and shipped  before it ever reaches the supermarket and ultimately our table. As recently as January of this year, CNN had an article on their website about the issue of foreign food imports which  have exploded in recent years.  According to the USDA, those imports totalled $119 billion in 2014 which is the most recent information we have. While the U.S. has had several instances of food grown or processed domestically becoming contaminated with ecoli, or listeria or a host of other dangerous bacteria, even more troubling is the fact t

September is National Food Safety Month.  It was created in 1994 to heighten the awareness about the importance of food safety education.  But since 1994, the issue of our food safety has been expanded to include much more than handling, preparation and storage.  Now we find that politics has been introduced into the equation with Congress having to write legislation and provide regulations, especially with regard to how our food is labeled and shipped  before it ever reaches the supermarket and ultimately our table. As recently as January of this year, CNN had an article on their website about the issue of foreign food imports which  have exploded in recent years.  According to the USDA, those imports totalled $119 billion in 2014 which is the most recent information we have. While the U.S. has had several instances of food grown or processed domestically becoming contaminated with ecoli, or listeria or a host of other dangerous bacteria, even more troubling is the fact t

I heard somewhere, maybe in columnist school, that once in a while we need to just let go of the heaviness and scolding, and share those random thoughts we all occasionally have, and which will not fit in any other column.  This last week in September seems to be a good time to do that.  In other words, I don’t really have a topic to write about this week! We drove over to the Country Store at Leadmine recently.  I love that place.  We go to replenish our stock of the best beet pickles in the world, done as only the Amish can do.  Milan likes to peruse their inventory of suspenders and Aladdin lamp parts.  But I also get to indulge in a jar or two of spiced peaches to bring home as a special treat. We called them pickled peaches back when my grandmother made them, but they are definitely not pickled in the sense of the word we would normally think about.  Anyone who has never eaten one of these golden glistening globes of gustatory goodness definitely can’t claim to be a true gastron

If you value your free and open Internet, then I urge you to read this column and take appropriate action with regard to contacting your representatives in Congress.  I don’t usually begin my columns with a warning, but in this case it is justified, because in less than ten days from today, our president will be fulfilling and finalizing a promise he made early on in his presidency to turn over the control of the Internet as we know it to a multinational corporation which includes the countries of Russia, China, and Iran, and which do not have a First Amendment right to free speech. If you do not trust these countries to always provide free and unrestricted access to your use of the internet, including your confidential information, and your expression of freedom of speech, then you have one week to contact your senator and representative and as many other members of Congress as you can, to express your opposition. The Internet was started by the United States, in particular the De

Confessions Of A Linguaphile 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, 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

WILMA’S SONG A child is born, and heaven sings And the song moves into our heart Through childhood days the song replays As it becomes a part Of who we are and how we live In our body and our spirit Sometimes so plain,sometimes in pain So deep we hardly hear it. Some people never share their song They mute it in their living; Their melodies, in minor keys Are never heard, or given To those who wait to hear the tune. They listen, but in vain For a harmony they cannot see, And a song that no one sang. It was not so with Wilma’s song She sang it loud and clear Her voice was raised in songs of praise Her fingers had no fear As they flew across her much loved guitar The harmonies rang out And chords were made as the strings she played And the song left never a doubt That the joy in her heart came from deep within And she wanted the world to know So she sang it loud and she sang out proud For as long as she could go. While so

WHO WILL WEEP FOR THE CHILDREN? It seems everyone has a cause today, But who’s going to plead for the children? Lapel ribbons of every color are on display But who’s wearing one for the children? Don’t want that baby that’s on the way? Who’s thinking about life for the children? Just kill her before she gets here, that’s what they say, Doesn’t anyone realize these are children? Husbands and wives fight to get their own way, But who’s shedding tears for the children? The lawyers want their money, that’s all they say But who pays the price for the children? Too busy to go with them to church once a week? So who’s going to pray for the children? It’s more leisure time, more adult toys that they seek But who’s  taking time for the children? The churches are busy with grownups to save Are they looking out for the children? Bus kids are dirty, don’t know how to behave. Nobody wants to sit with these children. Parents conceive and d

