Author: Norman Eric Peterson

Never betray Love

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was a child’s romance. A romance brought into full bloom by trauma and the need to escape it somehow. Fresh from the military that literally tortured me, my path beckoned me strongly to dissolve myself in marriage, somehow.

The only job I had when I got home after discharge was performing songs learned from warm and scratchy vinyl recordings. Joan Baez, Peter, Paul & Mary, Carolyn Hester. The job at the YMCA for youth was better right away than the red line brig in Spain and got me the attention I craved. A brand new Martin D-28 Helped it happen.

At that time the Brazilian rosewood model was an even $400. I bought it right off the exhibition wall at Schmidt music instantly when I came home. I had one shipped overseas a year before and it never showed up and no one knew where it had gone. I had paid the cost and Schmidt’s had the invoice. No charge with hard-shell case ready to play. They even tossed in some strings. I still own it.

I met my fiancé at the YMCA gig and she ditched her date and I drove her home that night. I began to meet her family and she and I became young lovers. I was living in my Mother’s basement and we spent times down there accompanied by the washing machines loud symphonies. An old habit of hers surfaced and she ditched me.

My beloved disappeared. I frantically swam through all the places she should be, and finally, a good friend told me years later that she had run off with an actor from the famous Guthrie. She was a ticket taker at the theater and easy sexual prey to be taken by a Lothario of the stage. After all, better prospects than a recently discharged service man living in his mother’s basement.

Stunned again by sudden betrayal, I went deep into the rabbit hole and gave up the promised good life and got involved with another vet who hooked me up with some heroin smugglers in California.

(check out Motorcycle pilgrimages on gatorsgracenotes.com)

Money, a mansion in the hills of Berkeley and using my Military skill set, I became a member of the air force of drug smugglers. I was an experienced radio operator and built a portable air to ground Ground to ground radio. Flight plans were Mexico to the California desert.

We had a steady customer in The City, Sly stone and the musicians that lived there. My pilot gave me the magic white powder that the whole team was using. I thought, wow what a gift.

Heroin gave me relief from all the pain of life. The poppy blooming in my core became the path to victory. No back pain, no mental anguish, no fears. Just nirvana and total oblivion. Betrayal covered by powder on glass.

Deep into addiction, a voice entered my room in the mansion just as I was getting ready to snort a line of the drug. The voice said Five simple words: “Life or death, choose now” Stupefied and thinking hard about voices from the thin air, I chose life and was instantaneously delivered from my death path. No withdrawal. No craving.

Of course, the swell new job was over and the usual reaction was another betrayal and a narrow escape. I left the flying circus of Berkeley close to the ocean trade, alive and another life came upon me. I lived in my home made camper truck for a while and played that Martin front of Safeway stores. I got rescued again by a friend and finally made it back to Minneapolis.

Back home to a drug free city government gang that drove cabs. I was a Hippie restaurant singer and dishwasher and then got a good job as a steel track worker that finally paid well. The city gang was left for the railroad gang, but Something was awry and had to be done for freedom from the inside pain upon me again. Never trust your heart to another. That was entrenched into my very being, traumas of the past.

Through that old city friend, I found my ex’fiancé’ locked in a mental ward downtown and bluffed my way in posing as a youth pastor to see her. Her father was the senior pastor at Central Lutheran and I knew him from the visits, and meals when I was engaged.

My old lover was heavily drugged and overweight, groggy but she came into focus for a short time and asked me “why are you here?” ‘Because I love you!’ came quicker than thought and the pain of that rejection was over. There is still other trauma within me but I am learning how to quickly recognize it and shut off old learned instincts of survival and to run away from perceived trauma.

The heroin that never lasted and blinded me to the fact that the miracle of deliverance was love. This was Jesus seeing and telling me truth about what I really was. The the light grows slowly but surely. There are plans being revealed to me to take me to places I can’t imagine. Places of trust. Real fulfillment. Reality. Now I am writing columns to others to share that love.

