POOH AND HIS THINKING SPOT

Everybody needs one. I like hers in the photo. Though it might be just a little hard to sit there for long. Once in a Caribbean island, I think it was Virgo Gorda I sat, and later lay on a huge rock for about 30 minutes because it was more comfortable than the lumpy sand. But what a beautiful setting.

I don't know that I did much thinking. I'm like that. I can decompress by emptying my limited mind. Usually the denouement is a nap. But I awaken refreshed and ready to tackle the world again as we know it.

As far as a place to go to think, I guess I don't have one. Church might be close. But I just emote there mostly. I don't mean that in a bad way. I just am comfortable, peaceful there. Most times I think of God's majesty and rest on His promises. I've always felt good in church, even when there's no music or sermon. Well, sometimes sermons and music have been too long for me. And meetings are still meetings even if they are held at church. But with those few exceptions, it's always a think kinda place for me.

Maybe that's what Pooh did, too. Not at church. I don't know that any of Milne's characters ever went to church. But thinking places--maybe that's their purpose. To empty, to brush away cobwebs, to think not deep thoughts or solutions, but to get re-energized by deletion.

WE NEED A BEACH

Especially this time of year. When the weather is 70 degrees and bright and sunny.

Or when just a week ago, it was cloudy, a little windy and 50 degree temps. A beach would have been appreciated then. A sweatshirt and some tennies kind of week.

Or in the hot, hot Summer in the Valley of the Sun. What's better than a dip, a dive, a float?

As long as it's dry sand, as long as I don't need a ladder to climb out of, as long as the ball is not under a lip, or on a really unlevel lie, sand traps on the golf course don't bother me too much. I know; I complain when I'm in very many, but sometimes they help save me from a more troublesome next shot.

Upon closer inspection though, I think my heart held sand may not be sand but cat litter. The texture, color and grain all point to that. So I'll have to make alterations in this entry.

Especially this time of year, a litter box is nice. Especially if you have a cat. Which reminds me, we have two bobcats in our neighborhood. We've only seen one and heard them one night, but nearly every other neighbor has seen them. Beautiful animals. I hope they mate, but then they might just become a little protective and not as docile. I wonder if they would like a big outside litter box?

NAPOLEON IS ALWAYS RIGHT

That line was spoken by the horse Boxer in Animal Farm. Boxer blindly followed a bad leader in the revolution against Mr. Jones in the Orwell satire.

So whom does your shadow cast a bigger than life image of you? Who follows you no matter what? Who is unwaveringly loyal to you?

If you have even one person in your life that not only loves you unconditionally, but is a devote sycophant to you, just think of the abuse you could inflict. Now, why would you want to harm such a confidant, such a fan, such a follower? Most wouldn't. But when we set up others as idols, then we are sure to be disappointed. To be let down. Hopefully, not to the extent of Boxer who ultimately was sent to the glue factory in the novel rather than put out to pasture as promised.

One of the basic laws of physics, and trust me, I don't know too many, is for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. It applies in this case, too. The higher you lift one up, the harder the fall.

If you see them as doing no wrong, then you aren't seeing very well at all.

YOU GOTTA LOVE AMERICAN INGENUITY

And the PC folks took exception to the phrase American exceptionalism. To hell with them. I've wanted to say that for a long time. I feel better now.

So what I'm marveling about is the picture to the right--an action shot of a dog enjoying a product simply called The Michael Vick chew toy. Now, that's clever.

I know it was only a few days ago I blogged about his paying for his crime. I haven't changed my mind. But I think even he might see a little come uppance in the dog toy. That is if he has truly repented.

He might not find much humor in it, but I do. But then again, I often root for the underdog.

I say go for it, pup. Shred him. Enjoy the bite. Maybe you'll get a second chance, too.

YET TOO OFTEN I DO

Act my age, that is.

First, I'm an early riser. Most old folks are. Not all. Not those that party hearty into the night. But that hasn't been me since college.

I'm also an early go-to-bed-er. If I see 10 o'clock, it's not a normal night for me. I can handle 10:30 if there's a good reason. I see no good reason to stay up until 11:00 PM. I'm kinda like that guy who didn't know there was an 11:00 PM. He was only familiar with the AM counterpart.

