Do dogs go to heaven?

Do dogs go to heaven?
 
That's what you get you get when you ask the high school Sunday school class what topics they want to cover.  The times we had asked them that question the previous two weeks, they all looked at the floor and had that deadened silence that the wary emit in times of stress. So as a teacher of extraordinary skills, I used the forced post-it note on the wall approach. Then, we found that they wanted to talk about college, high school, and friends. Remembering that it was Sunday school, prayer and forgiveness got a couple of votes.  Someone in a clever test to see if the Sunday school teacher was sincere about wanting to let the kids pick the topic posted "do dogs go to heaven?".
 
Snickers and chuckles went around the room. As a teacher of this great group, I was sincere about letting them choose the topics. So "do dogs go to heaven" made the cut for the voting. It made the voting round. In fact it got more votes than "who is Jesus".  The masses had spoken and I have committed to lead a class on it. Teasers have been dropped over the past four weeks. "Don't miss class in a few weeks because we are going to discuss heaven bound dogs."
 
In two weeks the topic the high school Sunday school class at Bridgeway will ponder this question. This blog is the first shot at it.
 
In an effort to learn about this issue, I went to the place I go for all of my theological knowledge. Google returned 1.5 million hits for “do dogs go to heaven.”  For perspective, “Japan nuclear crisis” generated 15 million hits. But really 1.5 million hits point to a real concern over the issue.
 
As you can imagine, as with any good religious argument, the positions are all over the place. Of course dogs (and cats for the felinists) go to heaven because only dogs love us unconditionally. No, they don’t go to heaven because they don’t have souls. The middle ground is that dogs go to dog heaven but don’t get to hang out with us. Poor Shaggy and Scooby, if two beings deserved to spend eternity together it is those two. The coolest entry I found was about Christians who were sure that their dogs were soulless and not going to heaven and in response were making plans to have their dogs taken care of after the rapture. What a good use for all of the atheists? After they get all of the driverless cars and pilotless planes pulled over and landed safely they can feed the dogs. I’ll leave a key under the “welcome” mat. There’s some beer in the fridge. Help yourself.
 
I really don’t know where I come down on this issue. I have owned my fair share of dogs. I have cried over their loss. Dead dog movies and books make me cry like a baby; Old Yeller, and Where the Red Fern Grows are my two favorites. In the end, I think that I have never loved a dog enough to be concerned about that question. I know that makes me a bad person in some people’s eyes. I would agree with you. So while that is my position, I can see why, if you love your dog more than I just confessed to, you want dogs to be heaven bound.
 
Rather than “do dogs go to heaven?” the question that I hear is “who is God?” Looking through the glass dimly, people have long used who gets into heaven as a descriptor of God. Only the good get into heaven – God is a God of justice. Only those who declare Christ as savior – God is fair; he plays by his rules. Everybody gets in – God is a God of mercy. My dog gets in – God really loves me and wants me to be happy. My neighbor’s dog who barked incessantly gets in – there really was a purgatory.
 
I think in the end I leave it to Paul in 1 Corinthians 15: 32 – 55. Where after several verses, he calls it all a mystery, and I usually say “huh?”
 
Wouldn’t it be funny if the answer had been in the bible all along? We just didn’t know that Jesus was dyslexic. “My God who are in heaven. Holy be your name.
 
Who would name their dog Holy?
 
Take care.
 
Roger
 
 

Socks by any other name would smell as sweet?

Socks by any other name would smell as sweet.

Wednesday morning was a sobering one for me. I was hurrying around getting ready for work, and was paying the price for procrastinating putting my cloths away from last weekend’s laundry. It usually works fine; which is why I wait. Actually it only works fine until Hugo and Henry our two Jack Russell Terriers break into the utility room and try to mark all of the clean cloths.  But just like they refuse to learn house breaking, I refuse to learn that procrastination has a down side.

No, I didn’t put on a “marked” shirt and wear it all day. No, my supply of matching socks had ran out in the closet, so off I go to the laundry room. I find a good pair that match and won’t embarrass me when I sit down. That is when everything went to heck in a laundry basket. I went ahead getting ready for work. I put two pieces of bread in the toaster and headed off to the bedroom in my bare to put on my socks and shoes. This would never have happened if winter had not broken. No deep winter floors would have forced me to sit down right there in the laundry room and put my socks on. But the floor wasn’t too cold so I figured that sitting down once would shave precious seconds off of prep time and allow me a more leisurely drive into the office.

