Southern Observer - Featured Column

It seems that a large portion of “Modern” Civilization in general and American society in particular is obsessed with the task of transforming today’s culture into the secular/progressive model by turning everything historically considered to be “abnormal” into “normal.” And, therefore, “acceptable.”

For instance, since the beginning of civilization, marriage has been unquestionably defined as the bonding of one man and one woman as the basis of the family unit. However, the progressive folks are now instructing us that marriage means no such thing. Marriage, according to them, can exist between two people of the same sex. Where do we go from here? Will marriage become acceptable (normal) among two men and one woman, three women and one man, a whole group of people claiming common matrimony bonds among themselves? Their argument can justify all forms of bizarre marriages if we allow it. It’s ridiculous. The natural law of marriage will always be between one man and one woman. If the crazies want to form legal corporations, partnerships, etc., in which the “stockholders” enjoy the economic fruits of their effort, so be it. But leave traditional marriage alone.

And then there is this business of homosexuality. Homosexuality is anomalous. It’s not typical, therefore, it is a variance from the norm – an irregularity. It’s always been that way in civilized society. During most of the millennia of enlightened society, it was actually illegal to openly engage in homosexual acts. It still is in some societies. Most folks are free today to enjoy whatever same-sex activity turns them on. But homosexuality is atypical. And should be treated by society as such. If homosexuality is indeed a genetic matter then, homosexual individuals should be treated with the same love, respect and fairness that we treat others with genetic anomalies. But we must not convert it to “normal.”

Civilized standards once dictated that folks from various countries of the world stay on their side of the border and only cross over when all legal requirements have been met. No more! We have many “progressive” folks telling us that all countries should be “borderless.” So much for law and order! Welcome chaos. The US has pretty much succumbed to this open-borders silliness in recent years. How else do you account for 12 million (or more) illegal aliens running loose in our sovereign nation? And we don’t have the foggiest notion of who they are much less where they are. (They are not all at Wal-Mart). Now, we are being told that these illegal “Americans”, as some folks have taken to calling them, should be forgiven their trespasses and that “amnesty” must become the norm. They want us to just suck up and accept it. If we do tolerate unbridled immigration, our children will never know the America that we enjoyed.

Human sex was once dictated to be only engaged in by adults of different genders within the marriage bond. Normal sex today for most “modern” folks is acceptable when it is between consenting participants in a “meaningful” relationship – whatever that means. Even teenagers as young as 13 and 14 are being encouraged to engage in experimental sex during mandatory public school programs such as that experienced recently at a Colorado high school. According to the progressive crowd, very few boundaries exist for the engagement of sex. Marriage is certainly no longer a prerequisite for these “modern” people. Sexual activity, to them, appears to be that old hippie philosophy: “If it feels good, do it.” Society once regarded that sexual activity was to be engaged within marriage bonds only. Its purpose was primarily for the propagation of the human race. No more. It is now primarily considered as “recreational” activity — proper outside of marriage or cultural norms. Sorry, but that’s not good enough for a truly civilized culture. There have to be legitimate boundaries or we revert to the jungle.

Furthermore, modern civilization in the Western World has revolved around a Judeo-Christian concept of human behavior – the criminal is at fault and should be punished. No longer does this appear to many as the norm. Today, in the eyes of too many people, the criminal is no longer the guilty party. It’s Society’s fault! The rest of us, in their view, are guilty of not showing enough love, compassion, understanding, etc. to the criminal, therefore, he/she turned bad because we didn’t “talk or care enough.” Hogwash! Criminality is a conscious choice.

