Real Chimneys North of Highway 8

As do most of us, we get a little bored watching the scenery go by as we keep a sharp lookout for errant deer, errant drivers and those lines we drive between. Isn’t it absurd that the only thing keeping all of us from collisions is paint. Headlights help a lot, but mostly to see the lines of paint. The game gets a bit challenging when there is snow and ice covering the lines. It really does feel like a video game, driving at speed.

Back to the scenery. One cold day, Jack was motoring south and at that time, he was counting chimneys and the wood smoke. Quite a few modern setups with wood boilers in the back yard were seen. It’s a good thing that windows are closed in the winter at the boiler homes. High barometric pressure or temperature inversions can cause some of those homes to almost disappear in a wreath of smoke.

There were quite a few homes that had masonry chimneys visible and some of them were in use as Jack motored by. There were a few of the old masonry chimneys that had shiny pipes coming out of them. An obvious concession to modern fuel of petroleum base. However, when Jack crossed Highway 8, the wood smoke was gone from the homes. Almost every roof top chimney seen had the propane exhaust pipe sticking out of it.

Putting the exhaust pipe from the propane furnace out of the chimney seemed logical to Jack. How else to do it? There are possibilities of wall ‘thimbles’ that can allow the venting but the easiest route is the old chimney. It seemed a bit sad to Jack to see the wood heat (or fireplaces) supplanted by a digitally controlled furnace connected to city gas lines or the ‘big boy‘ propane bombs in the backyard.

Jack was one year old when the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, it was nicknamed the Big Boy. Jack was exactly one year old when that happened. What a birthday candle. But, it brought Jack’s dad home. And a lot of other dad’s too. War is like that. Some dad’s come home, some don’t.

Back to the chimneys. Jack noticed wood heat at quite a few of the homes he drove by on his way down to merge onto another highway that begins at Highway 8. There were quite a few homes and business’ visible from the next highway going south. No wood smoke, no piles of wood and not even any outdoor wood boilers. Every chimney Jack saw had the ridiculous metal pipe sticking out of it. A periscope that was looking at progress coming with a petroleum based civilization. Jack wondered if Dr. Suess would be interested in a book about it. “Why was the chimney there and why was it lifted and taken somewhere?”

There is a saying of sorts that living is more real north of 8 I don’t know if that carries much weight and if living there is really that great (back to the Lorax) But there is a subtle difference the further north of 8 you go. Longer driveways, more barns and cows and horses and more wood smoke and real chimneys that survived the propane efficiency movement. More crumpled seed hats and the pickups are not quite as pristine either. Towns that you can walk through the main street in about five minutes. We do have some modern concessions though. There are sidewalks and some folks even have paved driveways. Now and then milk can be dipped out of the bulk tank too.

Lots of cords of wood stacked (new comers stack between trees) Big logs, split stacks and wood sheds. It’s a mess heating with a stove in the house, but nothing beats standing in front of a well built fire when it’s below zero outside. The cat water bowl froze to the kitchen floor at Jack’s house about forty six years ago. Jack now has insulation and a better wood stove. Life is different north of 8. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Conversation Desire and another Glimpse of Eternity

It was one of those soirees, delightful providence of food and people well all yearn for. It went on for the perfect amount of time. Beautiful children, eager pets and faces and voices familiar. Polite words of promise and the search for lives barely understood. Surrounded by a choir, singing a light opera of intimacy, queries and laughter. The author of the notes and stanzas still in the wings waiting for the stage call.

Bits of the score, heard but not completely understood are jealously embraced, acted in a dream that night. The unrecognized but palatable yearning to be written into the opera at various stanza’s almost heard and ended many times with recognizable laughing voices.

Sometimes, you have the impression that the author has saved your savoring for last powerful measures. The ending of stunning beauty, only felt by a few actors still remaining on the stage. Duets mostly but with engagement of song between several singers. Fulfillment and with the dishes put away and the snap of tables folded for the next production in the background. The final notes played like beautiful, loud trumpets and kettle drums building to your then silent departure.