I go into the bedroom pick up my shoes sit down on the edge of the bed and I can’t find my socks any place. I stand up look where I was sitting. I walk back toward the kitchen; no socks. I walk into laundry room; no socks. I walk back toward the bedroom; look on the chest of drawers; no socks. By this time, frustration is starting to mount. This is not a new phenomenon. I have suffered these bouts of short attention span for many years.

I have learned many coping mechanisms. The problem is two fold. First, and most maddening of Bev is that I like to create piles. Paper in my hand? Put it in a pile. Change in my pocket? Put it another pile. Bring the mail in? Put it in another pile. Piles all over the house like cow plop bingo at the county fair. It is a horrible habit that has driven Bev to madness many times throughout our marriage. Since it is a habit, I often place things in these piles without thinking or remembering their placement. This was the second problem.

I use the past tense because I have found a surefire method allowing me to remember on which pile I set stuff. I have found three places to make piles. They are out of the way and the number is limited enough so as not to cause too much distress for Bev. These three pile zones allows me the freedom to sit whatever is in my hand down and when I need it again and can’t find it handy, I only have three places to look and viola; problem solved; item found. I am back on my way. I have been doing this so long that my default setting is: if I can’t find something I go look on the corner of the role top desk, the kitchen island, or the entry way table. Even if I don’t remember walking by any of those places the past three days, I go to those three places.

So even though I know I did not pass any of the piles going from the laundry room, to the bedroom, I look on the corner of the desk, no socks. I look on the kitchen island, no socks, I look on the entry way table no socks. Now, I am starting to become anxious. I have long ago used up the precious “saved” seconds. My toast popped minutes ago and will now be so cold that the butter won’t melt on it, and I still haven’t found my socks that I had firmly in my grasp 5 minutes earlier. Five minutes lost puts me on the verge of having to commit one or two moving violations; passing on a double yellow line on blind man’s curve, going through intersections on the pink, going 35 in the 30 mph zone of McCordsville. However, the children of Mt. Comfort Elementary will be safe as I go 25 mph through their zone.

But where the heck are those socks? Finally, I decide to just forget it and get another pair of socks. Into the closet I go and pull out this pair from the very bottom of the drawer that I hate. They are so inflexible that it feels like I am putting on the tubes from a role of paper towels. I hate these socks. But I try not to bemoan my misfortune. After all, it is my own procrastination that started this cascade of events.

Socks and shoes on; I stomp off towards the kitchen, grab the toast cubes and try to put some butter on them. I grab my lunch bucket and looking at the clock, I begin to wish that this was happening 5 days later. Then I could blame it of daylight savings time. I grab my coat and throw it on. Something is not right.  Something feels funny. Thinking what else could go wrong; a mouse on the shoulder, a sudden shoulder tumor; I don’t know. I’m late. So, I whip the coat off. As I do, the socks fall from my shoulder onto the floor.

Don’t worry. The embarrassment of that moment will subside and I will be able soon be able to embrace the short term storage of socks on the shoulder. One must be adaptable in these trying times.

Take care,

Roger.

exceptional learning

I know that everyone sitting around that conference table had good intentions. Everyone’s Outlook probably had “Brainstorming Educational Reform Ideas for a New Millennia” scheduled for Thursday from 2:00 – 4:00 pm. Actually, for ideas this brilliant, it was a full day conflab. You really need to fuel ideas like this with donuts; cream filled, sugar glazed submarines carrying the goo of genius to the minds of educator’s who are looking for the formula for strategic educational success in the 21^st century.

Ideas this big had to have a goal statement: Provide an Excellent Setting for Academic Achievers.

Mission; We will synergistically leverage high quality educational methods of empowerment to meet the needs of an ever-changing gifted educational landscape.

