Alexander the Great was reported to have said, “Had I not been Alexander, I should have liked to be Diogenes.” Once, while Diogenes was sunning himself, Alexander came up to him and offered to grant him any request. “Stand out of my light,” he replied.
(There are many other references to this incident, principally Plutarch, Life of Alexander, XIV.1–5.)
When asked why he went about with a lamp in broad daylight, Diogenes confessed, “I am looking for an honest man.” Seeing a young man blush, he remarked that it was the complexion of virtue.
Why do people give to beggars, he was asked, but not to philosophers? “Because they think they may one day be lame or blind, but never expect that they will turn to philosophy.”
To a young man who complained that he was ill suited to study philosophy, Diogenes said “Why then do you live, if you do not care to live well?” Of grammarians, he was astonished that they desire to learn everything about the misfortunes of Odysseus but nothing about their own.
Of mathematicians, that they keep their eyes on the heavens and overlook what is at their feet. Of orators, that they speak of justice but never practice it.
When asked why he alone praised an indifferent harp player, Diogenes replied “because he plays the harp and does not steal.”
When asked what wine he found most pleasant to drink, Diogenes replied, “That for which other people pay.”
Photo of G.K. Chesterton and his wife who I owe some of these compilations to.
There is a man that I trust. More than any other man I have ever met. I’ll tell you about him in a little bit. There is another man, I talk to him less often, but the trust bond is there as well. This other man tells the truth to people. How many of us have a job like that? Tough job, really. Lot’s of training involved, study, college and ‘ample’ on the job training as well. The part that may confuse you is that this man’s desire is to tell stories about the other man! Oh yes, truth is absolutely a job requirement for both men as well. Character, discernible, is a gateway into seeing these things. Usually, the eyes are the first indicator to character. You may do this without even knowing that you do so. Eyes that look into you as you look into them.
I have spent a lot of his life looking away, fearful of what I might see (or be seen.) You also know this without it being something you think about when you meet an old friend or are introduced to someone. When the eyes, portals into the mind are not giving information, I usually forget their name as soon as it is said. This may also due to short term memory function a bit lacking. There are tests for this, usually avoided if possible. Who would want a total stranger telling them they were old ten years ago. “get used to it”
The second man has a lot to say to me and often, in a room filled with others, I will notice an unease in some as what this man has to say is a bit disconcerting and perhaps even confusing to those of us not used to communicating deeply. Questions are raised, sometimes boldly seeking some other fine point of the this man’s spoken words. Good questions, even encouraged and I have questions but usually hold them back because I am aware of an awkwardness of focus to others.
I would rather be silent and let the talk by the second man sink in a bit deeper without a distraction of speaking aloud. There was a man that did this speaking better than anyone since. He is long gone from us unfortunately. His name was Jonathon Edwards. A standard to which most speakers of truth aim for. There was one ‘speech’ that Mr. Edwards delivered that was so powerful and so convicting that a room full of ordinary listeners fell on their faces. There really was no other response that could be made when hearing the most important and life changing truth for everyone within hearing. A long time has gone by since that original speech but it remains powerful, convicting and stunning still.
The bold and inescapable truth taught was how bad we really are, especially if we think we are OK and are pretty nice. Compared with ‘those people’ we are in the ‘swell’ zone if there is a measuring device that could do that. Actually, there is a ‘swell’ or ‘free of faults’ measurement and on the other side of the gauge: ‘Bad and Wicked’ There is a thumb on the scale however and surprisingly, it’s our thumb. I leave it to you reader to decide which measurement the scale defaults to. Every time.
The revelation of who is first man is now at hand. He has many names that are used by many people to address Him. Somehow all those names are powerful nouns and are recognized easily by people that have met Him. Some of them are: Yaweh, Lion of Judah, First and Last, Beautiful, Shiloh, King of Kings, Everlasting, I AM, Chief Cornerstone, Teacher, Dayspring, Son of Man, Prophet, Alpha and Omega, Bread of Life, Savior, Light of the world, The Word, Branch, Good Shepard, Jesus. Those are just a few of his names.