‘Never betray the sword, never betray beauty, and never betray a friend’. It’s a good way to see the life we live as men and warriors of the Word. Freedom from fear and self hatred is a special gift that can only come from our Lord and Savior Jesus.

“I sacrifice the land unto you, all who I love there, and who loved me: I sacrifice this land unto you, and all who I love there, and who loved me; when I have put our seas between them and me, Put Your seas between my sins and thee.

As the trees sap do seek the root below In winter now I go where none but you, the Eternal root of true love I may know.” John Donne ‘Hymn to Christ’

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Common Sense Insights on Love

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

So many books, letters and columns are at my desktop and littered around my favorite living room chair. I read them as I am inspired at the moment and that is why I put post in notes at the pages where I leave off.

It’s a mess and a trip hazard if I am not tidying up now and then. Keep them out of the meander lines of nighttime walks to the bathroom. Common sense.

Lately I have been researching for love and what it really is. I have at least been instructed from early writers like Descartes and Augustine as good starting lines to start at. My usual trivial descriptions are easily dismissed. “I love my guitar”, “I love how that sounds” . I love that look or thousands of songs with essential love me or leave me themes. Movies with passion (Greek Eros) those lists are not endless but my point is, they point to opinions and attractions.

Reading an author that makes me look up from the book and wish I had a pen and pad at hand. Astonished at brilliance and clarity. My hero, C.S. Lewis, said he got a lot of inspiration from authors like G.K. Chesterton and George MacDonald and used their clarity and thoughts in his own writing.

Another example of common sense: “The mutilation of children is not “gender-affirming care.” Anti-white racism is not “anti-racism.” Illegal migrants are not “undocumented ‘new neighbors.’” A bisected cow in a tank of formaldehyde is not an important work of art”. 1.

This tells me that love is coupled with common sense which goes back to Descartes, look him up. He wrote thousands of years ago and he pervades truth which is also found in my favorite small book, John Chapter 17. The best example of love which C.S. Lewis expounded upon. Trying to love your neighbor is not easy, Just treat him as though you loved him and eventually, you will. So what is love? It has respect and admiration built in but it is far more than those things. As I have stated, I would not know my wife if I read some books or biographies about her. I can’t love my neighbor if I looked at a plat map. I can’t even really love fully my God and Savior by reading about Him! There is a decision to go deep into myself, to my core and then be silent and listen to the spirit that gently tells me what love is. The flood of love itself moves within me and is love itself. It is common sense and has always been since we were made.

I

Falling in Love with love that is visible in your eyes, your tears and sometimes a tremble of astonishment of Joy that overtakes. This is true love, the words fail me but you know what I am writing about. The breath taking embrace of a long lost person comes pretty close. How about being embraced as a long lost person? I look ahead to that embrace as I enter eternity.

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator 1. Roger Kimball

Flashing Lights on the Side of the Highway

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

The beginning of the deer rut was in full bloom and visible to our family. Reaching up to take an hour off the living room clock, I saw four deer on the driveway. It’s only about 25 feet away from the front porch and those deer were in top gear. Two does, two bucks. One of the bucks jumped into the fenced garden and seemed confused when he hit the corner pole. Tumbling back into the Brussels sprouts bed, he leaped up and tried another jump. After that try, he ran back where he came in and performed one of those steeplechase leaps over the fence and into the woods close by. We noticed one of his horns was missing. So it goes.

I was running late in the next morning. It was still dark and the vehicles behind me were lighting up the road, same as I was. Of course, being the leader of a string of cars means you are first in discovering fur covered obstacles in the right of way. I swing my electrical side view mirror glass away from my vision to reduce the glare. It’s nice that their high beams reach miles ahead but it can be deafening optically.