And regarding the education of our young folks, a large segment of society has deemed that learning to read, write and do long-division are no longer the primary focus of education. Instead, they insist that self-esteem (even unearned esteem) is the main task of education along with the indoctrination of “social consciousness.” Even mathematics has become a social function via so-called “radical math” in which problems revolve around social issues instead of mathematical literacy. For instance, math problems are now couched in the social aspects of society. Instead of problems involving pure mathematics such as: If a tomato weighs eight ounces and a peck of tomatoes weighs seven pounds how many tomatoes will it take to fill a peck basket? Now, we have problems such as this: If an undocumented worker can pick eight pecks of tomatoes an hour, how many hours will it take to enrich the greedy, capitalistic farmer, who is growing “wealthy” on the sweaty backs of Mexican workers?”

What once were private matters are now very public. Pregnancy outside of marriage was once shameful. Today, it’s accepted as the norm when as many as seventy percent of births among some groups occur outside the bounds of matrimony. Bastardy has become normal. My parents would have a hard time accepting public conversation of today: “Erectile dysfunction,” “feminine hygiene spray,” “condoms,” and so on. Immodesty is in vogue. And I’m fairly certain that my grandmother (maybe even my mother) never heard the vile, vulgar language in common usage today, not only in the movies and on television, but on the grounds of elementary schools all around the nation. We have debased civilized conversation and have made the abnormal normal. And that’s “first-rate” in the eyes of the misguided.

The secular/progressives herald all of this as “progress.” We must ponder how the history of the rise and fall of civilization will view it all.

I have always heard of so-called “Super Glue” but had no first-hand experience with it until recently. I now have a profound respect for the product’s effectiveness. I can even conceive of how the glue could improve political life in a number of ways. We all know people, especially some politicians, whose lips we would like to glue shut.

But back to my experience with this Godzilla adhesive. The inside handle strap had come loose from the door of my automobile. I tried several ways to reattach it but nothing worked. Then, I remembered that I had purchased a package of five small tubes of a product called “Superglue” and I decided to give it a try. It worked!

However, when I tried to separate my fingers, onto which a small portion of the glue had found its way, they were stuck together. I thought, “Well, this is no problem,” but the harder I tried to separate them the more they stuck in place, side-by-side. I tried rubbing alcohol, turpentine and paint thinner but to no avail. I finally pried each finger apart, inch-by-inch with a wooden dowel. But some of the gunky stuff was left on my now separated fingers. I didn’t learn until later that acetone, found in many fingernail polish removers, is about the only answer for super-glued fingers. I resorted to a fine-grit sandpaper to remove the remaining residue from my digits. It was several days before the rest of the glue finally wore off.

Believe me, folks, the stuff really works!

Just ask the college student whose fraternity brothers smeared Super Glue on his toilet seat. Can you imagine a visit to the Emergency Room with a commode lid attached to your posterior?

Which reminds me of the ordeal of an uncle of mine who lived over in Anderson. He was a smoker as were most adults fifty years ago in the Southland. As a two-pack-a-day smoker, he even smoked while doing the most mundane of things – including using the toilet.

According to my aunt, who never lied, he came home from work one day shortly after painters had finished painting the bathroom. Unbeknownst to him, they had poured their left-over, flammable lacquer thinner into the commode without flushing it. As my uncle sat, he flicked cigarette ashes into the bowl. Well, you know what happened – a small but explosive fire ensued. The “end” result was Uncle Walt vowed never again to smoke anywhere near the toilet.

Super Glue was discovered by accident during WWII when British scientists were working with new compounds to improve gun sights and came upon the miracle concoction which was ultimately trademarked as “Superglue.”

Nothing was done to utilize the substance until it was rediscovered again in the 1950s. In the second revelation, entrepreneurs realized the commercial adaptations and “Superglue” was born and became available to consumers around the world.

Along with all of the helpful uses of the substance, there have been corresponding mishaps. A woman in New Jersey reached for her eye drops and picked up a bottle of Super Glue by mistake. It took a trip to the ER to pry her eyelids apart.

Another woman in the state of Washington was bathing her dog when one of its little ears floated away. It seems a groomer, earlier in the day, had cut the pooch’s ear off by mistake while trimming the little doggie. The groomer had tried to glue the ear back on, and it held temporarily until the bath water loosened the sticky stuff.

