Featured Column

Take heart! Warmer weather is on the way and it won’t be long before Old Sol will break forth in all nature’s glory. And, in a few months, we will hear complaints about how hot it is rather than the current grumbling about cold weather.

Summertime comes with a little different essence than it once did. Before it was decided that sunshine caused cancer and other maladies, the custom was, at least among white people, to garner a tan whenever springtime broke across the land.

Millions would spread their pale bodies out in the sun in an attempt to bake their skin to as golden a tan as heredity would allow. But misery soon followed for those of us with fairer skin as dusk inflicted sunburn pain upon our blistered surfaces. Ouch! I can still feel the epidermal lava pouring across my back, shoulders and legs. It was painful but after the customary peeling of dead skin, we were right back into a practice we called “sun-bathing.”

I have no idea how the idea originated that tanned skin made one more attractive but it still remains fashionable among an uninformed few to bake one’s skin. When it was determined that ultraviolet and other rays of sunshine caused severe problems, in some perverted sense of reasoning, many folks decided that instead of sprawling in the sun, they would crawl into a shiny cocoon called a tanning bed to be bathed with the very same harmful rays. Go figure.

I truly believe that the invention of sunscreen is one the modern science’s finest hours. How it works, I have no idea but a thin coating of liquid can prevent the misery that fair-skinned folks long endured. It’s a miracle!

No visit to the dermatologist today is complete without the admonition that the failure to go outside without sunscreen will come back to haunt, maybe even kill, you in years to come. But still folks insist on “getting a tan.”

For young redheads like me, sun was anathema. We burned, peeled and burned again throughout the summer. Of course, we had sun tan lotion, which was nothing more that a little grease mixed with the latest concoctions of scents and coloring. Baby oil was promoted as a purveyor of a golden tan. The makers would add a little coconut oil or exotic ingredient and proclaim a giant step forward in sun-tanning science. None of it worked that I could ever tell. Adding a little iodine was supposed to promote tanning but all it ever did was dye the skin to an iodine hue.

The most miserable I have ever been with sunburn occurred the second year after my wife and I got married. We decided to take our first vacation. Daytona Beach seemed like a good destination; so, we left after work one July night and drove down. The first day we decided to spend on the beach. I fished, but with a T-shirt on. By nightfall, we were both miserable. Motels were not air-conditioned back then and we spent a torturous night or two above the sheets, which had been lightly covered with sand blown in by ocean breezes through open windows. I was blistered even through my shirt. You could actually see where the neckband had partially protected my neck and read the “Hanes” label tattooed on my skin.

As a teenager, I worked at Ocean Drive Beach one summer and another as a counselor for a boy’s camp in upper South Carolina. I stayed fried both summers. But I enjoyed walking down the beach while viewing the young ladies who had determined to get a suntan on every available inch of her body allowed by law. Some were more adventurous than other in this all-over technique. The guys enjoyed it. But in engaging in our fantasies meant we had to be out in the sunshine along with the bathing beauties, so, redheads like me couldn’t even enjoy this simple pleasure without suffering the pangs of sunburn.

Sometime in the late 1950s or early 60s, someone came up with the brilliant idea of a lotion that became know as ‘Quick-tan”. It worked to a degree in that it caused the skin, upon contact with the sun, to form an odd-colored haze on the epidermis. In some cases it turned the skin a deep orange instead of tan.

I was on the beach when my sister introduced me to this newly minted miracle. I rubbed the lotion over my body but found that it had left a heavy, greasy residue on my hands. I had to get it off because I didn’t really want tanned palms. So, what did I do? I rubbed my hands through my long auburn hair. Big mistake.

When I went inside to view my new tan in the mirror, I discovered that the lotion that had come off when I rubbed my hands through my hair had turned my hair a brilliant orange! I had to explain my hideous new hair color for months before the putrid color finally grew out.

I never tried any more sun-tanning products until the miraculous sunscreen appeared on the market.

Today, I just wear long sleeves and a broad brimmed hat and stay out of direct sunlight as much as possible. My dermatologist is thrilled.

Merciful heavens! A reader felt compelled last week to accuse me of having a biased point of view. What? Me? Biased? I had really big news for her: Of course I write with a bias. That’s what editorial commentary is all about. Why else would the editorial pages be referred to as “opinion” pages?