As an illustration of what the first man does for those of us who look to Him for help, I will use the story of Al Quie and Chuck Colson. Many of us remember Watergate and Mr. Colson was convicted of conspiracy. Minnesota Governor Quie, quoting an obscure law, offered to serve the remainder of Mr. Colson’s sentence. Chuck did not take him up on it. The offer was real. Look it up.
Quite a bit of time passed after that before the Al Quie center was built at Lino Lakes prison. It was for the prisoners there to study Jesus and hear sermons from dedicated men that wished to serve. I was part of this ministry and was always told to give a sermon on the wrath of God. It was hard for me and I suspected the ministry leader was giving me an honor to select me for the task. Think about teaching a room full of prisoners about wrath and judgment! A challenge for certain. I have finally found out about God and His wrath. We deserve it but the first man has taken it upon Himself. All of it, for all of us. Impossible we say, but it’s historical truth.
There are many incredible stories about this Man. No one is like this, no one will ever be like this again. Now I am flat out preaching and it feels good to do what my friend does for me.
“There is something going on and you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?” Bob Dylan
Moving through a hurricane, we had a sea anchor set. This anchor, set at the stern, is adrogue that gives a steady pull, deployed like a huge parachute dragging behind the ship.Steering into the oncoming waves at an angle to prevent being pushed sideways and the pull from the drogue preventing us from pitching forwards. (It’s called pitch poling in nautical terms.)
We had to keep steaming to punch through and keep adjusting the helm to enter another wavecoming at us. I was standing two decks above the main deck and the waves were thirty feetabove me. The ship had a big draft to the plimsoll line, so I figured 60 foot waves.
I watched the spray covering the bow back to the masts as we kept steady onward. I heard thatwe were in the ‘shadow’ of the island of Malta. The place where Paul the disciple was shipwrecked. A real place of peril for everyone. Right in the middle of the Mediterranean sea.
It occurred to me in afterthought as I was listening to a podcast was the phrase of being safe and secure as an Anchor was used, quite a few times. We had huge anchors and used them when we had to ‘anchor out’ at a seaport. Tied up at a dock, we used hawsers and fore and aft ‘spring lines’ to stay steady. Anchors kept us in one place of course. The anchor of my soul gives me the image of the sea anchor. Moving through my life with it’s usual storms and holding on as best I can and relying every time now with staying the course with the Lord’s sea anchor. Keeping me pointed straight through my life filled with peril and
my penchant to change course in rough places.“My anchor holds against the gale” Not to stop but keep pressing in to the goal. Don’t get off that true and righteous path.
“ The safest road to hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, with out sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts “ C.S. Lewis
Stay the course, He will hold you and guide you and give you peace. It’s pretty good and guaranteed.
It was early in the morning when I saw the delightful smell drifting in from the kitchen. A haze,It was Soren my son cooking bacon for the family breakfast. Delightful, visible and delicious.A combination of several senses at once.
Another combination is lightning. The stroke, which grasps our sight as suddenly it appears and continues for a very brief time afterwards as dark lines as we blink it away. Then comes the sound. Calculating the speed of sound @ 1125 ft/s we come up with a mile every 4.7 seconds.
It’s fun to see how close the strike is by the timing of the thunder. So, we have sound and sight in combination. If the lightning is close, there is a smell of the ozone as well. The fertility of the earth is enhanced by the generation of Nitrogen. A natural fertilizer and the ozone protects us from the harmful radiation from sunlight! Quite a few senses involved. Sight, smell, hearing and the engagement of our mind in calculation and awe.