In another mishap, an illegal, immigrant alien Super-glued himself to his legal-resident girlfriend because the immigration officials were coming to deport him. After a quick trip to the ER, the illegal was on a plane headed back to his country of origin.

I can’t give the complete details in a family newspaper but one irate wife found a horrible way to avenge her errant husband’s wandering and lustful ways. He will never forget THAT trip to the emergency room.

One chap in England decided to give up on the socialized medical system in his homeland by solving his immediate problem with Super Glue. His tooth cap had come off, but he was unable to see a dentist in his negotiation of the country’s socialized medical system. It was going to take months before he could be seen by a dentist. He took matters into his own hands by Super-gluing his dental cap back in place. “You can’t really taste it but you do have to be careful not to use too much, in case you glue your mouth shut,” he opined.

So much for Socialized Medicine but perhaps we have stumbled upon a possible solution for the circus going on in Washington.

Now, if we can figure out a way to get a drop or two on the lips of most politicians, it could result in a better world.

Just think: no more useless Congressional hearings; no more childish political posturing; no more slamming political opponents; no meaningless bantering, no whining and best of all – just plain Silence!

Sounds like a good plan to me!

Southern Observer
By John Brock

After the 1890 US census was published, historian Frederick Jackson Turner noted that nearly all Americans no longer lived on the frontier. Most of the United States had been claimed. He took to musing about how this would affect the nation and came up with his “Frontier Thesis”.

His reasoning was that America was founded and was sustained by the frontier, therefore, the frontier shaped America and not the other way around as many observers claimed. Turner concluded that the face, character, quality of life, etc., of America had been created by a, heretofore, unlimited frontier. For the entire European-based history of North America, whenever one’s fortune was in doubt, one merely moved westward toward free/cheap land and opportunity. But now the frontier had run out, Americans would have to look in a different direction for the fulfillment of their destinies. They had “mined” the frontier out and would now have to direct their exploitation elsewhere.

Turner concluded that Americans, now that the frontier was “used up”, would turn to government for their good fortune. They would exploit (“mine”) the US government. History has proved him correct.

Some observers scoffed and it took another 40 years before they became true believers of Turner’s prediction. By the 1930s Great Depression and the advent of Roosevelt’s “New Deal”, most Americans had started looking to government to fulfill their collective and individual desires. Previously, the “unfortunate” in the community were taken care of by families, church, the local community, etc., but with widespread economic depression abounding, the government accommodated by promising to take care of us all – eventually, from womb to tomb. A new federalism was born and has flourished almost unabated since.

It soon became not just the poor who were the beneficiaries of government largesse but everybody (including business and industry) as they all clamored to get their fair share at the public trough. Supply/demand or need no longer ultimately dictated costs, price supports, wages, interest rates, importation, etc. – government now did!

We were left with two very different philosophies still in contention today. One wants to expand American’s dependence on the federal government even more by creating new, bigger and “better” social programs and oversight. The other side wants to curb government dependence and allow Americans to keep more of the fruits of their own labors via tax reductions, less regulation, etc. This seems fair enough since families, today, who are working two jobs to get ahead, are paying as much as a whopping 40% of their gross income for taxes of one sort or another as well as supporting government regulatory programs.

Now that the Federal Government’s resources are being depleted, Americans have discovered new entities to “mine” – namely, corporate America. Another “golden goose?” Even Frederick Jackson Turner was not clever enough to predict this one. We are starting to mine big business, whose astuteness and financial risk through the years has given us jobs, industries and our wealth via the unique American system of Free Enterprise. Now, we want to kill that goose as well while taking its last golden egg. What then? Government cannot create wealth. Only individual human toil can do so. Government can only redistribute wealth and manipulate it until its house of cards comes tumbling down.

