Saturday, January 24, 2015
Friday, January 23, 2015
Aunt Mary wrote that she & Aunt Freeda remember their Grandma Daisy Axsom singing Little Rosewood Casket.
found a youtube link....
couldn't find the lyrics on lyrics.com.....no one had published them.
it was written in 1870, first recorded in 1920, often considered a folk song. found some lyrics on google!There's a little rosewood casketsettin' on a marble standthere's a package of love letterswritten by my true loves handgo and bring them to me, brother.come and set upon my bedlay your head upon my pillowwhile my aching heart grows dead.read them gently to me brotherread them til I fall asleep.Fall asleep to wake in heavenoh dear brother do not weep.Last Sunday I saw her walkingwith a gentleman by her sideand I thought I heard him tell hershe was soon to be his bride.When I am dead in my coffinand my friends have gathered roundand my narrow grave is readyin some lonesome churchyard ground.There's a little rosewood casketsettin' on a marble standthere's a package of love letterswritten by my true loves hand.
Ronald Harry Hesseltine, age 71, of Alamo, Texas, formerly of Urbandale, went to his Lord on Monday, December 22, 2014 at Valley Baptist Medical Center in Harlingen, TX. Ron was born on November 26, 1943 in Washington City, Iowa to William Charles Hesseltine and Esther Lucile Rice. He is survived by his daughter, Christina McNeley of Johnston, IA; son, Richard Hesseltine of Norwalk, IA; brother, Ed (Joan) Hesseltine of Tullahoma, TN; sister, Thelma (Herb) Glendenning of Simpsonville, KY; sister, Sarah Nightingale, Donna, TX; sister, Nancy Kellett, Hickory, MS and sister, Linda Hesseltine of Omaha, NE. He was preceded in death by his wife, Dona Lynn Hesseltine; his son, Craig Hesseltine; his father, William Hesseltine; his mother, Lucile Rice and a brother, Russell Hesseltine. He proudly served in the U.S. Army as an F & E Systems Repairman stationed in Fort Stewart, GA. After returning to Iowa, he worked at the Des Moines branch of Firestone Tire & Rubber Co. as a Millwright until his retirement in 1995. He was also an award-winning professional musician in Iowa and Texas and could play any stringed instrument. After retirement, he continued to enjoy playing music at jam sessions, riding his Goldwing motorcycle and golfing with friends. He was thrilled to have had two hole-in-one shots over the years. A memorial service will be held at 12:30 p.m., Friday, January 30, 2015 at Iles Westover Chapel. Burial will follow at Iowa Veterans Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations be made to The Iowa Veterans Cemetery, 34024 Veterans Memorial Drive, Adel, IA 50003-3300. Arrangements by Iles Westover Chapel - See more at: http://www.ilesfuneralhomes.com/obituary/Ronald-Harry-Hesseltine/Alamo-TX/1473434#sthash.8Fb3paxw.dpuf
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Hometown Boy by Duane Dailey
column in The Mirror, December 31, 2014
Recovering from open-heart surgery is easy compared to repairing a broken leg. Wouldn't seem that way, but I can testify.
With heart surgery, it didn't take long to overcome the man thing. I soon found I could not care for myself. The most basic necessities of life were beyond my skills. I mean everything.
With only a leg break, I am not allowed total care. My offending appendage was put into a hard cast and I was sent home. That made sense to me. I can take care of myself.
Not long later I began to have an inkling, slight as it was, that I might not be in total control of my life. Yes, I had a walker that gives me mobility. Until you use one, you can't realize that you have lost use of one leg and two hands.
A walker allows hobbling about. That's it. Your hands can't carry what you need. Or, allow you to use what you need once you get there.
In heart recovery you are tied to a hospital bed with tubes, wires, and monitors. You know immediately you are not mobile. You have nothing needed nearby. All must be brought to you and done for you. A man gives up quickly and adores what care givers do.
This free-range recovery is a bit too rustic for me. I am a mobile, helpless man. Fortunately, there are women in this world who recognize this in an instant. And against all good commonsense they came to the aid of a helpless one-legged man.
My duahter took charge after heart surgery, when I was sure I could care for myself after the hospital. She was not going to leave town until I was committed to a care center. They had met men like me, before.
This time Janet gave instructions from afar. I am a bit more adept at listening now.
There is a special place in Heaven I am sure for Church Ladies. One opened a spare bedroom for me. Others provided things I did not know I needed, including a shower seat.
Then carry-in food arrived. Followed by calls of support and offers of help.
From my office it was not a Church lady, but a working journalist who knows what a hard-headed working writer needs. Electronic devices with power cords and chargers soon arrived, followed by working files of stories in progress. And, mail and all those newspapers.
Then reality hit. I needed help returning to the Emergency Room for stronger narcotics. Meanwhile, my daughter sent orthopedic-nurse ideas from Florida.
First get pain under control. Don't play tough man. Take enough pain pills, she says. "The longer in pain, the longer the recovery."
Work on getting swelling down. Swelling causes pain. That means getting fluids away from injured joints.
"Keep those toes above your nose." Her mantra helps my heart move blood back up hill. What an education I get in basic body repair.
The surgeon gives hope of freedom in three weeks. Reality comes from my daughter who cares for codgers in Florida. "Six weeks," she says. "You're an old man." Babies heal in a week. Three-year olds heal in three weeks. An old man takes longer.
After a full week, lessons sink in.
Now I adjust to practical needs. Order is brought to my life. Besides, I lack pep to cause too much trouble. I think.
I am a man of many clutters, reading and clipping newspaper stories.
Then I arrive in a household of ultra-order. No piles of clippings showing before I came, an early riser in a house of three late sleepers.
My life reaches sock-drawer order. Everything is in place. What a concept. I think I can survive a broken leg; maybe even order in my life.
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