As expected, all the cars a distance behind passed me on the flats. Good, now I can drop down to five under instead of ten over! Remembering from my youth, the two speed signs that had day limit and night limit. Usually ten under for nighttime. Coming up to ‘deer alley’ I saw a vehicle on the opposite shoulder with it’s hazards blinking. About half ways down the hill. Very close to where a few years back an eight thousand dollar deer was encountered by our car. I pulled over to the shoulder, put on my emergency flashers and went across to the other car. I brought my tactical flashlight as well.

The driver of the car met me and filled in the blanks. “Hit a deer, front right tire went flat and I’m trying to get this original equipment toy jack to lift the car.” I held the light and we finally got the plate under the pinch weld. The car began to rise and there was a hopeful lug wrench coming out of the trunk. Custom wheels, it didn’t fit. At least they weren’t theft proof lug nuts but the size was bigger than stock. A sixteenth of an inch bigger than the wrench for stock wheels. A rough guess but after 40 years of wrenching I was confident my guess was correct.

They began to chat about the coming election for governor and other offices. It quickly segued into the state of our country. As the two of us began to share our analysis of the unbelievable destruction of the economy and morals, we agreed to do what we can to counter this disassembly of our democratic republic. The last things we said to one another was about our money. “It’s worth about seventeen cents on the dollar since a few decades ago, but the money we have has not changed in one way. Yet. Our wallets and pockets all contain the reassuring statement, ‘In God we Trust’ They both agreed this was a very good idea in these times! Faith and Trust in God.

The stranded motorist had a friend that lived close by and he was contacting him on my cell phone as I got ready to leave. Knowing about the lug nut socket and wrench to turn it, the man had heard from his friend it was handled and the tools would soon be there.

Saying thanks to one another and I then turned on my flashlight feature again, it flashed bright and I waved it to the vehicles approaching. No one had stopped when myself and the stranded motorist were at work, and not one even slowed. The oncoming cars, seeing both hazards on and my flashing light swinging, slowed down. I crossed safely and headed off to my late appointment with my son at the coffee shop, still miles away.

I did not speed but kept the limit. I looked behind me on a long hill descent into Saint Croix Falls and the vehicles behind were perfectly, safely spaced. It resembled a string of pearls going down the road.

Very surprised, I pulled up to the coffee shop right on time, a little ahead of my son!

I was only one minute off rendezvous time. The shop had just opened up. It didn’t compute as I had spent at least ten minutes with the stranded man. Compression of time. It has happened at various times and in different ways throughout my life. It made interesting conversation after the Bible study that my son, Bjorn and I brought our coffees and Bibles to.

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator aka Norman Peterson

It’s Not Right, But…

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There indeed is a ‘but’ in our in all of our thoughts and actions. My brother and I were at a local eatery/bar and our waiter was ‘interesting’ to us. The waiter seemed to be a rude woman. Very sarcastic too which to me, can be charming . (I have become aware that being sarcastic is not a very good conversation trend) It’s fun when you are with a close friend. Just don’t make a habit of it.

I asked if they had french fries and our waiter replied. “it’s a bar, do you want a beer too?” The fries were good, not hand cut but OK. I still did not know what to say to him. His costume was pretty good. He had nice trim razor bangs and hair with slight blue coloring. Oh well, so what, It was a person which the establishment had hired, Most certainly followed by local whisper gossip heard in small towns.

A saucy Lisa Minelli with menus and a pad and pencil. Cute, attractive but giving us a wry inward thought. A movie actress pose with hips slightly bent to the side accompanied by a wry smile. Both my brother and I are very humorous types and attend the same church which is very scriptural and very welcoming. To everyone. Love one another is a prime focus. Everyone.

The recent topic that was being preached was about the ‘buts in our lives’ Spelled with One T. Many ways we all use that modifying word. I will do that, but I do not have the time thing. In our immediate situation, I will accept this waiter but without judgment. Respect and the usual friendly banter we all have towards people in the service industry. Good tip always.