If you doubt that corporate America has been discovered as the new source of exploitation, just take a look at the multi-BILLION dollar lawsuits that have taken place and are taking place. The tobacco industry alone has provided mega-billions of dollars to governments and individuals with more to follow. How can an industry that for two generations has been regulated into disclosing on their packaging and in their ads: “hazardous to your health - can cause cancer, heart disease, birth defects, DEATH, etc.” be held accountable for people voluntarily using their product? Beats me but courts are awarding mega-dollars. Insurance companies, pharmaceutical companies and the health industry, including doctors, have been targets for years.

One can hardly pick up a magazine or newspaper without seeing a solicitation from a legal firm seeking participants in a class action suit against various industries.

Also at jeopardy for “free money” is the automobile industry. Big bucks have been awarded to parties injured by drunks and careless drivers, but, who pays for these awards? Not the drunks or the negligent, irresponsible drivers but the automobile manufacturer whose products, like tobacco, have been approved for sale to the public. This, of course, means that you and I will bear the burden with additional product costs and insurance. Who’s next? You can bet the alcohol industry has to be spending sleepless nights.

This wealth redistribution will continue as long as there are lawyers and greedy “victims” looking for a buck (I can’t wait until it’s the Lawyer’s turn to be exploited); the public will “mine” whatever target comes into their sights.

When we have tapped out all of the “mines” and the shaft is empty, what happens then? Well, the former purveyors of another failed economy, the communists, will have been proved right all along - we will have destroyed ourselves from within.

I fear there are not enough Americans left with the will to stop this foolishness.

Most conscientious Americans will grouse about it. Give lip service in objection to it but I don’t think we will do a damned thing to stop it – everybody greedily wants their share of the loot.

And that’s sad for our children and grandchildren who will be left with no goose; no egg just an empty nest.

Southern Observer
By John Brock

I have to admit to at least one non-Southern element in my life. Unlike most Southerners, I am “goal” oriented while most of my kinsmen are “process” directed. I enjoy getting the job done or getting to my destination. Most Southerners, while they may enjoy the goal, they enjoy the process equally. Their life is much more leisurely and comfortable than mine. I envy them.

A few can do both. Take my wife for instance:

As an artist she finds equal pleasure in the journey and the destination. She can go on a trip, undertake a task or paint a picture with equal enjoyment of both the journey and the destination. She enjoys the process as well as the goal.

Psychologists tell us that people live and work for different reasons. Some for utter enjoyment. Others work for money while many work for recognition but most work for a combination of both. Frankly, I work just to get through!

I love finishing a task.

Because I am a goal-oriented person, while my wife is a process directed person, she enjoys life better than I do. She enjoys the journey. I, on the other hand, enjoy getting to my destination.

Several years ago, this came into sharp focus when we drove to the West Coast and back. It was a trip of over 7,500 highway miles of sheer pleasure for her but an ordeal for me. She was enjoying the trip. I was working hard at getting halfway and then anxiously looking forward to turning around and heading home. Oh, I enjoyed the trip and saw many interesting things along the way, but not like my wife did. She marveled at every moment - every sight along the way. I could think only of how many miles we had covered today and how close that put us to getting back home. Sense of place is something I do share with other Southerners – we all like to go home again.

My wife, on the other hand, enjoys stopping and smelling the roses. I wish I could.

She says the next time we take a long trip; we’re going on a tour bus. I suppose she is right to insist that this will be the only way I might relax on a trip.

We have been to Europe a number of times. I enjoyed it except for the flying. I am glad we went but do I want to go back? I don’t think so. I feel about another trip out of the country exactly how I feel about coon hunting. I’ve already been.

My wife can enjoy several processes at the same time. She can talk on the phone, fold the laundry and watch television simultaneously. She amazes me how she can wrap Christmas presents, watch television and carry on a conversation concurrently. I have to do one task at a time because it is impossible for me to share my concentration among several projects. During the past Christmas season, she tried to enlist my help in wrapping presents while carrying on a conversation with me. I just couldn’t do it. I have to do one or the other separately — not at the same time.