Along with the lightning, comes the wind and the rain. So now we combine sight, smell and sound in a different way with seeing the rain, hearing it spatter on our head or the rap on a roof. Then comes the smell of freshness. Does anyone have few words for the smell of the rain? It’s the smell that aromatic companies try to duplicate for those car ‘fresheners’ or scented soaps and dryer sheets. That isle in the big box store that gives us the challenge of holding our breath until we wheel past with the wobble-wheel cart, looking for toilet paper (Same breath holding reaction to the kitty litter aisle)
There is the smell of an old bound hard-cover book while reading it. We could talk about the delight of those two, but that’s another sense we have. Awe. It’s a natural emotional response to the senses combined. It’s a sense of presence of the Numinous Creator God. You may call Him a different name in your awe, I call Him Yahweh or Lord or God, the best one for him is Jesus.
Another sense often occurs with that Awe, shivering or a tingling of suddenly being aware of the supernatural that is always with you but now, sometimes visible (It HAS happened to me, but it is very rare.) After all, no one is supposed to see the face of God lest he die. In the words of Pogo..”Death, I can live without it”. It’s not the of God I have seen, it’s the result of His presence I have seen. I know He has permitted me to see things and hear things, along with that presence that is unbelievable when I talk about them. That’s OK if someone scoffs at these things, I was there.
As I have said before, I am not claiming any thing else. Just a gift we get if we know it is so. I look forward to this gift from Him with a smile of expectancy. None of us knows when it will occur, but it does and gives all of us more than we can try to describe in the description of senses. You have had this happen to you, but have thought of it as incredible luck or coincidence unexplained. It’s Joy, that’s for certain. Its pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
It was over a half century ago that I began contacting strangers and having meaningful conversations with them. It was safe as I was doing it with my ‘Ham’ radio with both Morse code and vocal techniques. It began in early Junior high when electronics took a hold of me and as a very shy and reclusive child I was attracted to actually talking to someone that was interesting and listened to me.
The spectrum behavior that drove a lot of those desires still lingers. Asperger syndrome. I have offended some people with my desire to communicate with them. Complaints result very seldom as the public domain is wary to some and my efforts could be seen as intrusive to them. I recently have been made aware of these things and it first seemed puzzling. I was crossing boundaries and they were not on a 20 meter radio seeking communication!
Memories of elementary teachers surprised at me and fellow students showing me their boundaries by various unpleasant behaviors. Nearsighted, I could not read a face either. Excuses really. Just the old saying “he didn’t have a clue”. Monty Python’s In search of the Holy Grail famous line: “She turned me into a Newt!…Well, I got better” I recently am getting better.
I managed to randomly speak with foreign people from half way around the planet at rare times and all over our country if I planned the time, position of the frequencies that would ‘bounce’ off of the upper atmosphere. Usually from 20 to 10 meter wavelengths. Sun spots were an annoyance and disrupted the ‘skip’ from the heavy side layer. Radio signals would skip in a wave form all around the place when the situations were right. I remember the night when a radio operator in Russia answered my query for a ‘chat’ The signal was a repeated two letters “CQ” Seek you. Asking for someone far away you added the suffix DX which means distance in radio lingo. Lots of those acronyms still linger. 73’s means good bye and 88’s means love and kisses. Careful with that one! QSO means conversation. Cops still use some of these Q acronyms.
I became a fulfilled recluse in my bedroom and became bolder at speaking to total strangers.
Now, things with radio seem very old fashioned. The visions of families glued to their RCA console radios, listening intently to sports activities from Olympic competitions across the world. This has recently been illustrated in the movie ‘Boys in the Boat’
It was exciting and there were no distractions of costuming, personality announcers on the video streams and of course, advertising ‘breaks’ Television has reduced excitement of real time news with entertainment and advertising splash. Not to mention some of the obscene links on the web stream news links. Very distracting and not in real time either. Breaking news of scandal real or invented. Who knows? Who cares? Click bait is the term for those things.