There was a consultant with blue-tooth power point presentations of the needs of today’s students, several boxes of cream filled Long Johns, three urns of coffee just in case a participant couldn’t make it past Starbucks and suddenly, educational nirvana is reached and announced on the front page of the Indianapolis Star. Hamilton South Eastern is announcing plans to build a school for 2000 of its district’s high achievers. I hear that the parking lot will have hovercraft facilities for the more attentive parents. I am glad to see that they will not have athletic facilities. It would be painful to watch 11 nerds take on 11 playa’s in football. It might be embarrassing watching the opposing cheerleaders taunt the smarties with  “Pythagoras, Pythagoras; you’re so square. You’re not wearing underwear.”

Will somebody look at their statistics book for me? Since when did the top 40% mean the truly exceptional? Yes, Hamilton South Eastern has 5000 high school students total; 3000 academically exceptionally challenged (dumb) and 2000 academically exceptional (not quite as dumb). Or is that exceptionally academically challenged? Adverbs were always so hard to keep track of when strung together.

If truth be known, this is all a result of a school corporation pushing through a tax increase last fall. They have more money than God now and this is how they plan to spend it. More power to them. It is just a stupid idea.  I have long argued that school was just day prison for kids.  They have metal detectors, armed guards, and lock downs. Now Hamilton South Eastern has chosen to Balkanize them. Keep the Sneetches apart; creating gangs rather than community.

Some will contend that the gangs already existed and this recognizes the facts and lets each gang concentrate on what they do best; the brains learning geometry, the “rest” texting and rolling spliffs. Wouldn’t the “rest” benefit from learning how much weed it takes to fill a tube of a certain length and radius? There’s a story problem for you.

What is wrong with education? I don’t know. But I suspect that much of it could be solved by making schools much smaller, and integrated socially, academically, and racially. Rigor in curriculum would help too. It seems that there is more education with a C and maybe a D in calculus than an A in underwater basket weaving.  Motivation would be a problem. Yet, motivation comes in many forms and with an all day educational summit, this problem could be overcome.

The Hamilton South Eastern example is a small symptom of the issues that have come together in a firestorm of debate that started in Wisconsin and is everywhere in the media now. Teachers are paid too much. Teachers are not paid for merit but for longevity. Administrators make too much. There are too many administrators. Classroom size is too large. Parents don’t care. Standardized testing is useless and it is not education. The kids are stupid. For its example, Hamilton South Eastern has decided take its smart bat and go home so to speak.

So while the education system stinks, each constituency is sure that their part of the poop smells like daisies. It appears that now this olfactory debate will be decided by the vehemence, and volume of their arguments.

Like Lord of the Flies for grown-ups. Which only 40% of the children in Hamilton South Eastern will be reading in a couple of years.

Take Care

Roger

location, location, location.

 

A dream tormented me last night. Tormented me like a fly during a Sunday afternoon nap in September. It just kept buzzing around my subconscious. I would put it away and get back to blissful sleep and then it would come back; pestering me lik this blankity blank "e" ky. It is rally slowing m down.

Back to the dream; I dreamed that the snow had finally broken my spirit and that I was ready to move to a warmer climate. Somehow Bev and I ended up in Waco Texas, looking at a suburban brick house across the street from an elementary school. It was late February. The children were on the playground in colorful light jackets. We could hear the distant squeak of a swing chain as they rode their happy parabolic track punctuated by the screams of delight from being untethered from their desks.

The front lawn had broke dormancy and was a lush green. Some of the early bulbs had pushed their heads through the sod. Then going inside, we found that the house had not been taken care of and there would be a large amount of work to get it back into shape. We were negotiating a fair price for that labor when suddenly it hit me that it was Waco Texas. In about two weeks the sun would cross the equator and start paying attention to this little quarter acre lot and it would turn into Hades on judgment day. You would walk outside for Memorial day and feel the sun stripping the skin off your bones like it had done to all of those longhorn cows in every western tableau ever painted.  Arghh.

Besides that, it was Waco Texas; home of the branch Davidian compound. The home of the Davidiots, the Waco Whackos, Reno’s last stand. We couldn’t live in Waco.