I finally figured out how to get out of doing things more fitting for an artist than for someone like me. Whenever I didn’t want to do a particular task, I would do a sloppy job (which wasn’t hard) and soon, very soon, she insisted on doing the whole thing herself. I found that the same principle applies to dishwashing, cooking, house-cleaning, etc. And besides, she enjoys the process so much I don’t feel guilty. I do not like to rob her of her pleasures in life.

After I retired, I thought it only fair that since I didn’t have to get up and go to work each day, I should help out around the house. I tried. Honestly, I really tried but I just could not enjoy the process. I was a man on a mission - that mission was to get through - to reach my goal. Consequently, my wife complained that I was doing my tasks too hurriedly and therefore, too sloppily. I just have not been able to enjoy the process of housework. My wife on the other hand can make an adventure out of just about anything. She is definitely a process-oriented person

So, we have made a deal. She enjoys the process and I enjoy her finished efforts.

My wife is away this week and will not be reading this column, so, let’s don’t tell her our little secret. After all, we wouldn’t want to destroy her next process adventure. Thanks.
—

Southern Observer
By John Brock

I have always feared it would someday come to pass. Now, it’s actually happened — the inmates are in charge of the asylum. Very little in the news surprises me these days. Idiots seem to garner all of the coverage. Here are but a few examples gleaned from the pages of recent media offerings:

APES HUMAN?
At a time in history when the “personhood” of an unborn child is being devalued, a group of animal rights nuts are seeking laws to provide for the “personhood” of apes. You heard me correctly. Austrian animal activists want chimps to be declared persons to protect the rights of monkeys all around the globe. As Europe goes, can the US be far behind?

The animal rights crazies want a 26-year-old male chimpanzee legally declared “a person.” As such he would be entitled to “basic rights” ordinarily assigned to authentic humans. A judge has ruled against the first petition but the case is being appealed. In the meantime, Spain’s parliament is considering a national law that would extend “fundamental moral and legal” rights to apes. I suppose snakes, camels and sheep are next on the humanization roster.

Then what? Intermarriage with humans? Voting rights? Where will it all lead? Who can tell? Only a few years ago, most Americans thought the right for folks of the same sex to be married beyond comprehension. But, even that’s legal in a few states today. Human/monkey nuptials in the offing? Who will get custody of “Cheetah” if they divorce? Do animals have a right to abortion?

ON-SCREEN SMOKING
Smoking by actors on movie screens has come under attack by the Motion Picture Association of America which dictates movie ratings. Gone are the days of Bogey and Becall with smokes hanging from their lips. On-screen smoking will earn a film a more restricted rating (N-13 for nicotine?) because the movie moguls want to protect our young folks from the evils of smoking.

This might be a good cause but the elimination of cigarettes on the screen still leaves adulterous sex, abortion, explicit sexual promiscuity, drug activity, and let’s don’t forget the ever-present alcoholic drink on the silver screen. All of these practices will remain intact. But smoking? No-sir-ree. The movie crazies are at it again.

TERM “MASTER” VERBOTEN
Some building contractors and real estate folks have decided that the term “Master Bedroom or Suite” is too “politically incorrect” for describing the main bedroom and the term “Owner’s Suite” is coming into vogue.

It seems that the word “master” has bad vibes for women and some black Americans. My, my, another word that must be eliminated from the English language to accommodate political correctness. Absurd? You bet.

What’s next? Can we no longer use the words: Mastermind, master key, Master of Arts degree, master of ceremonies, or masterpiece? Come on. Give us a break. Words are words and we shouldn’t tamper with perfectly descriptive, traditional terms.

TARGETING LAWNMOWERS
If you have driven down the highway with an eighteen-wheeler belching clouds of black smoke in your face, then you just might be outraged that the Environmental Protection Agency is going after the pollution created by your lawnmower even as the behemoths continue spewing their black sin along our highways.