We continued our delicious meal with our usual brother to brother ways. “ what do you think our waiter is?” Not sure. “Sarcastic and forgot my refill on my coke!”. In my usual direct way, I asked our waiter if they were a Christian? A firm NO came forth with a disgusted description of his mother that was a woman of faith and how controlling and offensive she was. Boldly replying to my question. Instantly I asked “would you like to be one?” No never!

My brother then went up to the bar and showed our waiter the bill and he said “it was wrong as it was too little”. “No one has ever done that before!” the waiter said. Our sodas were removed from the bill for being forthright and honest and the bill was then the ‘correct’ amount. Outside as my brother readied his Austrian motorcycle and I prepared to walk to my truck, we smiled and I swept my hand towards the ground and said “seeds were planted”

We both smiled and agreed, indeed that was good. Declaring our Christian belief and showing respect and honesty. It was pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe

my brother Bryan

Casa Del Pas

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Sitting in my comfy chair and reading in the morning. The snow sneaked in last night and the small step ladder outside the kitchen window shows six inches on the three steps. A sturdy little thing of aluminum that helps the reach to the kitchen roof with the snow rake. Just clean around the two vents and try to control the ice dams.

Musing on writing something and finding solace in a brief Tennyson quote: “Death closes all, but but something near the end, some work of noble note, my yet be done” 1.

It occurs to most of us, that what have we yet to do now that the curtain is getting close to coming down on the play? As most of us, I have worked hard and made a few good choices to be where I am now. The great dream of a beautiful wife, younger than I! Two great sons of intellect and achievements that love us and our 30 acre homestead.

We have all worked hard and with sweat and satisfaction through most of it. The gardens of provision and beauty, our mechanical shop of provision and repair, still usable now for us and friends. Tools that only need an occasional handle because we use them. Heating with wood and always splitting and stacking and calculating supply. I have gotten so fussy in the winter that I have a tape measure out there to make certain certain lengths are put in the wheelbarrow. Long, short and gnarly for day and night fires in the stove. It’s in the middle of the house.

All of the accomplishments great and small some of which are still visible. Some are tenuous and need conversation to reveal them to one another. Pictures on the stairway wall of births of the kids, a summer kitchen and a field all limned by a photo of Julie, very pregnant with our first son, Bjorn. Myself, just our of basic training taken by a pro in town with my cover just so, leaning to my right in my dress blues. I look happy and am looking to my right and smiling.

Another accomplishment that I just heard today from my son Soren’s good friend Zeke. I asked

him before a Saturday breakfast what he would call our home. He only paused for a few seconds and said; “Casa Del Pas” house of peace. A good handful of men come to join us at times. Good strong young men that are bonded with Soren and us. All of them live in the area but many times Julie and I awaken to extra boots in the entry.

Making sure the coffee maker is filled with water and the fire is properly set and banked is my job as I rise earlier. Breakfast on Saturday mornings with pancakes and eggs/bacon and good coffee after an hour or two. One bathroom and the ballet for it and the preparation for breakfast is done as the snow keeps coming. Pastor Zeke blesses the food and our meal is shared. House of peace indeed. “The author appears on the last act, the best of all” 2 1 and 2 Lord Tennyson

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator scribe for Norm

Autobiography of Norm Chapter 5

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Things in the sixth fleet were perking along pretty well. I was informed by my team that I was allowed to have an apartment in Naples as it was our home port. I found one through shipboard scuttlebutt and moved into a classy five story shopping center, the Galleria Umberto. The entire roof was glass and the view from the top floors was magnificent.

My landlady was very experienced with navy borders and gave me all the lowdown on her rules of the place and the lack of heat in this beautiful masterpiece of a building which is made of marble. The use of a gas space heater was available to me. It was winter in Naples and there is no snow but it was chilly. The galleria was built in 1887 and central heating was not part of the construction plan. It was, and is, a shopping center. Way ahead of the Mall of America.

Also as an advantage to having Naples as my home port I also wore ‘civies’ when I was ‘on the beach’ (civilian clothing and on land) We weren’t in Naples a whole lot of the time, but it was pleasant to buy clothing to wear in town and not be conspicuous as a military person.