I'm also reluctant to change. FaceBook has a new profile that most have adopted by now. Not me. I liked the old one and saw no reason for change. So they're going to force it on me. Stores do that, too. Just when I know where everything in the grocery is located, they change the shelves and I leave there with only three-quarters of the stuff I wanted. Our tv, too. Something called Activ Digital has screwed up my tv which requires a bunch of re-boots now. I don't like boots or re-boots. See what I mean.

I like the old clothing styles, hair styles, music, The old time ballplayers and actors. Even that old time religion. We have three services at our church: one at 8:00 AM, one at 9:30, and one at 11:15 on Sunday mornings. You can guess which one we attend. Our music is more traditional, even a little organ the last two Sundays; the middle a blend of traditional and praise songs; and the late one modern Christian music.

So as I fight my getting older philosophically, in actuality, I think I'm there already. I don't even mind moving up a set of tees on the old tee box at the golf course.

SNOW ANGEL

Why have I never seen a sand angel? Or a grass angel? One thing is certain: I've never seen a better snow angel than the one pictured.

I made this one when we were in...wait a minute; you can't lie about an angel. I found it somewhere on-line and thought I might have a topic. I'm not sure I do.

I've written volumes about not liking cold and snow. On my Christian blog, One Way, I've written about angels. But I may be on to something.

You see, I've just received two red letter warnings, one in big letters and a red line across the top of my screen that said ERROR. Autosave did not work. Ok. But if God is sovereign in all things as I believe, then He gave Satan the domain of Earth and the air (Eph 2:2), then possibly he doesn't want me writing about angels.

I strongly believe that there are angels on earth. I've believed that for a long time. Why? Because we are told so in scripture. Lots of books have been written about angels. It is a fascinating subject. Check it out by looking at Daniel 6:22, Genesis 16:7 +, Exodus 14:19. If you still need more references, go to the back of most any bible for is concordance and it will guide you.

If you're too lazy to do any, then I'll try to summarize. Angels serve as God's messengers. Michael and Gabriel are the only ones whose names we're told. The most famous, of course, was the angel who told of the virgin birth. They are sent for guidance and protection, and they fight Satan and evil. And yes, Satan, himself a former angel, fallen or kicked out of Heaven, has his demonic angels but they don't have the power the good angels have.

So there you somewhat have it. And it all started with a photo. An angelic photo.

MY DOG

I was thinking today. That usually gets me in trouble. We have a neighbor dog named Emily Dickinson. Tom is her owner. But his last name is something other than Dickinson.

She's an old dog. I don't know if she ever knew any tricks. She has trouble walking now, but always comes over to me to be petted. She must know I really like Emily, the poet she's named after. I like her, though she does stink somewhat. Like most dogs.

If I had a dog, and this is where I was thinking, I might just call him Mike Vick. You see, Mike Vick quarterbacked the Eagles in their loss to Green Bay this afternoon. Before that he spent 18 months in Leavenworth for dog raising, training to fight, fighting, betting on which animal would win, and sometimes destroying the losing animal. Terrible stuff.

So why, other than bitter irony would I name my pooch after him? He's rehabilitated, he paid for his crime at a tough prison, and he still takes a lot of guff from others for his past. A hero? Not to me. Did I root for the Eagles? Nope. I'm not a big fan of the Packers. In fact, I guess I'm not much of a Green Bay fan. But I didn't want Vick to be well Vicktorious. (Sorry)

What I like is as far as I know, he owned up to what he did. He paid the price. You just don't see that very much in these days. And I haven't heard him squall or squawk about it.

Maybe it's muddied thinking on my part. But then, again, I'm not about to get a dog. But I will pet Emily when I see her and all the neighborhood dogs. Except one who tried to bite me and on another occasion tried to bite my wife. He gets no props from us. Except I hope the two neighborhood bobcats don't find the nippy dog. Even though I really like them, too.

So, maybe I need to re-think the Michael Vick thing. How about Fido? I never knew a Fido though I think in Greek or Latin it means faithful. Yeah, that might work: Fido Vick.