We have all been there. It was an invitation with promise and the invitation given casually. Turn on the voice in the car and follow her instructions. ‘Turn left’ almost going through the stop sign while looking for the road she was telling you about. Blue tooth on the car radio and it works. Sometimes. Upon arrival, it was anticipated that parking would be somewhat complex. It was a breeze this time. A few decades of months in the winter past, the sleigh and the snow complicated parking. A wonder of landscaping came into view. The stage was set.

The guest of honor spoke after a delightful lunch. myself and Julie, sitting in the front heard him plainly. The intriguing thing was his demeanor. Engaging. You knew he was not used to speaking and it really helped him. Not smooth but truth easily heard and personal as weakness’ and surprises as well.

After he spoke there were the inevitable requests for clarification and he handled that very well. Professional speakers are a dreadful bore in those circumstances. Thanks be he was again, engaging and the time sped by.

Since we were in the front row, it was natural to approach him and reassure him. We talked and talked well. There was no lecturing. Fascination. Worlds presented from far away. The mission to intrigue and cause a slight tip of the head to look beyond sight. The author delighted in us.

A light opera, conducted just for us it seemed. As indeed the accouterments were put away and no one else was seen or heard around us, we realized it was the curtain call. The car was easily seen as the other ones were gone.

Every one of the guests and hosts had politely exited and we felt very honored as we conveyed the mutual pleasure of the evening to one another. Real conversation. After all, the opera of honor was well written and well sung by all. Silence and delight at what had been given.

The author of the play is still with us. He has a habit of doing that. He rode back with us and is, as usual, still about the ranch. He helps me write, he surprises us with snippets of astonishing beauty that we have never seen before. We long for more, always. We hunger for the meal again as we wait with eager anticipation. At times, He shouts his name over us. Jesus, author and finisher of our faith. it’s pretty good.. Jack Gator Scribe

Eternal Gulag

Always lurking in the controlling mind. A real solution for ‘those people’ that just don’t get it. A safe way to send them back to reality and make a small profit on the deal. As our world gets a fourth of the truth from the sanctioned loud voices, we find ourselves either listening on our secret wireless sets, or reading the rants and being admonished by family members. “Why do you keep reading that stuff if it makes you so upset?” Of course, along with the news sites comes the inevitable ads for cruises in the Archipelago islands and the like.

The collapse comes steadily with the usual shortages and complaints. Why is heating oil unavailable again? I just got back from the bakers and they’re out of flour. Can you get it running? I’d love to fix it but the parts are back ordered. It seems again like all the toilet paper can be found at the Roswell Mall Wart stores.

Then we hear and see cars and trucks that need some work, prowling the roads. Then run down abandoned houses will be occupied with people that don’t mow the grass. I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore Toyota.

Our money is getting worthless and fuel is well over fifteen bucks. Large gardens abound in the country and generators and transfer switches are flying off the shelves. Ammunition is a subject of quiet conversations. It’s only a matter of time until the gentle words come forth: “Hello! We’re from Madison and we’re here to help. How many people live here? We need to keep track of supplies, are you doing OK? Your safety relies on us. We are setting up some shelters now that the weather is getting colder. The protesters have taken out the power grid and we know getting heat in this weather is critical. When you come to the shelter area nearby, we will make sure everyone is safe and warm. Basic food will be supplied. The fences and guards are for your security. Able bodied people will be asked to help with camp duties, cutting firewood and such.”

We will be told that it will be like camping out with our families and neighbors. Even common rooms for socializing will be there. (It is assumed that games such as ‘Go Fish’ and ‘ Monopoly’ will be available). It will be a vacation! Forwarded mail will not be an issue as the Post Office will have other duties assigned to them.

These measures are presented as temporary until the government gets things back in order. Moving into the shelters will at first be offered and when the national guard arrives, interstate travel will be regulated. Travel papers will be necessary,everywhere. The Consolidation of area resources will be accomplished and there will be work that needs to be done. Camp gardens, maintenance of equipment, and clothing repairs and distribution of supplies from the area. After all, “Work Sets You Free.” If we all work together we will survive. For a while. The recalcitrant will simply be let out the gates to fend on their own. To salvage and hide. And die alone.