I met a very pleasant English girl touring and dressed in my Harris tweeds looked respectable.

I invited her to join me on the local train to Pompeii to view the very old ruins from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius 79 AD. The town was buried in 9 feet of volcanic ash so there are a lot of body impressions and quite a few buildings there. I love history and so did she. Unfortunately all of the extremely pornographic frescoes also were preserved and the train ride back to Naples was pretty quiet and she left quickly at the station. She did not understand it was the first time for me to visit the ancient ruins as well. The brief friendship was nice but later on I lost all the nice clothes including the Harris tweed jacket. A total misunderstanding with the Navy.

Once I was out late and walking out of the elevator to get to my room, the iron gate to the extended walkway was locked. No problem. I just hopped up on the railing and twisted around to the other side. I did not look down to the marble floor five stories below. I was surprised that I would do this bold move but I wondered about the real sailors who climbed the rigging to the top gallant sails back before my enlistment. The elevator took a 10 lire coin to go up but the sailors who used them had a trick to avoid the coin slot. Press the call button and just a moment before the elevator stops, push the stop button, open the door and push the floor you want to go to. It hits bottom and then heads back up with out a stop nor complaint. 10 lire which was nicknamed the ‘deech’ worth about a penny or two. Old time game console just for fun.

I had an alarm clock in my cold apartment so I get back to fleet landing in time. It would have been interesting if it was built at this time so if I recorded a wake up sound of my own. “Reveille, reveille, all hands turn to and trice up. Sweepers, sweepers man your brooms. The smoking lamp is lit in all authorized spaces. Now reveille, reveille”

That greeting at 6 comes every morning on the 1MC speakers. (Except when we were in the war and everyone was standing 24/12 watches.) This wake up call was accompanied by a bosun’s whistle in the beginning which started out high and dropped about two octaves at the end. It was very akin to a locomotive steam whistle at RR crossings on the last of the letter Q. Long-long-short-long. I always liked that sound of the lonesome long end note. Sounds like a lonesome loon call. I Still like it. Not the reveille part though. Old navy stuff. Sweepers? Smoking lamps? Back again to the tall ship sailors who slept in hammocks. (that’s the trice up part) Another tradition that all military embrace. Comforting to be linked to the past. We did not sleep in hammocks but the bunks were tightly placed. Your head, next bunk beside you, his feet.

Rising up in the morning, getting my dress blues on and walking down to fleet landing to catch a ride on the liberty boat. There was a push cart vendor on the dock that sold hot sugar donuts that were big around. On those cold winter mornings in Naples those warm donuts were a saving grace to an espresso picked up on the walk down. Still like that morning sugar and caffeine blast. I use cinnamon and sugar on my toast now. Tradition.

As I reminisce and still see and hear those things of 60 years past, I also thank my Lord Jesus for the memories and the sharp recall of those times. Memories I can give to others and the stories found to be uplifting and reassuring in many ways. He has told me so.

Think upon your past as you also realize this miracle of life and a lot of the lessons learned. I must have a lot to learn as I realize I am still here and getting somewhat older. Or old period. He loves me, he loves you. As my favorite movie of all time, is titled “It’s a wonderful life” Indeed Clarence, it is.

Norm Jack Gator

Soiree At the Trade Lake Retreat

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It was a perfect day for a garden party. Carrie had everyone there and she and Julie were out in the garden. Some tips were welcomed about potato bugs from Julie. She showed how they moved and where they came from. “Under the ground?” Yup. But you can control a small amount of them by just squishing them as they. Or there is a benign way by using diatomaceous earth powder! Any bug with an exoskeleton can be controlled. It was a new word and very good advice from an expert on those things. Bugs.

The round patio table was set with delicious looking pastries and snacks sorts of things. Crackers and French Brie. Croissants and small glass dishes filled with pesto. There was fine china cups that seemed to expect coffee and linen at the places where lawn chairs were set.