Bias can be defined with various connotations but generally it is defined: “…inclination or prejudice in favor of a particular person, thing, or viewpoint.” Whether we are willing to admit it or not, we all have our biases. A proclivity toward a bias is inborn. It’s part of our DNA. We are just naturally inclined toward or against individual ideas, people, places or things.

Editorial commentary is simply one person’s opinion and opinions cannot be presented without the prejudices of the writer showing through. Unlike news reporting, editorial writers make no attempt at hiding their personal opinions. Likewise, letters-to-the-editor always illustrate the bias of those writers as well and is why they appear on the “editorial” spread.

News columns, on the other hand, are generally thought of as straight reporting of actual facts without the opinions of the writer showing through. But is this possible? Individual bias is part of our genes. We are all biased – toward family, friends, environment, favorite flavor of ice cream, various ideas, etc. It’s part of being human and anyone claiming no bias, whatsoever, might not be espousing the complete truth. All humans are biased about something (if not most everything) in life.

Most news reporters lay claim to being unbiased in their reporting and most make an honest effort to be completely so in their reporting of the news. But these folks are human and, therefore, not immune to bias. Many times the bias of some reporters is flagrant and shows prominently in their reporting. Like every other human soul, all journalists have opinions based on their personal experiences and individual philosophies.

Most reporters make a sincere attempt to avoid even the hint of personal opinion in their writing. But if you observe the work of reporters, you will eventually have little difficulty in ascertaining the biases of the author. Likewise, most news editors may try their best to be unbiased in their presentation of news pages but after a while their tendencies toward one general view or another can show through as you note their selection of news stories and their positioning in the paper.

Journalism across America today has a dramatic inclination that falls heavily on the liberal side. In fact, more than 80 percent of news personnel across the land admit to being liberal (sometimes extremely so) in their views. That is their absolute right.

Newspapers are not public institutions. They are business ventures without restraint (within legal bounds, of course) on their right to express whatever role they so choose. Although most newspapers are avid in their claim that they are totally unbiased, there is no constitutional dictate that says newspapers must be unbiased. Throughout the history of journalism in America, some newspapers have even professed bias in their mastheads: “New England Democrat,” “Kansas Republican,” “Christian Science Monitor,” ”Catholic News,” “Daily Communist,” etc. In a past era when most cities and a sizable number of towns had two newspapers (or more), one often represented a liberal leaning while the other boasted of their conservative view. That’s the American Way.

Newspapers are private enterprises and are free to openly offer whatever philosophical persona the owners choose. We have no cause to question this fact. But, as astute business people, publishers are deeply conscious of the mood of the community. Most will only go so far in crossing that boundary. It’s just good business sense.

Unlike print media, radio and television media have traditionally abided by a once mandated responsibility to remain neutral on matters of religion, morality, politics, etc. They are private enterprises just like newspapers and other print publications but the difference is that the public airways are just that – owned by the public and in exchange for the right to claim use of a radio or television frequencies, broadcast stations traditionally do not represent solely one segment of the population. But much of that has changed in recent years with the advent of talk radio. Cable channels have never been obligated to the same restrictions and many electronic outlets are quite often flagrant in their espousal of individual points of view on both sides of issues.

So, the press – just like speech – is protected by the Constitution in the Bill of Rights. And that protected speech and press bestows the right to express your biases as individuals or via various media.

So, yes I am biased in most of my views. I am, among other things, Southern born, a Baptist and a political conservative which will continue to peek through in my musings. But, I will continue to try to remain as fair as my biases allow and that’s about the best I can offer.

If editorial opinions offend, you can always turn the page. Or, express you own brand of bias in a letter to the editor, fax, or Email. Many of you do.

The United States has not tasted total military victory since World War II. It makes sense to try to determine why this is true. I know that I am going to get in deep trouble with this but some folks refer to our recent failures in wartime as the “feminization of society – can’t we just talk it out?”

Men in general are aggressively warlike and women as a group are more gentle and nurturing. It’s a biological fact. We owe our survival as a human race to that difference. We can make all kinds of suppositions but we cannot escape the fundamental fact that the genders are wired differently. Men are from Mars; women are from Venus, as they say. There is a different approach to life as viewed from the male point of view compared with the female outlook. The differences are embedded deeply in our DNA and there is little we can do about it. Men have always fought the wars, hunted, etc. and; women, thank goodness, have always been the glue that holds civil society together by their inherent nurturing genes. I am certain that some feminists will label me chauvinistic but we should be thankful for the differences. I don’t know why some women appear to be ashamed of femininity.