The federal agency has declared that any walk-behind or riding lawnmower of less than 25 horsepower must be equipped with catalytic converters just like your automobile. This will make home mowers more expensive because catalytic converters are laced with precious metals costing hundreds if not thousands of dollars per ounce. The catalytic-equipped mowers will also be less efficient while the trucking juggernauts continue down the Interstate unabated. Nutty? You’d better believe it. But that’s the rationale today of the politically correct – the eighteen-wheeler might be transporting a gorilla to its nuptials with a real human primate, therefore, it’s OK.

$60,000 MATTRESS
Baby Boomers are adding a new twist to the price of a “good night’s sleep.” New ultra-deluxe bedding costing more than a college education, a luxury automobile or a starter home is being scooped up by boomers with more money than brains.

A Swedish bed company has launched a new mattress product called “Vividus,” which is Latin for “full of life,” that will retail for $59,750. The bedding is made of latex, memory foam, silk, cashmere, lamb’s wool and horse hair. Horse hair! I thought that went out with Duncan Fife sofas.

The company has sold only a dozen of the high-priced mattresses. Wonder why. Could it possibly be that most folks are getting a good night’s sleep on a mattress costing only a few hundred dollars. As I said, the inmates are in charge of the asylum.

These are only a few of the insane shenanigans of the devout brainless. But idiotic ideas will always be with us as long as there is a substantial portion of the world’s population willing to be suckered into any wacky notion.

It’s official. Citadel graduates can now become “Alumni Forever.”

The college has joined a number of schools providing for alumni, or at least their cremated ashes, to be forever enshrined on campus. The school has announced plans to build a columbarium in the lower part of the college’s bell tower. For those of you, like I, who are unschooled in the parlance of stashing ashes of the deceased, a columbarium is a niche for a funeral urn containing the remains of the cremated dead. The Citadel will make available 400 “niches” for those wanting to give a whole new meaning to the term “Student Body.”

No purchase price has been announced but the new ashes-to-ashes depository will be dedicated in November at the school’s appropriately named, “Homecoming.” In making the announcement last week, The Citadel joins numerous other colleges and universities that also offer an opportunity for a final “Homecoming.”

Once upon a time in the South, when a person died, the remains were taken to the funeral parlor for “preparation” and then returned home to rest in state in the (ironically termed) “living room” where family members mourned for a day or two. The departed was then taken to the church and burial was likely in the cemetery next to the church – “just as God intended,” my grandmother would declare. A few private family cemeteries were maintained.

The only time you ever heard of someone being cremated was when an illegal liquor still inadvertently blew up or when a fireworks factory exploded.

But now, colleges and universities have found a new money source from the dead and their families by providing final resting places for the departed loved ones on the campus of their Alma Mater. Wonder how long it will take for the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) to sue to offer the same opportunity to non-graduates based on “equal protection under the law?” Do corpses have civil rights?

At more and more institutions, alumni can find their eternal resting places in the same environment where they first experienced keg parties, panty raids and other fraternity/sorority frivolities. And the college walks away with a few bucks to help run the store.

Some of these final resting places take the form of cemeteries but more and more pre-dead alumni are opting for “Memorial Gardens” where the deceased’s ashes can be stored. It seems that laws governing burials are not as stringent for ashes as for whole bodies.

This kind of homecoming is not exactly what I had in mind when I left college. If it catches on, we can surely become “Alumni Forever” just as those Alma Mater songs exalt.

Official at colleges say it’s a trend driven by baby boomers, who are seeking a greater sense of meaning and connection in their lives. The director of alumni relations at one college, explains, “People today are moving around the country all the time. They may have no sense of home, but they have fond memories of college and a sense of belonging there.”

“Homecoming Eternal” is even being practiced clandestinely. Duke University officials report that small mounds of ashes have mysteriously appeared in formal gardens on campus during the dark of night. The Blue Devil made ‘em do it, I suppose.

If you are contemplating a final resting place at your old school, it’s going to cost you, of course. University of Virginia, alumni can purchase a $1,400 vault in the campus columbarium. It can run into the thousands at some universities.