A high English tea picture set for the honored guests. Gary began digging into the brie and, as another writer, was delighted with all his fellow writers, and good friends, coming over to the table to join him.

There was lively conversation approaching as Dave and Sally were on either side of Nigel excitedly filling him in on Scripture verses that explain how this glorious party resembles another to come. Bob was dancing before them, sometimes walking backwards and giving encouragement to the three of them. How exciting it must be to hear these grand stories. Battles and victories with noble people. Suffering with unbelievable impact. Many things almost hidden from casual reading that book.

Dana showed up with fresh smoked lake trout and whitefish from superior. It got picked clean in a short time and the guests were welcomed into the house with towels and hand soap handy at the kitchen sink.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, just off the porch, Norm and Peter were whipping up a brew of excellent coffee. Fresh ground and just flown in with Carrie and Peter’s earlier visit to St. Helena island. Best coffee beans on the planet for only forty dollars an ounce. What a smell when the grinder did it’s work. Oh my,I never thought I would even smell coffee like this! Ecstatic with my history knowledge kicking in. The very island that Napoleon was exiled to! I wondered if it was worth the exile to have that coffee every day. It is said that Napoleon was a coffee aficionado. There weren’t better places for him to be exiled.

Eddie came in with a really nice linen towel around his arm and he was dressed to ‘the nines’ with an excellent servants black outfit. He delighted everyone when he walked out with a tray loaded with the best espresso ever. Sugar and cream in matching china as well.

It was a gathering of writers that came to enjoy one another’s company and hear stories from experienced raconteurs. The soiree lasted until the evening dew began and the grass was sparkly with the moonlight.

Have you ever thought what heaven would be like? What the King’s table that Moses and seventy some people got to dine at with the creator of everything that is and will be? This was a dim preamble of sorts.

Writers can be persnickety and filled with themselves, but not today. Not in the garden of delights. What a gift for these poetic people to try and capture it in words that just didn’t seem adequate to describe it all. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

Tolstoy and the Endless Fireworks of Life

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The flash and flare in the east and it is time. Move away from the comfort and deep sleep, awaken to
dawn. Shut of the alarm clock, rise to the circadian rhythm of my body. Grasp my robe from the hanger on the back of our bedroom door. Close the bathroom door and glance at my tousled hair. A small pleasure in the new toilet seat that lowers itself slowly and doesn’t bang.


There are duties and places to be and now, it’s easier to find things because there is light beginning to arrive from the east. There is a small Brownian movement from the dust and I turn on the coffee maker. Go back in the parlor and open the side draft, rake the coals and put on a few pieces of wood.

I Find the good bread and drop two slices in with the timer set to max. The good bread is heavy. I ponder finding the cash for that upgrade on my cell phone already as I check the wood stove. Can we afford it? After all, everyone in the family has a new phone. Mine is old and I need to be current. It is the state of made things, they are old by the date they are put for sale. New and improved. No ‘good till’ or expired dates on your cell phone, but now I can’t find a screen guard to replace the cracked one. “You have to get a new one, yours is several years old. How much? Only 35 bucks a month forever.

It’s better with the shredded wheat on the shelf, we all know it’s good for a few years on our shelf. Silly thoughts along with dream remnants that linger until they too, pass into the storage area in my mind that is never too full and unavailable now and then.


There is a shuffle and purpose at hand to indeed waken fully and the hot caffeine warms my old ceramic
cup. Carefully, set it down besides the fresh toast and open up a book next to the vitamins and various
pills. The accouterments of morning rituals. The book now at hand is a collection of short stories that take slow reading to understand. Sarte, Sallinger and the rabbit eared current choice is Tolstoy’s ‘The death of Ivan Illych’

Nothing to it. Toast and coffee and a little orange juice to sluice down a hearty meal of existential
writing and with some of the greatest short stories ever written. It’s still early and my son is stirring a
bit. I come to the part of the story when Ivan knows he is dying and no one will be honest with him
about how they feel about it and him. Only a peasant boy tells him the truth.