It isn’t too hard to visualize the transition, it has already begun. When the social security checks that come into our bank accounts cannot buy gas and food. When government subsidy payments are only for ‘those’ people. When the internet news is always filtered for sanctioned good news. Cameras everywhere keeping law and order. It will be too late to stop the rock of Sisyphus from rolling over us. End game. State is our ‘savior!’ Our only savior is Jesus! He’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Born on The fourth of July

The flash and flare in the east and it is time. Move away from the comfort and deep sleep, awaken to dawn.

There are duties and places to be and now, it’s easier to find things because there is light streaming in. A little bit of Brownian movement from the dust and put on the pot. Find the good bread and drop two slices in with the timer set to max. The good bread is heavy. Got to find the cash for that upgrade on my cell phone is important too. Can I afford it? After all, everyone in the family has a new phone. Mine is old and I need to be current.

There is a shuffle and purpose at hand to indeed waken fully and the hot caffeine warms the 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 at hand is a collection of short stories that are a bit hard to understand. Sarte, Sallinger and the rabbit eared current selection 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 Jack’s son is stirring a bit. Jack comes 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 that tells the truth.

A quote from la Rochefoucauld is at hand: “One can neither stare long at the sun nor at death” During the war the thought was, it will come quickly perhaps? It did to that shipmate on the horizon. It was close but I am OK. Next stop, Palma De Mallorca. Great liberty!

As the inevitable death to Ivan comes, close behind is the funeral. All attend and all contemplate what this means to us as perhaps connections for work. How will the widow get by? Really, there is nothing we can do financially for her. Our own debt is big and that new payment for the big pickup is going to really strap our finances. Of course, how could I forget that vacation to Venice! I think I have enough saved.

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 we 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, dressed as though I was in a church service. Listening to one after another speak of Ivan. The fact that we are 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 sacrifice, we do not comprehend the sacrifice not really understood. Put a few quarters or even a dollar bill in the red kettle. Tithe well and perhaps, just perhaps, we will walk as Enoch did and not have to suffer as Ivan did. That’s it! The second coming and it will all work out! Don’t worry, be happy.

Death was defeated 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. Is there lunch after this, should be. It’s pretty good here at the church of endless life. Maybe I should get in line before every one else does. Jack Gator

Quotes of Current Times

I thought I wanted a career, turns out I just wanted paychecks.

Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.

I just discovered the purpose of shinbones: They’re devices for finding furniture in a dark room.

I’m never sure what to do with my eyes when I’m at the dentist. Do I close them? Do I stare at his face? Do I look at the ceiling? What’s the proper etiquette here?

I have all the money I’ll ever need – if I die by 4:00 p.m. Today.

Google Maps really needs to start their directions on #5. Pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

You can go anywhere you want if you look serious and carry a clipboard.

To err is human. To arr is pirate.

I feel like getting something done today, so I’m just going to sit here until that feeling passes…

Tip of the week: When going through airport customs and the TSA agent asks, “Do you have any firearms with you?” do not reply, “What do you need?”

I just read a list titled “100 Things to Do Before You Die.” I’m pretty surprised “Yell for help” wasn’t one of them.

I when a fly or small bug lands on your computer screen, has your first reaction ever been to try and scare it with the cursor?

People think I’m too patronizing (that means I treat them as if they’re stupid).

“Dammit I’m mad” is spelled the same way backwards. Think about it

.Wife just told me that her birthday is tomorrow. Wow, like maybe more of a heads-up next time.

Son: “Dad, there’s a monster in my room, can I sleep in here?” Dad: Look, it’s you he’s after, why make it my problem too.

2020: We aren’t allowed to go out in public. 2022: We can’t afford to go out in public.

Thanks to fellow Blogger Mitch Teemley for the research and laughter!