You can find those old wood console radios in second hand stores. Sometimes the filaments will glow from the tubes on the chassis in the back filled with primitive electronics when you plug them in. Big capacitors and transformers. Older than the stuff on Apollo 1. If you can rig up a decent ‘long wire’ antenna, you will actually get reception. Those radios were the center piece in living rooms across the country and now, as antiques, they still are. Especially if they still work. The speaker(s) were pretty big (JBL 15”) and the sound is pretty decent too. Usually only AM radio is available. FM (frequency modulation) and SSB (single side band) came later. Ask me to explain those terms if you want. Electronic geeks like hams, love to talk about just anything about their hobby. Most of it indecipherable by everyone else.
This training in talking to absolute strangers and has stayed with me and makes it natural for me to talk with check out clerks, people at shoe stores or just someone that smiles from the easy stroll we both are taking down the small town street
The spectrum behavior that drove a lot of those desires still lingers. Asperger syndrome. However I have offended some people with my desire to communicate with them. Complaints result very seldom but as the public domain is wary to some and my efforts could be seen as intrusive. I recently have been made aware of these things and it first seemed puzzling. I was crossing boundaries. Of course they were not on a 20 meter radio seeking communication.
There are memories of elementary teachers surprised at me and fellow students showing me their boundaries by various unpleasant behaviors. Nearsighted, I could not read a face either. Excuses really. Just the old saying “he didn’t have a clue”. Monty Python’s In search of the Holy Grail famous line: “She turned me into a Newt!…Well, I got better” I recently am getting better.
At church, I might ask someone if I can pray for them is usually pleasantly received . I am right where I have been led to be since I was 12 years old. What a coincidence or was it plan all along? Who designs those plans is a good question too. Ask me sometime and we will have a good QSO.
It’s been pretty good. Norm Peterson /K0JMV /Jack Gator
It was in the middle of the last century that as a preteen I was given the task of taking streetcars to the family dentist. I know, it’s sounds like a long time ago. It was. Streetcars were the way to get around town. Everyone knew where they went. As the buses that replaced them, there were placards in front telling destination and the routes were memorized by all. There were transfer tickets, if you asked for one, that enabled the ride to go further in a different direction.
I was five or six years old when I went by myself downtown and further. There, of course, were young kids that would roll a big snowball onto the tracks. Harmless fun as the trolly would plow through them easily. The bigger kids would do those sorts of things. I never did it but saw it done by boys quite older than I. Older by a year or two! Usual seniority of life in public school.
We all would throw a penny off the top of the Foshay tower downtown. It was the tallest building in town and is still there. Now it’s the smallest tall building in town. Word was if the penny hit someone it would go right through them! Terminal velocity of a coin that weighs the same as a hummingbird.
The elevator was free but you had to use a coin to use the telescopes. It was a Nickle which could buy candy as well. A conundrum to a young anti-social Asperger genius. Three Musketeers or a Butterfinger. Tough choice. I thought the splitting of the Musketeer bar was a nice image of comradery. Too messy, no one ever did it.
So, onto the trolley (which had to switch the electric pickup mast when a change of tracks had to be done) the conductors had neat uniforms and a coin box with a little chrome handle that he would constantly twirl to sort out the coins dropped in. I Still remember the sound. Right hand, kachinka, clatter, kaching, etc. I would Get off on Hennepin avenue and walk down about six blocks to Washington avenue. There was a news stand on the corner and they always had the latest science fiction magazines. Later they hawked Mad magazines along with newspapers from all over the country. The next trolley would take me to the family dentist. Great, fun trip.
The streetcars are long gone, along with their tangle of electric power wires overhead. The tracks are gone and recently, tracks got put back in for fast and quiet streetcars. Metro transit. Every one misses the ding ding bell and the rattle of the glass and chrome change hopper. At least people my age do.
It was much later in the end of the century that I was shopping for my first fiddle and a friend in the string instrument world steered me to that family dentist! It seemed the delicate skill sets were just the thing for fine wood work. Oliver G. Olafson was the dentist/violin maker. He made 26 of them in the 1950’s The auction houses of today know of him and list his violin work as ‘inconsistent’ mine must be a consistent one.