A quote from la Rochefoucauld is remembered: “One can neither stare long at the sun nor at death” During the war the thought was, it will come quickly It did to that shipmate on the horizon. It was close but I am OK. Next stop, Palma De Mallorca. Great liberty! My acquaintances ship has been sunk over the horizon. Tough luck. Time to celebrate after freedom from with the liberty boat and have a few drinks in his memory.


We go on, inwardly feeling we will live forever and poor old Ivan, it must have been his diet or that he
just wouldn’t go to gymnasium as they advised him so many times. After all, his whist game was more
important to him. There was nothing to be done. and here I am hundreds of years later, dressed for a church funeral service. I am Still in my book and almost awake.

A funeral then to go to. The fact that we are soon to be in that silken and narrow box does not cross our conscience. Even when the preacher tells us we are off the hook by death of Jesus’ sacrifice, we do not comprehend the sacrifice, it’s not totally understood. Tithe well and we might walk as Enoch did and not have to suffer as Ivan illych did. That’s it! The second coming and it will all work out! Don’t worry, be happy.

Death is defeated knowledge lingers and we are all good to go. Mourning seems to have passed us by. Ask not who the bell tolls for, it’s you. Old Ivan, it was his time to go. The rest of our family is up and dressed and we drive a dozen miles to the church for a funeral for a neighbors son.

Is there lunch after this funeral? Should be. It’s good here at the church of endless life. Maybe if I get in line before every one else does! I do not want to miss that apple pie I saw as I walked by the kitchen!

No one knows the hour of our death. People of faith in Jesus know what His resurrection means for us. Still, I like it here and I know my loved ones will have Shiva at the house. I do not like to think about the weeping, just as I wept as the coffin wheeled by me and I reached from my seat and gently prayed as the polished wood slid beneath my extended fingers. A young boy taken from us in tragedy.

Live well, love well and spend a lot of time speaking and listening to our creator that knew us when we were yet to be born. “why me?” “why am I here and what am I to do? I ask of Him. He answers gently. “I knew you would know the joy and sorrows of life and I Like how you write and talk about it and Me. That seems pretty good.

Jack Gator

A Fish Net At a Dixieland Bar

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It began in high school and the young physics students made friends. I was the teachers pet. I had all the math classes aced Solid, Trig, Quadratics and so on. I would stay after class and tidy up all the Bunsen burners and the testing equipment. One of the students, Don, stayed after with me and we began the friendship process geek to geek. Neither of us were on the any teams in sports or forensics or even knew any cheerleaders. Just a couple of guys interested in electronics.

My teacher, Miss Bertie, had the entire class come over to my house and see my ham radio setup. My rig was in my bedroom and the thrill of having one of the cheerleaders sitting on my bed while I explained and demonstrated the rig was a touchstone that lasted for a while.

Don was there too and he was hooked. I gave him his novice exam because I was licensed to do so and he got on the air too and soon had his general class license. He had a friend at another high school a little south of us and the three of us began to get serious about amateur radio. Especially the part about having cheerleaders sitting enthralled on my bed. One time deal though

The three of us started to be pretty good friends and their parents were pleased with our choices of classmates. I started to hang out with my new friends, Don and Loren and we all hung out at Loren’s place as his dad was a drummer in a Dixieland band that played downtown at Brady’s bar. We were allowed to stand in the back of the room and listen and watch Loren’s dad, Lloyd play with band that had a stage above the bar. Smokey and loud and our first taste of adults at play. We were not anywhere near 21 but we got free cokes and nods of approval.

The band was called the “Lloyd George Quintet” They were good. It was tough on Loren’s dad as he was a hemophiliac and his position as drummer was not a low impact one.