Why is it that some events become so tied to their geography? Waco, Columbine, Lake Placid, Little Big Horn, Valley Forge, Gettysburg, Wood Stock, Tiananmen Square, are names that evoke immediate emotional responses. True most of them are tragedies but Wood Stock, and Lake Placid both elicit positive responses. Valley Forge, while a place of great suffering, resonates as a place of the power of perseverance through dark and difficult times. After the events are over, we flock there to see what happened. Our imaginations aren’t big enough to take it in unless we go there to see where it happened. Bev and I just finished a book about Columbine and its aftermath. We were both saddened by the part that recounted all of the tour buses that came through to look at the outside of the school and how it affected the survivors in the community; sharpening their  memories; reminding them over and over that they had become a curiosity that needed to be examined.

I must confess that I am the same way. I have read dozens of books about Gettysburg. The best ones are where the author can describe the geography the clearest. In spite of all of that knowledge, I was there last summer; one of the curious gawkers, going from front to front looking at the distances, the elevations, learning the place; the space that contained the event.

That is why we go look. We want to make sure that the events are contained. No matter how big the event, it was not larger than the space needed to contain it. By definition, that is the case but we don’t believe it. We have to make sure. People go by the thousands to make sure that the events that affected people so much were contained; making sure that they had not escaped the boundary of geography. Even the best books can’t describe the setting well enough. No, after reading we have to go and see the story’s fuzzy edges to make sure it didn’t go any further. We don’t even trust maps. How can we be sure that events did not escape off of the edge, and aren’t lurking just past the page? We have to see the place; make sure that geography captured every thing

We have to make sure the big events are in their place and we are in ours.

Take care,

Roger

Post Script

I found out today that I may have to explain the Branch Davidians to a large number of the readers. It was a small cult of people who made bad choices and followed David Koresh to a small camp ground in Texas and set up shop and then in 1993 after buying guns creating a bunch of bunkers, the ATF tried to arrest them. They shot at the ATF killing some officers and some Davidians died in return fire. A standoff and siege started and lasted  51 days. It ended when the FBI tried to knock down a wall with a tank. A fire started, and many people died including children inside of the compound.

I am a bit astounded that I have to explain it. But my daughter, son, and niece who are at the house this weekend had no idea what I was talking about. I pointed out that they were alive when it happened and if they were too young to remember shouldn’t a modern US history class cover an event where 76 of its citizens were killed as a direct result of actions taken by the government. No matter what you believed to have happened there isn’t it worth discussing.

ridiculous?

A conglomeration of the ridiculous.

Object lesson for newspapers; the sports page, the comics, the target ad, the front page and an Ipad lay spread out on the ottoman in my man cave for Sunday’s reading perusal. 9 out of 10 people coming into the room picked up the Ipad first. Two hours later someone picked up the target ad followed by the comics.

Yesterday while cutting wood for the stove, I was listening to the radio and the Indiana High School Athletic Association (ISHAA) ran several ads stating that high school sports were an integral part of a well rounded education. According to my crude modeling, 360,000 students are in high school in the state of Indiana. According to the National High School Federation, last year there were 167,000 participations. I am guessing that if you take out all of the multi-sport participations you have at most 80,000 student athletes. That leaves ¾ of our students who are missing out on an integral part of a well rounded education. Mandatory sports for everyone is the answer. That would be gym right?

Yesterday also while listening to the radio, I heard a report of a young Iowa male student wrestler who refused to wrestle a young female student wrestler, also an Iowan. Mandatory coed wrestling may be the answer to the quandary of the previous paragraph. Except for those who refuse on religious grounds and they could coed bowl. Who doesn’t like bowling? Of course, coed wrestling may blur future boundaries in the work place. But they will be well rounded and should be able to handle the transition.

Protest alert; Greece, Egypt, Iran, Bahrain, Libya, Jordan, Wisconsin. Just keeping up with the Jones. Oh yeah, I almost forgot the Chinese are starting to feel rambunctious again.

Protest reason alert; Country debt forced reduction in benefits, food prices and repression, repression, repression, repression, repression, State debt forcing reduction in benefits. Chinese don’t think it is right to fund US debt to provide medical care for 300 million Americans while 1.3 billion Chinese will have to pay their own insurance. Oops.

Protest outcome alert; protesters lost, protesters won maybe, too soon to call, too soon to call, too soon to call but 200 dead protesters, too soon to call, too soon to call but democrat legislators have left the building. China undeniably the best at putting down descent turned off the websites and stopped it without even warming up the tanks.