Now that the practice has caught on in South Carolina you can rest assured, if there is a buck to be made, other schools will follow suit.

Can’t you just imagine “homecoming” at Clemson as they get into the alumni planting business. They already have a prime appropriately named burial spot. They call it “Death Valley”.

Who knows? A brand new rivalry may develop with the University of South Carolina Gamecocks to see which school can plant the most alumni in the stadium end-zone at half time.

I can’t wait for the premier edition of “US News & World Report” designating the “Best Colleges to be Buried at.” Or “The 10 Best Colleges to be Caught Dead in.” Opportunities for advancement of the new custom are limitless. Just imaging college advertisements hawking: “We not only want to be your first college choice – we want to be your last one, too”.

And how about those Clemson jerseys emblazoned with, “Grandpa was buried at Death Valley and all I got was this lousy Tiger T-Shirt.”

The promotional possibilities are unlimited.

Growing old presents its own unique set of problems, but none more troublesome than forgetfulness. It is quite bothersome when one starts up a set of stairs and comes to a landing, suddenly not remembering whether you were going up or coming down. It’s equally disconcerting pondering if that doctor’s appointment was on the 11thh at 4 o’clock or the 4th at 11 o’clock.

They tell us that as we age we sometimes forget to drink liquids. I wish this was true for eating as well because I have noticed no difference in my food intake and my weight has tended to increase with each year of longevity.

I often do forget to drink enough water. With advancing age, we tend to lose our reflex notion of thirst. I have found this to be the case and I try to drink water every time I can think of it. But, there’s that old bugaboo of failing memory again. I forget that I forgot.

Anyway, I read that a large glass of water in the morning can restore about two or three points to your IQ. They say that dehydration, which is likely to be present upon arising in the morning; can actually cause your intelligence to suffer. Eureka! I thought I was just getting stupider. Not just thirsty.

This was quite a revelation to me and I attacked the newly-discovered, water-drinking practice with gusto. I started drinking a 10-12 ounce glass of water each morning upon rising. At least, on the mornings that I could remember to do so. That old memory problem again.

Sure enough! I found that in just a few minutes after a large glass of water, I felt smarter and could reason better.

I need all of the help that I can get when it comes to raising my intelligence quotient. (Just ask some of my readers). So, I reasoned that if one glass of water could raise my IQ by two or three points then two glasses would elevate it by four to six points; three glasses by six to nine digits and so on.

So, I gave it a try and was finally up to about five glass of water at a sitting. Man, was I beginning to feel smart. In fact, I got so intelligent that I was finally able to reason that I had an important decision to make:

I could continue to become smarter and smarter with my elevated water-induced IQ or I could spend the rest of each day in the bathroom. What’s the use of a genius IQ if you can’t leave the toilet?

I opted to drop back to one glass of water upon arising in the morning. Perhaps just a two or three point advantage in my IQ would be enough to get me through old age.

I don’t know why the “more is better” concept didn’t work in this case. But then I remembered my late father-in-law and his lawn fertilizer experience.

That dear old man truly loved his yard and he worked diligently to have one of the finest looking yards in town.

I’ll never forget the time he found a new lawn fertilizer with elevated nitrogen content. He gave it a try. He was one to try out anything new that came along in television advertising, be it nasal sprays, make-your-life-easier gadgets or lawn fertilizer.

Sure enough, the fertilizer turned his lawn grass green as the lush hills of Ireland. He reasoned if a little fertilizer could bring about such a dramatic improvement, then two bags would be twice as good. Perhaps three or four bags even better.

Poor soul, he succumbed to the more-is-better philosophy and killed his entire beautiful lawn before Memorial Day.

So, I suppose more is not always better when it comes to glasses of water or fertilizer. But, I can offer an example of what will work. I’m an eternal optimist and my life-long companion, Barbara, sometimes leans toward the pessimistic side of life. Her glass is often half empty while mine is always half full. We have lived our years together with both halves combining to create a life that has always been full to overflowing. Not too much, not too little but JUST Right.