The patrons really liked the Quintet and there were always drinks handed up from the bar from appreciate listeners. A lot of drinks. The music flowed on for hours along with the booze.

We would pick Lloyd up after his gig, load the drums and pour Lloyd in the back seat and take him home. We had a big Plymouth with a bass drum in the back seat and we began ‘fronting’ down west Broadway and acting cool at the Clock drive in. Our ‘band’ was nonexistent but we already had a name ready. “the Fables” that’s what we were, a fabulous fable with ham radio geeks eating fries and burgers with all the looks of admiration we fantasized. My friends formed the band later but I was far away then. Loren was, of course, the drummer.

We had a little club every Friday night on air and would get together at 8 o’clock sharp on the ten meter band on AM (amplitude modulation..voice) and chat. I would lie on my sanctified bed and pull a string hooked up to my send and receive switch and lie down with my mic in my hand. It was about as geeky three guys get. We called our gathering “the fish net” This was what passed for our entertainment in the late fifties of the last century. Pretty swell eh?

The last time we met was when I was on liberty before my next duty station overseas as a radio operator. We watched the infamous Minneapolis tornadoes march across the sky south to north around 1965. My friends were still in college and exempt from the draft. The big Buick convertible of my mothers was rocking as we watched those tornadoes. The heavy Buick began to sway back and forth as we were up on a hill on memorial drive.

It was time to leave the danger zone and I drove home. They avoided serving in the danger zone in the military and stayed in college. And we all moved on. I was saved by God several times afterwards and Would like to share that with them today, but my letters go unanswered.

I am Puzzled. 73’s to you. 88’s to the cheerleader too.

Jack Gator K0JMV

P.S. Praise the Lord for pleasant and humorous memories and the miracles of life we are blessed with!

A child’s mind before Birth

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There it was in a somewhat obscure quote from St. Francis of Asuza. Ora Est Labore. A simple instruction to pray while you work. Or, just pray, a lot..every minute of your waking hours as one of my favorite authors advised me to do. So I try to do it and I and keep interrupting myself with extreme trivialities and irritations. I am now becoming aware of how trivial these distractions can be.

I love being distracted by small children, the ones with wonder in their eyes. They search the

cosmos around them, searching for light reflecting their innermost desires. Love. The love they had for 9 months without interruption. Surrounded by their lover known by voice and presence. There is a mind in the unborn beyond our knowledge. Forming pathways upon the inner synapses that are there for thought. No one has interviewed an unborn child to know what is happening Far more than we can even imagine is ‘going on’ The concept of other and such. Twins? Oh my, that is a duet for eternity as two are one and they have a head start on the rest of us for they know about more that one other. Think of Jesus and John the baptist when they first met. Leaping with joy inside their mothers.

Not lifeless embryos or zygotes but created lives, formed for such a purpose yet to be seen by us

I was taken for a delightful breakfast on my birthday (kidnapped on my birthday) and I spent the whole day with my family at a nearby seaport I am particularly fond of. A lot of people are also fond of the place and we wandered about, visiting vendors known and new. Clothing, violins, blown glass and blended scotch whiskey.

I was lead to just sit near a fountain, It was a bench by a tree where I sat and suddenly, I began to pray for the people I saw. Children,parents, grandparents on a grand day out. I do not remember those short prayers but it was fun and fulfilling. I saw a child on all fours, perhaps a year old and we looked at one another with a romance of life in our eyes. She reached out her hand when she got close and I slowly touched a finger to hers. More smiles and giggles from us both. Soon I had to go elsewhere and she began to cry when I waved a small wave and I felt we had both been satisfied right then in that timeless connection of love given and returned. The loss on her face at seeing me withdraw is more than I can bear even now.

It was better than the paintings I saw at the Vatican, paintings on our hearts endure forever and that means eternity. I have a few of them and I wish I could share them with you but these words are all I have for a canvas. Pray while you work and sit and walk about. Love letters will pour out to you too.

Ora Est Labore. Jack Gator Scribe