My theory holds that our modern American culture, because of the merging of the gender roles, cannot stomach the horrors of war and, therefore, we have come to expect a “humane” or “controlled” war. There is no such thing. Both a Union and a Confederate general had it about right when Northern Gen. Tecumseh Sherman said, “War is hell.” And went about proving it by laying waste to every square inch of Southern soil and soul he could place his invading feet upon. The Confederate general Nathan Bedford Forrest opined in the Southern vernacular that the army that always won was the one that got there “the furstest with mostest.”

We have not heeded either in recent wars and things have often ended in a stalemate (Korea) or actual eventual defeat (Vietnam) as soon as we pulled out. Are we about to do even worse in the Persian Gulf wars? A large segment of the US public has spoken of withdrawal for years and many folks started calling for withdrawal a moment or two after the military action got underway. Wars don’t have deadlines. We could win with honor if our fighting forces were allowed to take off the kid gloves and wage a war reminiscent of the distant past. It is unfair to our fighting forces to place them in harm’s way and not give them complete support and encouragement to protect themselves – whatever it takes.

Last year my associates and I interviewed and videotaped about 70 World War II veterans. Without exception, they seemed to agree that if you are going to fight a war – fight to win! Our recent wars have been controlled actions by not allowing our fighting forces to make on-the-spot decisions regarding attack and kill. In Vietnam, it is reported that some units were told how many rounds of ammunition they could fire in a day.

I think the sissyfication of war began in Vietnam because it was the first televised war. Folks at home turned on the evening news and were eyewitnesses to the horrors of war. It was then that the public began to push for a “humane” war. Our brave troops are now forced to get permission from higher up command before taking out an enemy. Many have found themselves before courts-martial because they have acted in self-preservation during a hostile moment.

Put yourself in the position of a US soldier being fired on from a building in the heat of battle. You rush in and there are a dozen people in the room but you must stop and calculate which ones might shoot you before you decide which ones to take out. It’s impossible to make these sorts of calculations and stay alive. So, you protect yourself and your cohorts. Sometimes civilians get killed. That’s just the nature of war. Remember? War is Hell!

US military forces have always been conscious of protecting the civilian population but it simply cannot always be done and expect our forces to come out alive. But let one civilian fall victim and a large segment of the public is ready to hang our patriots.

It was not this way in earlier wars. You know — the ones we actually won. There will always be collateral damage and sometimes it’s planned that way. Take the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki for instance. We knew that tens of thousands of civilians would die when we dropped the nuclear bombs but we elected to do it anyway because, by so doing, the war was shortened and hundreds of thousands of lives were undoubtedly saved — including both American and Japanese.

And don’t forget the massive bombing of Germany during WWII. We made every attempt to target military sites but perfection is impossible in war and tens of thousands of civilians died.
Americans don’t like war and we find it hard to stomach but if we are going to win, we must do whatever is necessary to bring the effort to a successful conclusion.

War is, indeed, hell and there is little we can do to change that fact short of giving up to the madmen of the ages and living in subjugation.

Some of you will term me a “warmonger” or perhaps a little bloodthirsty when, in fact, I wish we never had to send another soldier into battle. Although I was never in combat, I was rigorously trained as a combat infantry rifleman in the Korean War Era and we were taught without exception to shoot first and ask questions later.

Absolute peace will not come to pass in this world as long as the sinful nature of mankind prevails. No, we cannot just “talk it out” when we are dealing with insane folks who are incapable of compassion. Sometime armed conflict is the only answer.

All of history provides ample proof of this fact.

The beast of national debt has grown too large for America to lift. But, we keep feeding the monster!

In the early days of network television, there was a show that decided to test an old notion that if you lifted a young calf every day, then, little by little, you would develop the strength to lift a fully grown cow.

The TV producers invited a robust young farm lad to bring his small calf to the studio every week and lift it in order to test the concept. The farm boy came on week after week and was able to heist the animal until one day, when the cow reached a nearly mature size, the poor lad was no longer able to lift the almost fully grown cow, thereby, proving there are universal limits to our abilities.