Sproul Plaza in the Genteel World

Some of you older folks may remember the ‘free speech’ movement in Berkeley back in the 60’s.
There were all sorts of speakers ‘for the people’ declaring the freedom to say anything they wanted to and thus, enabling everyone to do the same.


Mario Savio, Jerry Rubin and others were up there on the steps at the college,ripping up the air with
megaphones and every filthy word they could muster up. The lizard was let out of the cage and it really
still belongs in there today. I have noticed things that are acceptable nowadays that were not so a short
time ago. Movies, literature and people on some sort of insane voyage seem to be heard and amazingly, understood and endorsed by many. It seems as though Allen Ginsburg and his ‘man/boy’ agenda has been given a new look and found politically correct this time around.


It appears that insanity and the collapse of thinking is here. Turning our children into the opposite sex
and actually having people in Washington unable to define the difference between a man and a woman.
That sort of thing happens in fantasy movies. Usually it is some sort of super power that appears in those
kind of films.

Now, the super power is saying things that are not real and people that hear these things
believe them. These new believers get angry when those of us see absurdity spoken and written. Easily
seen if you haven’t drunk the cool aid. Feminine personal products available in men’s public toilets just in
case they are needed. Men competing in Women’s sports events because they have changed their
names to female and wear clothing to match.


Our country is on a acid trip that Timothy Leary stated would be so cool if LSD was put in all the water
we drink. Conspiracy theories abound. Free injection needles for drug addicts. Creating ‘safe zones’ for
rioters we now call disenfranchised and troubled youth. Shootings every night by criminals that ‘we
created’ because of our racist history (which is being re-written by George Orwell’s ministry of truth)

Now we have criminals from other countries who just drifted in to enjoy the home of no savings and the land of free stuff. It is insane and we wait to awaken again in the morning to unlock the doors and peer out down the driveway to see it is still calm. Even here in rural American farmland.


I experienced the tip of that iceberg a few years ago at night. I was at a public reading by a university
professor with many endorsements and accolades from the usual foundations and politically correct
intellectuals. Books for sale too. Autographed as soon as the cash was given. An author that I worked alongside decades ago in a local food co-op we put together. It’s still there. I was eager to see her again and reminisce.


It was Sproul plaza again. This time without the megaphone. A totally inadequate sound system and
refreshments for those of us who need those sorts of things. It was put on by a government funded
institution, the St. Croix Falls Library. We were out in the delightful perfect summer evening on a plaza. Nice chairs and very friendly people.


A lot of them were friends too. The main speaker, my old friend, was reading a book of her own and it began to segue into language that is now free to use. Language of bar habitués in questionable parts of cities.


The small gathering of intellectuals began to titter and appreciatively express their delight in the continual use of curse words and the denigration of our Lord. As though He was the cause of sorrows and arbitrary wrong doing. “Is He safe? Of course not, He’s a lion but He’s goodA.


The lemonade and grapes and crackers were leaving traces to follow the crowd along. It was a
courtesy by the staff to comfort us and prepare us for the endorsing of the cool-aid of the times. How
exciting to hear an endorsed intellectual (with the mandatory book signing afterwards) speak those words
that we all want to speak casually. Polite society is not ready for that yet. It was sad for me to experience such drivel and ‘worldliness’ from an old friend.

Before I left, I asked why she used so many F bombs and added I was offended. She replied, “I was just reading a book!” That disconnect was incomprehensible. She wasn’t reading an old Ginsberg book, she wrote this one and she owns it.

I had brought some of my columns for Sharon, my friend and fellow author, to enjoy later but I tucked them back into my journal and left. It was not very good. I was sad. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

A. C.S. Lewis. ‘The lion, the witch and the wardrobe.

Galleria Umberto

It was Jack’s first duty station. Sent overseas to Italy and the only destination was the mysterious, Comservron 6. It was exciting and only the third plane ride for Jack. First one was a DC3 out to Michigan to set up a curtain display. Second one was boot camp in San Diego and now international!