I bought one and my friend bought one too! We called them by special names and they aged well. Since the dentists name was Olafson, mine became Olie.
My dentist was known in Mineapolis’ instrument players circles and the choice was good and neither of us needed dental care at that time. There was no Novocain for us either. The bow cost was even higher. It’s good advice from fiddle pros to spend more on your bow than on the fiddle itself. A local shop had a one star N.R. Pfretzschner bow for a few hundred dollars. The bow is now worth 3 to 6 thousand. It’s a nice bow. Musical instruments get better when they get older. Just like us.
That fiddle of mine is so loud that a microphone is usually not needed in small rooms. It’s a beauty. I am not aware of what it is worth. With age comes wisdom. Sometimes. So far I have not been listed as an antique writer but who knows. I can imagine the antique road show now. “We’ve got an 80 year old Swedish model that is a little careworn. Still has hair of sorts and speaks pretty good.” A lot of miles left on this one!”
Actually I have already been bought and the price was impossible to imagine. You know the buyer, at least I pray that you do. He was a master carpenter and worked with wood . He is known throughout the world. Ask me if you are curious and I can introduce you to Him. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
It wasn’t too bad, looking back. The success’ outweigh the tough parts. That’s the way it looks now anyway. Like boot camp for everyone on the planet, you’re drafted and you have to do it. Just show up and survive. Some don’t survive, some don’t even show up. The draft notice doesn’t come in the mail, it’s not on your email or Facebook. It just comes and it’s pretty obvious what it is.
Report to recruit depot and get prepared for the toughest, most interesting time of your life. Anyone’s life. When it’s over, you can stand tall and be someone that did the right thing. “Fall out! get your uniforms and find your barracks.”
What am I writing about now! It sounds like going to basic training…yes for all of mankind and there is nothing harder nor more rewarding. I have been taking a University Class on Philosophy and it approaches me in strange ways. The last lecture was on Emmanuel Kant. He stated that the greatest example of Moral law was someone sacrificing for another person. Not a cause. Learning how to embrace that concept and make it our operational motive is very hard and can be the only thing we have to decide in this world.
A moral decision. Akin somewhat to the decision to lie to a Nazi guard looking for the Jewish man hiding in your home. Do you lie or do you tell the truth which is a basis for moral decision? Of course, telling the Gestapo the reasoning behind their miscreant behavior would not go well, even though that itself would be telling truth.
These are basic things for maturity, to wrestle with our reasoning. To seek out a ‘basic training’ that will tell us a way to think and act that fulfills, founded in a moral law. A law of civilization. Some folks will say it is tied to survival to assure survival of community and family. Sounds reasonable. Define survival, that’s all that’s required. Evolution aficionados like to use the old tooth and claw to describe survival of the fittest.
That sort of evolution works for watching trees fall when dead and then see what happens to the surrounding forest. Seems rather random to most of us. What if it isn’t? The old silly question: “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, is there a sound?” What a ridiculous question! As though sound were a philosophic decision. Can you discern the timpani of that statement?
There are decisions that echo throughout our lives. Often seemingly small decisions. A friend of mine a very good fellow writer put it in 20 words:
What can I do? What should I do? What is God telling me to do? What am I willing to do?” Pretty astute. How indeed do we know what God is telling us to do? It’s a thing that we are taught in basic. Simple in some ways. Keep our mouths shut and pay attention. Don’t call the sergeant sir and don’t embellish the tasks you have been given. That’s boot camp.
Now, we are out of boot and aware that survival depends on paying attention to everything around us. That is key, not fear of the unknown. It’s awareness of who you are, where you are and what can and what should you do. At this time the communication is critical.
I was communications man/radio operator. Handy skill to help me listen. Some of the important messages had such weak signal strength it was only listening intently that made it clear. Shut out the static, the thrum of the ventilator fan and the hatch noise. Stop listening to the ‘world’ and be still. Headphones worked then and now I need self control over static.