Politicians have never learned this lesson. Democrats, Republicans and Independents have fed the federal financial calf until the animal has grown into a raging bull that we can no longer lift. The solution proposed by the current administration is to stimulate economic growth by piling on even more debt in a futile attempt to stimulate our ability to somehow lift the fully grown economic burden. It ain’t gonna’ happen. The task of trying to lift this monstrous beast of debt will fall to our children and grandchildren who won’t be able to lift it either – leading to the eventual downfall of the American Dream.

If we don’t stop feeding the economic monster NOW, we will never recover. It may already be too late.

Unfortunately the free enterprise amateurs we have in charge of the present administration don’t understand this basic concept. The entire cadre of the White House and Congress is made up mostly of people who have never experienced the real world of economics. Oh, some of them are good in theory but, as we all know, theory never trumps reality. The majority are professional politicians and political hacks who have made their living feeding from the public trough. Their solution is to simply raise taxes (especially on that segment of Americans who really do create jobs) to provide additional revenue for supporting their expanding agendas. Feed the calf!

Too few of them have never had to meet a payroll; deal with real-world economic concepts; face business competitors; create a private sector job; pay for their own health care; run a real business and deal with the realities of life. Some of their actions often cause me to suspect that their spouses don’t even allow them to handle family finances.

Folks of this ilk decided decades ago that the secret to reelection was to create, among voters, the illusion of a government endowed “heaven-on-earth.” So-called social programs fell into line — one right behind the other. In their grand view, no one should have to work very hard for basic subsistence. The government should create a net underneath those who fail to take full charge of their own basic needs. The net grew larger and larger to the point that it is now possible for generations of families, who have become so dependent on government support, that they no longer have reason or ability to climb out of the cycle. And, they vote accordingly.

Before knee-jerk liberals term me “hard-hearted,” let me once again point out that I have always supported those among us, who simply cannot for reasons of health or economic distress, provide for themselves. But I have little sympathy for others who simply refuse to meet their human obligations.

To add even more weight to the economic beast, this same coagulation of “do-good” Americans and their politicians decided, along the way, that we must also bring prosperity to the whole world – using the taxes gleaned from Americans who do work hard and achieve varying degrees of financial success. Foreign Aid was invented after WWII. We have sent hundreds of billions of tax dollars from hard-working Americans to former enemies, present enemies and dubious friends that have oft times wound up in the hands of crooked politicians around the world. Southerners would have enjoyed some degree of this benevolence after the Civil War but none was forthcoming. Instead we are among the Americans today providing our tax dollars to benefit unappreciative foreigners.

And now, unbelievably, many Americans and their like-minded politicians have decided that we owe this same heaven-on-earth existence to everyone who enters our borders illegally. This administration believes it so strongly that it is willing to drag into court any state that tries to meet the problem head-on because the federal government has not met its constitutional obligation to secure our borders. The federal court has issued a stay on the meaningful provisions of the Arizona law, thereby, thwarting one state’s effort to correct the federal government’s failure to uphold the law. So, it’s time for the Obama gang to put their efforts where their mouths are and start enforcing the federal laws already on the books. And, secure our borders!

Meanwhile, the massive feeding of the federal financial cow goes on and on.

If we don’t stop it soon (November, 2010 and 2012?) we will go completely over the cliff of no return.

That’s if we haven’t already done so!

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-three 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-three 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.

When it comes to saying a few words, Southerners are not very good at it. We find it difficult to limit our comments to several utterances. You say, “Good Morning” and we don’t seem to be able to say simply, “Yes, isn’t it.”

More times than not, we will add additional comments such as, “But not as good as the morning I got out of the hospital, which reminds me. Did I tell you about my gallbladder operation…, well, it was about two months ago… blah, blah, blah……etc. We are not adept at letting the conversation die down. We feel compelled to keep it going. Have you noticed? Southerners always seem to say “Blah, blah, blah” when “Blah” would do. In case you haven’t paid attention (a few letter-writers have), I am no exception.

In a word, you could say we Southerners are “verbose.”

Now this doesn’t always apply when we are speaking to strangers – especially anyone whose dialect does not match ours. We are not always comfortable in our conversation with folks we don’t know until we find out who this person is, where he/she is from and more than likely where they go to church.