Naples, Italy sounded official and perhaps some sort of embassy duty! A few weeks leave to remember where home was and it was off to the airport to fly overseas. Jack was just barely 21 and away he went. Jack was just getting used to Camp Nimitz in San Diego. Teaching Morse code to other Sailors in A school It was rather pleasant after boot camp actually. Jack had a sister in Laguna too. She had a red Corvette and let Jack drive it now and then to Las Angelis.

Instead of some villa with radios and communication for an embassy, Jack found the duty station was aboard an old WWII fleet oiler. His first duty on board was back in the mess decks, peeling potatoes as finally the ship left port and steamed off to the east Mediterranean sea. The ship anchored out (she always did because no one trusted a ship filled with millions of gallons of fuels. Oil, gasoline, JP4 and kerosene. None of this bunch had ever exploded but you can’t be too careful with floating bombs.

The landing craft was launched and Jack actually set foot on yet another foreign country, first one was Tijuana after boot camp. Now Turkey. Exotic and quite a bit like movies that feature bazaars with people jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Exciting to Jack and still so foreign. The street vendors closed in on Jack and began offering to buy his dress blue pants. Jack thought about Dr. Suez and the story of the green pants with nobody in them. Jack got back to fleet landing and was glad to get aboard. So much for Izmir. Jack’s pants still had somebody in them and he quickly changed into his utilities.

Being home ported in Naples, Jack was entitled to have a room in town. What a surprise when Jack heard this! There was an advisory contact to obtain a room or apartment and Jack chose this room on the seventh floor of a galleria. There was a balcony leading to the room and at the middle of it where the elevator came up, a view of the building unfolded. Stupendous falls short. It was about eight stories down to the interior which was laid out in a cross. At Jacks floor, the glass dome covering the galleria was right above him. As the development in Jack’s home town began to take off, the concept of an interior shopping ‘mall’ which began in Europe, was very attractive. Jack could see the shoppers way down there and he could see right to the north of the Galleria to the Napoli Opera house.

Jack set out to get some ‘civvies’ and chose wool Harris tweeds and the accouterments that went with that style of perhaps an English professor on holiday. Jack met a British art student at a local cafe’, and over small demitasses of espresso, Jack invited her to take a train to Pompeii. A delightful excursion until they arrived and the ruined city was very pornographic in it’s statuary and frescoes. That was the end of that and she left for London and Jack went back to the Galleria. The elevators all ran on 10 lire coins and once Jack came up to his floor, he realized the gate to his room was closed for the night. Jack tried not to look down as he climbed the railing and swung around the gate. Oh well, the room was a refrigerator in construction. Marble floors that would not warm anything. Jack had a little sunflower propane heater and it kept his bedside table a bit warm.

Foolishly leaving the beauty of Galleria Umberto for a seedy apartment rented by his new friend Chuck. Was a dip into the seedy side of Naples. The elevator up to Tonino’s apartment also ran on 10 Lire coins and if you hit the call button just as it was getting the bottom and climbed in the open door, it would go down a few feet and go up to your floor. It was that kind of alleyway apartment area. Trouble was brewing for Jack with the local pharmacy at the end of the alley that legally sold methadrine over the counter. Chuck called them ‘pep pills’ for the mid-watch. This adventure, Escape and Capture I and II was in the Leader last year. (Drop me an email and I can forward them to you) Gatorjack75@gmail.com It’s all pretty good. Jack Gator

Musical Pathways

There are many ways as perhaps there are people to engage with music. It’s a bit of a stretch to think that way but it seemed apparent at a recent conversation. Three of the Gator family were discussing response to music played live. Not recorded. Ex Ante or before the music is heard, versus Ex Post afterwards.

Jack began seriously thinking about why he likes certain experiences of music, including music he has played ensemble. Is it the gestalt of everything, the singing, the instruments or the attitudes seen and felt? Perhaps at least all three, but one aspect stood out for Jack. The rhythm. When Jack played for years with a local square dance band, rhythm was everything. Even if the perceived pace was two or three times the chords or notes played. The dancers listened to the ‘caller’ we played the tune. No body in the band sung anything.