As is taught in scripture, it’s not the thunder, the wind and the earthquake that our Lord uses to speak to us. It’s a still small voice and as though you are remembering a conversation you had 15 seconds ago. “Turn left up here” “keep your eyes open” “go visit him, you have the time” “walk slowly and stay alert” These are a few that I remember. Falls in the category of what is God telling me to do.
It usually begins by believing those faint messages are there for you. You alone. Keep listening. He will tell you he loves you right here, right now. Often He will tell me to do something that either seems impossible or simply, I not want to believe what I just heard. It’s OK. The Lord is patient and kind. We can hear Him if we want to. He isn’t going to tell us to go to Africa (usually) and it’s things that we can do to make things right.
The intrigue of the new name, written on a white stone. The only name for you, one of a kind and a blossom in the garden of the Lord. From the beginning of time made to blossom.
As the pattern and majesty of the mighty oak is placed within the acorn, so is our life given as each one of us is created unique, a perfect fit for us and seen on this side of eternity.
The Brief glimpses of Jesus’ heart which can overwhelm and bring us to our knees. Sometimes to the floor. There is a gift given which is the most precious stone indeed. Only revealed on that day we see the beams of light coming from Him as he smiles and blesses us. As the light flows from His beauty, it penetrates our heart, our spirit. The revelation of Christ indeed.
There is a hospital, that a fellow writer I had recently met at the local library was recovering. In hospital as the odd phrase goes. Much akin to a sailor that says “what ship did you serve in?” Conveying a mutual experience. As most of us, being in hospital after ‘procedure’ we become very aware of our frail body and also are anxious to be seen alive and belonging. My friend, Wally, was pleased to see me show up.
He had just come under the knife to save his life. A removal of a growing thing that did not belong inside of him. As he laid in the bed, I was allowed to come in and see him with deeper sight. He also saw me with new eyes. A caring visit from afar just for him. The visit that was as others that have been given to me, Irresistible and also fulfilling in ways of love for another. Also I gave him prayer for a powerful healing and it was well received by him.
(I see him now and then, sitting under a tree where he lives. I try not to stop and interrupt him. He is deep in thought and communion and I love to see him there. He is well.) He rolls his own smokes and I pray he would also be cured of tobacco addiction. I do not chastise or try and guide him away from the addiction. I used to smoke as well and the last thing I needed then was an evangelist telling me the truth. What would I have thought about advice from someone that doesn’t smoke?
After and reassurances, it was time to leave the hospital with the promise of return firmly known. When I left that room, I noticed a tall young man walking slowly by in the hallway. One of those endless hallways with perspective ahead. Walls extending a long ways. I was surprised at the instant inner voice to walk and pray for him. This young man had large hoop earrings. It was merely an affectation I thought. It have been a symbol or recognition trigger. Didn’t matter to me at all.
Right away, I asked that man if it was OK to walk with him. Surprised and pleased that a stranger would walk slowly beside him, the man nodded yes and they walked ahead. ” I walk pretty slowly” I replied to him that there was no hurry for me at all. I am a slow walker too. They began to converse.
This man said that his doctor told him to walk in a every day around the floor that his room was on. Stairways were not on the menu. I slowed down and walked. I am getting used to doing these types of things, not denying that small voice within me. Too many times, I have balked at doing such a simple task asked by my best friend Jesus.
I asked a few polite questions and we began chatting about what was around them and then why they were there. Truth exchanged between two strangers by an arrangement of the Lord. Fear revealed and spoken of. It took a while to get to the turning of the corridor. I said I must go to the right and had to “find the place my car was parked.” (A small joke among people of the city that deal with five story tall cement parking ramps).
I then asked permission to put my hand on his shoulder and pray for him. A prayer of immediacy and details I have forgotten were given to this wounded young man. “Well, I must go” I blessed him and thanked Jesus with the last words of prayer.