Because of our tendency to speak on and on, we have, through the ages, been story-tellers. In fact, American literature was dominated during the first century of American history by Southern writers. They still hold their own with writers from other areas. Before radio and television, we entertained ourselves with sitting around the fire or on the front porch telling stories. Most Folks, it seems, from “up there” apparently were too busy complaining about the bread (or something else) to form a story-telling habit.

Southerners, perhaps because they couldn’t afford to do anything else, relished the telling of stories. We can be long-winded but not as bad as those Russian writers. Just take a look at their long, long novels. I once owned a Russian novel, “Quietly Flows the Don” that was six volumes long. It covered almost a foot of my bookshelves.

Southern novels were much shorter. I suppose those long winters on the frozen tundra of the Russian steppes offered nothing else but boredom — overtaken by long-windedness. Our Southern winters were mild; therefore, our novels are shorter.

Times, though, they are a’changing. Brevity can sometimes be less than forthcoming. We are bombarded hourly with television sound-bites and newspaper headlines that don’t usually tell the whole story. Many folks don’t look or read past headlines and/or sound-bites; therefore, they often get a distortion of the true picture.

TV stations can take a whole day’s political activity and reduce it into six words. I wonder what they would have done with the Abe Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address if it had been delivered yesterday. Would sound bits/headlines have been condensed into something like this?

Lincoln’s words, “…whether that nation or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure” would be reported: “Lincoln doubts future of America.” And, “…government of the people, by the people, for the people….” would likely be: “President promotes anarchy.” You get the idea.

Ernest Hemingway was once asked to tell a story in six words or less. His composition was sheer genius:

“For sale: baby shoes, never used.”

Wow! I wish I could write like that.

And excessively wordy graduation speeches are most times remembered about as long as it takes the procession to leave the auditorium but I doubt that anyone who heard Sir Winston Churchill’s famous baccalaureate ever forgot it. His address was the epitome of brevity:

“Never give up!”

On another occasion following several long-winded speakers, Churchill was called upon to give his “address;” whereupon he rose, paused a second or two and said, ”My address is 10 Downing Street and that’s where I am now going right now!.” He walked off the stage.

William Shakespeare understood the value of brevity when he put these words into the mouth of Hamlet: “…brevity is the soul of wit….”

Brevity is preferable in most cases and Thomas Jefferson (not always known for succinctness) probably had it about right when he said: “The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do.”

I’ll take his advice, at least for now, by saying my two words:

“Bye, bye.”

(This was written a few days before my Mom died last year)

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!

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.

OK. Here we go again. If you are going to live in the Southland you must learn how we count kin.

Wilbur J. Cash in his book “Mind of the South” said that everyone who lives in the South is kin to everyone else within a thirty-mile radius. What he said was nearer to the truth in 1939 when he wrote his book, but that was before WWII, Interstate Highways and northerners’ reluctance to shovel snow six months out of the year shuffled America’s population. And, before “Moving South” became a national obsession. But, it still remains somewhat true – at least for those of us who have been in the region for all of our lives.

So, here’s how you count kin:

We all know about brothers, sisters, grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles but when it comes to cousins, it gets a little more complicated so, here’s the format.

Children of siblings (brothers and/or sisters) are first cousins.

Children of the siblings’’ children are second cousins.

The relationship of a first cousin to one of these second cousins is a first cousin – once removed.

The kinship of the first cousin to the second cousin’s child is first cousin – twice removed.

Two second cousins’ children are third cousins. And so on with the “removeds.”

Thusly, your grandfather’s first cousin is your first cousin twice removed. It really gets complicated when you get down the line to second cousins – thrice removed. But you’ll eventually figure it out.

One more reminder: we don’t pronounce the word “cousin” like folks from other parts of the country. To us, the word is “cud’n” as in “Cud’n George” and we always insist on adding the prefix, “Cud’n,” before the first name. I was speaking with a friend the other night about the subject and he said that he was grown before he understood that his Cousin Lucy’s proper given name was not “CudenLucy.”

We could just solve the whole problem by adopting the practice of the venerable Charlestonian, former state Senator and Member of the US House of Representatives, Arthur Ravenel, Jr. who calls everyone, “Cousin” or “Cud’n” — as the case may be.

I penetrated the fascinating world of “Blue Tooth” technology recently with the purchase of a little instrument that sticks in your ear and allows “hands-free” use of a cell phone.