1,500,000,000,000 current annual deficit

      74000,000,000 Amount republicans want to cut. = 4.5% of deficit or 2% of 3.7 trillion spent

1,426,000,000,000 Amount still in deficit in other words my family of 4 needs to look in those couch cushions for another $20,000.

Now that’s ridiculous.

Take Care

Roger

Blog update; two weeks ago I wrote in a blog titled  “Random Thoughts”; “If organic foods are good for you, why won’t the mouse in our house eat the organic peanut butter I have put on the mouse trap. If I put a little Jif on there the problem will be solved. Now he is coming out taunting me like Stuart Little driving his little toy car down to the McDonalds drive-thru getting a big mac, large order of fries, and strawberry shake. Maybe he will get stuck on Lake Shore drive and die of exposure.  That will teach him not to live a simpler life.”

Update; I put Jif on the trap last Monday night, and within two hours his taunting ways had come to an end. That proves it, organic foods do extend life expectancy.

Take care

Roger

what's in a name?

The Super Bowl is over. The little Vader boy can start a car using old Jedi mind tricks. Keep an eye on that one. Would the future be better if that Volkswagen had a Toyota moment and lurched forward at just the right moment? Would the population of Alderaan still be alive and Obewan not have felt a sudden disturbance in the force as if a million voices suddenly cried out? Would Natalie Portman have turned to ballet in an effort to blot out the awful knowledge that she had fallen in love with and married a psychopath and had carnal knowledge of him and begat him twins; one dweeb and one with breakfast rolls plastered to the side of her head? All of that tragedy could have been averted with one little sticky accelerator? 

Yes, the Super Bowl is over. The Packers won. The Steelers lost. Jerry Jones found that just because he wanted 4000 more seats doesn’t make it so. He should have listened to his grandma. “Don’t let your eyes be bigger than your tummy.” To all of my psychologist friends out there, what is the diagnosis for a person who would pay $200 to stand outside just outside the event site and watch the Black Eyed Peas on a big screen TV? Is there medication for that? 

I have always been interested in how teams got their names. Take the Packers. Who knew that a region of the country would have a high enough concentration of domestic servants whose job it was to make sure the master and mistress of the house had enough shirts, socks and unmentionables stowed away before their trips. Don’t get me wrong, Packers deserve to have a team named in homage to the work that they do. That is especially true in the age of TSA. Four ounces of this, two ounces of that, plastic baggies, do we check the guns, the master loves his talcum powder; it is all enough to make lesser domestics break down in tears.  It is better to have a person who specializes in packing. However, I would have thought that packers would be scattered to the four winds taking care of the rich and famous, keeping the critical nomenclature mass away from Green Bay Wisconsin. What roots they must have had to identify with a region so strongly that its sports team took on their moniker.

While I feel for the Pittsburgh fans, I must admit that I found it hard rooting for a region of the country that glorifies thievery. I believe that your team would be more beloved and find a broader fan base if you just started returning items. Common courtesy is all that I am suggesting. A few please and thank you’s and in no time you will be known as the Pittsburgh Borrowers. Mean Joe Green had something there when he threw that jersey back to that boy.

While the rest of the world’s media focused on the game and tried desperately to get us to ignore the monster storm, Indianapolis media had an additional side show.  As you may know, Indianapolis is (maybe) home to Super Bowl 46. Yep, we spent $12 million for a Super Bowl that might be wiped out because of a labor dispute between the owners and the players. The local news has been covering the situation closely. Every other day a panel of experts looks at all sides of the issue and makes their prognostication. Punxsutawney Phil predicts that there will be no Indianapolis Super Bowl especially after that stupid Borrowers joke earlier in this blog

But I digress. It seems that the city and state fathers, and mothers all went down to the Dallas “metroplex”  to learn lessons about how to run a Super Bowl. Yes, it sounds like we applied for hosting without any real life experience. But the fathers and mothers learned a lot while there and they are confident that Indianapolis will do a great job as the world’s host next February. They took most of their confidence from the fact a snow storm blew through Dallas and left them struggling for the entire week.