When Kittens Play In Heaven When kittens play in heaven, I’m sure they have such fun; Heaven’s boundaries are limitless with lots of room to run, The doggies are so friendly, they love them every one. Their "fe-lines" are never hurt, when kittens play in heaven. When kittens play in heaven upon the golden streets; The angels never scold them, they think they are so sweet; Only when they climb the Tree of Life do a heavenly frown they meet ‘Cause even God thinks they’re cute, when kittens play in heaven. When kittens play in heaven, they fly on furry wings; They run across the angels’ harps, they love to hear the strings Of heavenly music intertwined with their little kitty-paw "pings"; Their life is pure purrfection, when kittens play in heaven. When kittens play in heaven, their favorite game is hide and seek; They chase and bat each other, then run away to peek From out behind a cloud where they look so very meek; You know

THE PICTURE You were only 14 in the picture, you said, And Daddy was 18, with hair  of  bright red. What were you thinking, as you stood there together, In the year 41 in summer's bright weather? In another short year you would be man and wife, And another year later you would bring forth new life; And that new life was me.  What must you have thought When you looked at the baby whom your love had brought? Did you talk about my future when you mentioned my name? Did you think how I'd grow into the woman I became? I look at the picture in the frame on the wall; Of the 62 years which have passed, and of all The rest of the family who would come after me From the union of two people who once stood 'neath a tree. And pledged all their love, shared a home and a bed, A pretty young woman and the man with hair red. I see me in The Picture in the form of your face And Lois' son Frankie could stand in Dad's place. And Toni's red hair, passed on

REFLECTIONS ON TURNING 60 Do you remember when 60 was old? When skin looked wrinkled and rolled? But now that it’s us We wonder why all the fuss We’re still young and charming and bold. Our sense of humor remains Even with all of our pains We find beauty in wrinkles Senior eyes still have twinkles Though we ache in our bones when it rains. Our brain cells still work pretty good Our taste buds still celebrate food Our teeth may be false Other parts we have lost But our motor’s the same ‘neath the hood. Now we’re 6o, so what’s the big deal? Though sometimes it doesn’t seem real We have lived through so much But if we think it’s rough Just think how our parents must feel! Joan Rowden Hart written June 2003

WHEN PRISONERS OF WAR COME HOME On a beautiful Palm Sunday, on a sunny April day Seven brave American soldiers were released from out harm’s way Families danced in celebration, shouts of praise to God on high Happy reunions in the planning, tears of joy in every eye. Just three weeks ago on Sunday, the enemy took them all away With evil gloating they were brandished, like a trophy on display But friends and family kept the faith, always praying without cease Til in an abandoned Iraqi cabin, their faith was met with sweet release No more dread of terrorist torture, no more fear of cruel death No more worry o’er the future, when might come their final breath Free at last and homeward bound, seven rescued soldiers come And America rejoices as our POW’s head home. Satan, too, takes Christians prisoner, accuses, tortures, fills with fear Holds us captive  to despair, intimidates us with his sneer. Faith in God will be our rescue, strong belief

Ode To Ollie In The Fall For Ollie’s first Fall he was kittenish and bright. Just a three month old baby, a furry ball of delight. He would run through the house, and play hide and seek, We would look everywhere, then out he would peek With a soft teasing meow and those huge owlish eyes. Though we knew where he was, we pretended surprise. Though he was born in a barn, just a common farm cat He thought he was royalty, and he acted like that. He never came when we called him just plain  “kitty, kitty” He would sit like a statue, with his tail curled so pretty. He was named for a Colonel, a most important man; He was Oliver North’s namesake (because we were his fans). He almost didn’t make it through his second year’s Fall; We put him in our basement with our dog, big and tall Who didn’t like this new critter eating out of his bowl So he chased him quite fiercely, Ollie’s death was his goal. Round and round in the basement, cat fur flying high Ti

THE MUSIC OF LIFE A baby is born, and when she cries The mother sings her lullabyes, Life’s song begins, and the music goes on. The toddler grows stronger every day; She learns to sing as she runs to play. Life’s song brings laughter, and the music goes on. God saves her soul, and the angels sing; The bells of heav’n in harmony ring; She sings of Jesus, and the music goes on. Her life takes shape, the young woman is blest With marriage and family, life’s at its crest. Life’s song becomes mellow, and the music goes on. Some times her life takes a turn for the worse She has to sing a different verse In a minor key, but the music goes on. As the years pass by she faintly hears A melody familiar to her homesick ears; It’s the heavenly choir, and the music goes on. Life comes to an end, she hastens to meet The Saviour who’s waiting, she kneels at His feet And all of God’s singers join  in her song And eternity’s music goes on.