I waited until the marvelous little gimmick became available for 10 bucks – after the obligatory “mail-in” rebate, of course – a practice that I always find hard to follow through on. Manufacturers count on folks like me to provide a profitable “breakage” as the MBA types term it.

I was first introduced to the Blue Tooth idea several years ago by a son who announced that he had just acquired a “Blue Tooth.” My heart sank because I assumed a blue tooth was some sort of dental malady. My thoughts quickly reverted to the fourth grade when my little classmate, Sammy, showed up one morning with an actual blue tooth.

His big brother had shot him in the mouth with a BB air rifle during a make-believe war-game. His “battlefield” injury had left little Sammy with a dead tooth that had turned a ghostly pale, bluish white. Sammy acquired an appropriate nickname and was ever afterwards known simply as, “Blue Tooth.”

My son quickly allayed my fears that he had somehow attained a real blue tooth by explaining that the term in modern parlance referred to the technology that allows users of cell phones a hands-free telephone experience. I was told the technology had other adaptations but I left well enough alone because I have great difficulty understanding technology beyond small doses. (I wonder if the plural of “blue tooth” is “blue teeth” or “blue tooths.”)

For the uninitiated, let me offer a brief explanation of how blue tooth technology works. The short answer is, “I don’t have the foggiest idea.” But, the extended answer is that all I know about it is that you can talk on a cell phone via an instrument that sticks in your ear without a wire of some sort connecting the two instruments. The expression, “Stick it in your ear” now has a completely new dimension. That’s exactly what you do. You stick this thing in your ear and you can talk and hear via your cell phone even though the phone remains in your pocket — unopened.

When I first learned of this marvelous technology a year of more ago, previous mysteries began to clarify. For instance, I now know that those folks tooling down the highway are not really talking to themselves. Once, my wife came in from the Piggly Wiggly and announced that she had seen and heard a woman talking to the green beans. It now became clear that she was speaking through her “blue tooth” to someone on the other end of a cell phone conversation.

And, it also cleared up another mystery I experienced once at a rest stop along Interstate 95. I had gone into the men’s side of the “comfort” station and was utilizing the utility hanging on the wall for its intended purpose when the guy next to me started what I thought was a conversation directed at me.

I felt a bit uncomfortable speaking with him under the circumstance, but I answered his seemingly senseless questions. Somehow, his subsequent questions never seemed to match the answers I had given.

I was a little uncomfortable but the guy didn’t look like a US senator, so I continued to uphold my end of the conversation. It was only as the turned to wash his hands that the mystery cleared up. I noticed this little instrument in his ear. I was somewhat embarrassed – especially when he gave me that disgusted look as he walked away. Do you suppose that he thought I was a US Senator?

I figured at the time that he had a really big hearing aid. I had not yet been enlightened regarding the Blue-Tooth” miracle.

Subsequently, I have learned that there are many other modern technologies that I have no comprehension of. My lack of technological understanding can be blamed on my pre-space-age education. I am handicapped in today’s advanced world because my science classes revolved around hooking a dry-cell battery to a little homemade motor. We marveled at the “flow” of electricity as we turned the “juice” on and off with a little switch. This brand of technological knowledge doesn’t even get you into Kindergarten in today’s post moon-walk environment.

My grandson knew more technology after the first grade than I knew after six years or more of college. In fact, I have to count heavily on my three sons and grandson to keep my household electronics in working order. Since they all live distantly, I worry that they might not enjoy visits with my wife and me because I always have some technology problem for them to solve when they come. Oh well, perhaps they owe me. After all, how can you possibly equate hooking up a television cable box with changing a diaper? I figure they still owe me — big time? I’m not certain that they (or anybody else, for that matter) agree with my comparative point of view. But I surely changed a lot of diapers. Even that task isn’t what it used to be with disposable diapers and such.

After unwrapping my “mail-in rebate” purchase containing my very own personal Blue Tooth instrument, I learned that it had to be “recognized” by my particular brand of cell phone. Once again, I did not posses the foggiest notion as to how this was to be accomplished.

Thank the Lord, again, for tech savvy sons and grandson. I can now walk around with my cell phone in my pocket and my Blue Tooth in my ear.

If you come upon me and I am seemingly speaking to open space, just remember, I ain’t talking to you.

I’m Blue-Toothing!