Before long, after joining the band at the invite of the mandolin player, Jack realized the gift he had been given for all of his life. He loved music from childhood onward but until he joined that band ( Duck for the Oyster) Jack did not know what really moved him about music. They knew after a short time of playing together. It was a four piece band consisting of a fiddle, a mandolin, a stand up bass and Jack on Guitar. Jack became dubbed “The Rhythm Monster” The playing of a chord slightly ahead of it’s usual place. Doubling up the time signature while the band played in ‘half time’. Adding extra beats to change a waltz so if the dancers were not careful, they could be a bit lost.

It made things cook and now and then when Jack would do these things, the guys would give a brief chuckle and join in the fun. Just adding a harmonic note instead of a chord would work too. They were all fantastic musicians and the joy they projected was palpable.

Nowadays, Jack plays with a small ensemble that is always a different group except for the guitar player and lead singer. He is, of course, the leader that gets the songs, the charts, the order and picks just who he hears in his mind to play. He picks Jack to play mandolin and violin every month or two and whenever they rehearse and play, Jack has fun with the rhythm with his instruments. The real high notes that are played with a tremolo makes the leader ‘laugh’ with delight. The fiddle Jack plays sounds more like the square dance and waltz things Jack learned playing country western music in the middle 70’s. Double stops with chops and more harmonics. It’s Jack’s love language.

This band is a worship band that plays in front of a sizable group and the hard part is playing a short period of five or less songs. The goal is to project the joy of the subject (whom Jack has some experience with) and the sure pathway to projecting this joy is to experience it in front of the singers, the congregation. A quick smile or a nod of a head. A quick glance by the leader with that smile, conveys the joy sought with all their hearts. It’s preaching on a different level. The message is always the same. The living God Jesus, deserves all the glory and honor. He dances and gives His joy to those in the room along with Him. Nothing else comes even close.

Do what you love and love what you do. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Early Zoom Meetings

Fairly recently, Jack started doing Zoom meetings for a committee he is a member of. A local outfit it is but still, easier to chat with neighbors within a radius of 10 miles or so.

There is a mute function at the top of Jack’s screen that shows his face on the screen. Clicking it silences any vocals or noise from Jack’s workspace. Clattering pencils, coffee cup clanging, all silent for the other participants. Of course, the camera showing everyone in a smaller space on the screen is difficult for Jack. No matter where the camera is located, Jack seems to be looking up or sideways. The other folks don’t seem to have that problem. Jack will have to ask why.

Recently, Jack remembered a similar chat format that he had with some friends in the big city in the late fifties. Most of the guys in the chat were friends of similar age except for Brother Dave in South Minneapolis.

Since home computers and cell phones were decades away, the multi chat ‘room’ was done over Amateur radio. Jack was in eighth grade as were most of the participants and all of them held General class licenses. This allowed them to use audio transmissions and more ‘bands’ of short wave to do so.

The chatting was done on the Ten Meter band which was much wider in bandwidth than the popular citizen’s band radio. That slot in radio bands was much higher around two meters and was disdained by Jack and his friends. No training or knowledge of circuitry, antenna construction and Morse code was required for that citizen’s Band. Elitist Ham juveniles. Citizen’s band is still used by OTR drivers as a useful tool, but the range and power is very limited.

So, there we were, a group of nerdy young amateur radio operators and we came up with a plan for a ‘network’ or net to join us all at the same time. We decided on a frequency at the edge of the ten meter band and called our little group the ‘Fish Net’

We would log on when we should have been in bed on school nights and talk about school and ‘social’ events that it seemed we were on the outside of: football team stuff, flirtatious gossip and the ‘In’ crowd. You may have been in on that or if not, you know the isolation of not being approached to join one. No doubt, we radiated (pun) our superior minds and scientific abilities that made us total outcasts. Jack went on to a custom loud chopped Harley in the early 60’s and confirmed his rebellion. Another column. (Jack sold his ham gear to buy chrome plating and engine parts.)