Astonished, the man said: “Are you an Angel?”…. I smiled and said “No but I was sent and told to pray for you”
I eventually found my car, and the joy of fulfilling two men’s need for prayer overcame me. A gift given to listen and then pray what I hear. Silence and then listening without thinking what to say.
It is a recent lesson I learned from reading in a brilliant book, “It is a restful heart that will attract those who are groping to find their way through life” a.
As the old Story of the desert fathers is written; “The Messiah lied to me, he said He was coming today and He has not shown up. Ah! replied Father Anthony. “He didn’t say He was coming, He said listen”
There you have it, an old saying just modified a little bit. There is truth behind this. There is no longer any option to travel. One way or the other, left or right. Up or down, etc. Having a good map really helps when this happens. That’s why we have Alexei in our GPS apps to tell us which exit on the roundabout to take. Of course, it gets confusing a lot with those choices and names. At least you can go around for another shot at it.
So it goes with travel. An old Scotsman farmer remarked to a lost tourist. “Well, if I was going there I wouldn’t start from here” So where do we start with other forms of travel such as serious choices? Which way to turn? Travel is a multipurpose word. It can also mean our lives as well traveled or not so much. Of course, if one is of a mind to be blasé’ about life in general, turns and forks just mean another adventure. I lived like that for a great amount of my life. The buzzwords were: Karma, or life path. No choice involved, just what was lined up for you. Studying chapter and verse on such worldviews was a path to meaninglessness. The standby word for unexpected paths was “whatever.”
C.S. Lewis’ writing on these things is succinct:”The road to hell is a gentle slope, soft underfoot. No warning signs, no signs or turning.” There is the thought of my master in writing. That there is no fork in the road once you decide to pursue it.
When I was on our ‘walkabout’ on my Royal Enfield, I knew the destination but took a few forks in the road on the way. laissez faire sort of travel, led to all sorts of adventure. There was a map on board but the dominant thought for me and my best friend, Bruce, was the unknown path. (Bruce was riding an old BMW R59)
Mistakes were made, ones that were ‘challenging’. Both of us had recently been discharged and it was nifty to choose your own path. Bruce’s bike had an arrangement of the front suspention on his bike, it was called an ‘Earles Fork’ Getting tired of the homographs? A few more to go.
There were also plenty of forks in the road in the early days, not even seen as decisions that had to be made. Just ‘chance’ or ‘luck’ or ‘destiny’. There weren’t any warning signs either. A simple ‘rough road’ or ‘falling rocks ahead’ would have been enlightening. I am not certain that forked decisions are destiny or foolishness. After all, if you can even hear the screams or explosions, it would seem prudent to go some other way or just do a U turn. So, random fork choosing can be fun, dangerous, thrilling or destructive. How can you tell which road or path is correct?
There is perfect advice available and it isn’t Map Quest. Consult the map maker himself, He will advise and tell you of the choices. You decide. That’s called freedom. One fork will lead to a fulfillment destination and the other one will lead to eternal captivity of an unpleasant type. The Map Maker will even tell you which fork in the road is good and correct. If you choose to listen to Him. Take the wrong turn anyway and you will not be saved from falling into Judgement, the eternal type.
That’s right. He will save you from His Father.1. That’s what salvation means. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
My dad and I came up north (way north of 8) to build a cabin in the middle of the last century. He had a neat station wagon that had a tail light that swiveled when you opened the tailgate. It always pointed straight back. It was a mechanical marvel to me. A usual car to start driving lessons on when you are around 10 or so. Three on the tree and the high/low headlight switch was pushed with the toe of your left foot. Dad had wise advice when to dim the headlights: “Just when the oncoming car’s lights can be seen as two lights, then switch them to low” These days with bright halogen headlights I switch earlier and when ever I am behind someone.
Our cabin was east of Danbury on Gull Lake. I handed tools up to dad as the roof rafters formed up. The end of the ridge pole was cut off and the chunk fell right on my head. I yelled up “I’m OK” and the work continued. It was a pretty small piece and surprising when it arrived.