In fact, we will have been together for fifty-two years next July.

It has worked out so well that if we make it to July, we plan to be married! Just kidding. Our glasses were joined in Holy Matrimony almost fifty-two years ago and I wouldn’t change a thing.

Well, perhaps there has been a thing or two that I would have changed but I forget what they are.

Maybe a glass or two of water will help me remember.

All indications are my Mother, age 92, is experiencing her final days on this earth. By the time you read this, she may be gone.

We knew the day was not too far distant three years ago when she moved to a nearby nursing facility. But, I was just thankful that for the first time in many, many years we were once again in the same town. Sadly, this seems to be coming to an end. But only God knows. She is a resilient woman and has survived cancer, a mastectomy and a broken hip in the last five years.

There’s nothing I can do. The professionals are doing everything they can to give her loving care and to make her as comfortable as possible. All I can do now is just go by daily and hold her hand. The time comes to us all, if we live long enough, when there is little left in this life. But in my Mother’s case, it’s not the end. There is a more joyous life at the end of this earthly tunnel. She has always believed this — and so do I.

In the meantime, I am unable to converse with her beyond a gentle greeting on my part and a slight recognition or an occasional smile from her. Her words are all used up, but, I can, upon occasion, garner a slight sense of recognition. Two-way conversation is a thing of the past.

Today, I found another means of communication. The door to her room was closed and I impulsively broke into song. Not just any song but her favorite old-time hymns.

Those who have ever sat beside me in church know full well that I cannot sing. I often feel the need to apologize to those around me when I try. But, today, I just felt it was the proper thing to do.

I was not wrong.

For a half-hour, as I fumbled through almost every hymn I knew by heart, her spirits rose and for a short while we were communicating. A broad smile crept across her face during the first notes of “Lilly of the Valley,” and broke even wider as we segued into other hymns from her childhood and mine. Her hand, help closely in mine, grasped tighter each time I came to one of her most favorites. The old hymns were speaking to her subconscious soul.

By the time the medical personnel came in, I thought Mom was about to join with me. A false hope, I’m sure, but nevertheless, it was a glorious time for us both. Now that I have found this method of communion, I will hold her hand and sing every day just as long as life prevails. Although her voice was not added to my meager offering of song, her soul sang right along beside me. It was marvelous.

As I sang, my mind wandered into the distant past as I recalled my Mom singing these same hymns to my youthful soul. Our roles, as often happens if we live long enough, have reversed.

Mother was always able to conjure a smile even in the face of despair. And prayer was the answer to all the trials of life. She came by it honestly. Her father was a deeply religious man and Baptist to the core. Although seminary trained before his health prevented further study, he was never a preacher but he “preached” daily by his example to his family and those around him. I was one who benefited from living near him early in my life. Mom has sustained his spiritual devotion through the years. Hopefully, I enjoy some benefit as well.

Another thought came to me today as I witnessed the joy in Mom’s eyes. I was reminded that every time I go into a church today, I see a sea of gray heads – other older folks harvesting the last years of life. I understand that churches want to seek younger members into the fold, but in the process, we should not miss the opportunity to speak to the souls of older members. In my view, no church service is complete without the inclusion of at least one or two of the old hymns: Old Rugged Cross, Amazing Grace, What a Friend, Living for Jesus, Rock of Ages, Bringing in the Sheaves and others of that genre. An occasional old-time gospel song wouldn’t hurt either.

The sermon tops off a perfect service where aged and youthful souls are both nourished.

I don’t fully fathom the spiritual side of death and dying but I do know one thing for certain:

“When the Roll is Called up Yonder,” — Mom, you’ll be there!

Hallelujah!

John Brock lives in Georgetown County and is a retired college professor/administrator and newspaper editor/publisher. He can be reached by mail at this newspaper or via Email: brock@johnbrock.com. His website is: www.SouthernObserver.com.