So, late at night, Jack and his friends would establish contact. One at a time we would announce our monitoring the exact frequency we would meet on. Jack rigged up a string to his foot switch which would switch from listening to broadcasting. Switching antenna for receiver to transmitter and standby to both parts of his ‘rig’ The string went up the ceiling and down to his bed.

Jack took his microphone to his bed, laid down and would pull on the string to make the switch. It worked and a few times, Jack would fall asleep at the switch. It was fun and almost impossible to convey to school mates. Several times, a ham operator from another part of the country would log in and chat a bit too. A bit of another difference between Citizens Band Radio or CB. That can not be done with 5 watts of power. We had a hundred watts or more and ionosphere radio wave ‘skip’ now and then.

It was fun and connecting as we all went to different schools. Early Zoom, about fifty years or so. Pioneers in communication as it were. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Judgement

It’s natural. It’s necessary. There is danger that must be realized at times and to be avoided. Of course, the downside is we tend to believe that the danger extends to those around us of our ‘tribe’. Jack knows this is one of his obvious problems, is it yours too? Not physical danger but religious danger. We all have religion in us. After all, the philosophers on Mar’s hill centuries ago were religious too, as we all are. Every one of us. Paul of Tarsus was not successful in convincing these men of the truth of Christ. Why? Because they are just like us. Comfy in their own religion and not open to anything else. Well presented and truthful by Paul, but judged as wrong.

Jack has had a lot of experiences that can and have been judged by others. Is it your experience too? It isn’t too hard to see the response of incredulity and rejection immediately. A slight lift of the eyebrows or a small pulse in a carotid artery. Closure of the mouth slightly and an upturn of the head. The most obvious response is a crossing of the arms in front. Subtle, there are other ‘tells’ of emotion. You can see them if you get good at it. Oddly enough, they show when you lie too.

There are many subjects in conversation that trigger judgment, Jack finds the most reactions are those referring to conversations shared about communications from God, Lord of lords. Personal events of beauty and love. Especially if there isn’t any understood point, or worse yet, a prejudgment of himself as deceived or worse. As in Jack’s life, a judgment of doctrine or scandal in another church body or chain of faith. It leads to a loss, always. Jack has mentioned some mentors that have assisted him in his faith growth. Miracles of healing and visions while with old friends or where they were at the time.

The gossip usually goes on within and it is a ‘hot button’ often resulting in a total rejection of music written and sung. Music using scripture as a base as well! It is disappointing to Jack as he knows how he is being delivered from this what is called ‘discernment’. Jack has been a musical performer with folk music and country blues for a great portion of his life. A lot of songs that are not too useful in a faith gathering but this does not necessarily condemn everything Jack has done or will do. . Jack’s mentors of worship however, are shrugged off as soon as he mentions them or even exposes a sticker on his instrument cases. ‘Oh them’ Heretics, deceived people

Beautiful songs that bring tears to Jack and when Jack mentions them in groups or personal conversation some extraordinary things, miracles really that he has experienced; they are quickly ignored and put in the judgment bucket as the result of brainwashing or hypnotic occurrences. Jack has done this too and he is the lessor.

Think of how John’s Revelation was and is received. It’s similar in many ways. It is the way our life is supposed to be at times. Stunning to us and extraordinary to others. Why are we like this? Jack guesses it is his arrogance and belief that he is the judge of all things. After all, beasts with many eyes, a Man with eyes of fire and a burning sea of glass with infinite musicians playing and singing. Some folks even reject musical instruments.

Try and open up without the feeling of being dragged away on a sledge of sludge. Listen and look at something else, something that can have a lot of beauty and truth in it. Ask Jesus how he looks at these things, the song of songs which is dismissed as a fleshly song. Solomon was out of his mind and hallucinating perhaps? Actually, it’s pretty good. “I am lovesick, tell me if you find Him”. Jack Gator