Here are two quotes:

"This is not a criticism of Dallas, but this is something we deal with all winter," said Allison Melangton, the CEO of the Indy Host Committee. "We have the salt, we have the equipment. And the fact that everything is so interconnected Downtown, you can still get wherever you want to go without going outside."
"I feel a little sorry for these guys because they don't have the equipment, they don't have the expertise," Indianapolis mayor Greg Ballard said. "If something like this happens to us, we'll have 80 trucks out there going 24 hours a day, plus some smaller trucks to get into places where the big trucks can't get into. We know how to handle this very, very well."

No offense but what are they smoking? While the mommas and poppas were spouting off about what they don’t understand, the children in Indianapolis were getting on their parents nerves because they couldn’t go to school for 4 days that week.

I obviously have forgotten that we live in the myopic world of professional sports, and for the next year we have entered the vortex of that myopia. Never mind that 40% of the high school children don’t graduate, that our libraries can’t stay open, and the kids in Indianapolis are wondering if the Indy Parks pools will be open for Independence day vacation as they make up snow days, if so much as a snowflake falls during the 2^nd week of February, we will have 80 trucks out there going 24 hours a day.

No wonder Pittsburgh calls them the stealers.

Take care,

Roger

random thoughts?

All I have are random thoughts because I cannot think in a coherent logic pattern for more than a few minutes after the near catastrophic events of this week.

I know that there are readers in Egypt that think that a few inches of snow and ice are trifling matters but they can’t read this because their internet has been shut down. So I shall proceed.

I hate it when I feel like the weather is out to kill me. Whether dodging random icicle strikes or hoping my car doesn’t slide off in the ditch while going out in the middle of a storm because I am jonesing for a tastee freeze at the 7/11, it all takes a toll on me. It was the same while farming. I always felt like the weather was out to get me. Dry when it should be wet; wet when it should be dry, I knew that the weather gods had conspired against me and sooner or later I would pay the ultimate price.

We got 4 inches of snow yesterday without any warning. I like weather without warning. It is so much easier to get through. It snowed. We decided that it was too deep to go to dinner with friends. We canceled the dinner date and went on with our lives.  So much better than doom and gloom; doom and gloom; doom and gloom; and then it hits.

I have decided to take a December view of the weather. Remember December when the 1^st snows come. All peaceful and white; a soft blanket covering the world, decorating the leafless trees with nature’s beauty; we love December snows. How many of us put pictures on facebook of unique snow drifts, snow covered pines, our stupid dogs catching flakes in their mouths? Guilty. No from now on, I feel blessed by the snow and right now my cup runneth over.  And as my grandmother used to say when the supper cup runneth over, “don’t cry over a little spilt milk.”  Actually she said “stop yappin and go get a towel. It ain’t going to clean itself.” But I remember too clearly.

Is it wrong to play Wii boxing with your wife? She challenged me.  I wasn’t looking for trouble. It found me.

If organic foods are good for you, why won’t the mouse in our house eat the organic peanut butter I have put on the mouse trap. If I put a little jif on there and viola problem will be solved. Now he is coming out taunting me like Stuart Little driving his little toy car down to the McDonalds drive-thru getting a big mac, large order of fries, and strawberry shake. Maybe he will get stuck on Lake Shore drive and die of exposure.  That will teach him not to live a simpler life.

Recommendation; read “Have a Little Faith; a True Story” by Mitch Albom. It does as good a job showing the long road to changing and becoming who we were meant to be. Two thumbs up.

Recommendation; Keep a dryer sheet handy so when your spouse gives you an amorous come hither look just pull it out and wipe it across their mouth and viola that nasty static shock you get when kissing in the house in February disappears and cupid can have his way. Of course, you may be challenged to a Wii boxing match. Evergreen scent is best. Minty.

If all of Texas were to get electric cars would it give new meaning to rolling brown outs when the electricity was cut because of lack of generating capacity.

Why would a government that allows the release of genetically modified alfalfa get all concerned about how much salt is in our diets to the extent that they are prepared to pressure food companies to make stuff we don’t want to eat because it is tasteless? Because, you have to eliminate enough producers so that you can pressure the ones that are left. This policy along with all other ag policies of the past 70 years has promoted consolidation allowing policy makers to force the few remaining producers to do what is “best” for us.

Finally, this was the first big snow storm for Bev and I while experiencing empty nest. It went fine but the dogs started to get nervous when I came home and announced that the grocery was out of eggs, bread, and milk.

Take Care

Roger