It was exciting to be right there when the dream cabin was actually forming up. Dad was a city fireman and used to ladders. He built cabinets on his off times in our basement. Grandpa was a fireman too but he was too old and cranky to come up and help. Besides, Gramp’s didn’t like to fish like his son in law and grandson did.
There was one other family on the lake and they owned a small resort next door. Since it was my first time ‘up north’, this seemed a good place to be. At that time, a small green flat bottom boat was at the dock and it was mine to use morning and night. I was not allowed to row out beyond sight of the resort where the lily pads were waiting for me. A fly rod with floating line and a small popper was my choice of tools to entrance the fish just under the pads.
It was easy pickings and the sound of the swirl and the tug are still vivid in my memory. A dozen bluegills and paper mouths (crappies) in the bottom of the boat and it was time to row back in to the dock. Sometimes I put them on a stringer but those pesky and poky fins were a challenge when the fish were several pounds and my hands not quite big enough to pull the fins back. The poppers were too big for the fish to swallow and that helped get them off the hook.
Dad would scale and gut and lunch was served with the resort owners sharing in the bounty. Every decent day, morning and night was my job to row out and harvest white fleshed fish to be fried in butter. There was a camper that myself and my sister stayed in while the two men went into town at night and they stayed pretty late.
Sis told me later in life that she seduced me when we were alone. I am pretty foggy about that but it would explain my sisters reticence for friendship when we were older and with our children.
We were still in bed when the time to row out and fish so we waited until someone awoke. I was a good swimmer, but the rule was, don’t go out where I can’t see you. Dad’s eyes were closed for a while on those mornings. The fishing was still very good in spite of the late start. After all, the two families were the only residents on Gull lake. The lake shore is filled with cabins now. The fish population was diminished in an equal ratio. F + xC = -F (or fish plus more cabins equals less fish)
It was grand and now and then, just myself and then Dad would get the motor running and troll for bass on the link between Gull and Minerva. We thought they tasted pretty good too but it seemed a lot of effort to get them.
So we got the ‘big’ V hull boat loaded up with all the accoutrements. he always used artificial jigs and spoons, so no bait was needed. The red Daredevil was a favorite It was always exciting to motor up the channel between Gull and Minerva. That old Evinrude just putting along . There was no one around there. No other cabins, no other boats seen. After trolling for a while the motor was shut off and the waves it made were heard on the banks. Ten years later, it was big Navy fleet ships that made splashing noises too. Waves slapping the hull from the battle fleet and sometimes sounds from nearby shores were similar. I would be back in that small channel just like that.
Sounds do that for me. They are music that moves me as a masterpiece of any art can. The movie August Rush lines it out. Try a concerto directed by Jacob Collier in an Orchestra hall.
Wind and waves with shaking trees. Add the mix gas smoke and the vibration of the motor and you have orchestral surround sound. A loon now and then to add the high notes.
I love the sounds. Perfect. Dad’s smiles to remember when things got tough later on. In those early years, I thought a lot about those things, wondered where the fish came from and why it was so good to catch and eat them. I wondered why Dad smiled when they were together. Dad didn’t smile much back in the cities. I wonder about a lot of things as most of us do. It gets stronger when Wonder is manifested in our lives. The symphonies kettle drums and strong brass awaken us and our pulse matches the score.
Over five decades later I got some answers to some questions from Jesus, my friend who created me and all things. We do not think about the thoughts of young children and their questions of what and why. We are very complex and our thoughts on life itself are formed and dreamed about early in our lives. Children are wax recordings of life and can melt away if we don’t listen to those concertos when we think we are grown. I look for the wonder I had with my mouth smiling and my eyes staring at beauty while the music was all there. It’s not gone, the cacophony of life masks the concert.
It became clear why Dad wanted his ashes put in a trout stream, way up north. It was fishing that bonded me and my Father, and it was thoughts of fishing at the very end. After all, Jesus had a lot to say to his close friends about fishing. He still does.
Jack gators grace notes 