Self worth

Tis the Season to be Jolly

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Photo taken at Gone Green Recycling

It seemed like an incredible opportunity. Snow cones with jam and maple syrup. Enough snow for sure. At twenty cents apiece it would be thousands. Road side stand. That’s the ticket!

Perusing auctions about the state, I came across a really practical item. Something that could replace my old walk-behind machine and make the long driveway and parking lot be usable. Above photo.

A record breaking season of foot after foot of snow can get tedious as you well know up here in the North Country Fair. There is more than usual grumpiness and complaining in town. Strangers at the post office, smokers outside the bar. It gets to be humorous with everyone. After all, sometimes feet of snow slow things down and tailgating to avoid first in line deer collisions is over for the season.

A lot of folks with the big F250’s and western plows make a decent amount of seasonal money. The problem with that approach was the tall mounds of snow next to the driveways and roads. You know how it was. Cautiously, creeping out to make certain there was no traffic coming. And the mess and eventually, no place to further put the snow! Dump trucks of it after small town America finishes clearing main street.

Snow blowers, good ones, can throw the snow a ways and solve the pile problems. Not everyone had a machine that could effectively throw it that far. Especially the wet and often slushy snow or the ice that the slush turned into at night. In town, of course, shoveling is the only option. Snow blower haze on the next door neighbors windows is frowned upon.

We now have a utility tractor with a bucket, forks and so forth. If the skids on the bucket are set just right, our youngest son (who bought the tractor) can remove the snow without removing gravel from the driveway. The snowblower attachment we had for the Simplicity Lawn tractor needs auger bearings, transmission oil seals too and they are very labor intensive to replace. We have an old walk behind blower that is very tedious as the driveway is approximately 2 furlongs long and quite a big wider. It would take me 6 trips or so just to do the driveway. The parking lot is big and is then done afterwards. We shovel the side walks and various paths to the wood shed and storage buildings. No cattle or chickens this year so the long walk to the barn is not used.

How much to charge and how to contract townships for the tough roads through many lake owners- properties? Fuel, time, repairs would be factors. They used to do it 40 years ago. I would wait out by the door, listening for that diesel engine, snorting away nearby and watch that road grader with a huge V plow punch a path up the long driveway. A few runs if there was drifting. When he got up to turn around, I would walk out to him with a hot cup of coffee laced with Kalua. He knew it was coming. Well received, well given. He came sooner after that ritual was established.

As many of us ‘old timers’ speak of these things, the past including weather, seem more exciting and real. Examples throughout history are that way. It was better than before. The clothes, the people, the schools, etc. Was it? The storms seem to be tolerable now without free flights inside the house with waltzing tornados accompanying you on wood winds.

Would I be happier with a coonskin cap and a flintlock cradled in my arm this week during deer season? I wouldn’t know if I lived then. I would be the same person. It’s always ‘progress’ and under suspicion as we yearn for things but do not really want them.

Life in the garden was good until we got eager for more. More gold, more power, more success. Pretty old story eh? Why are we like this? We have been given everything that we need, and that is the reason we yearn. I am learning to find satisfaction and joy not around the corner. Right here, right now.

Simple rules from long ago, there are only three of them as I have read: “Be kind, be kind, and the third rule is like those, be kind.” To yourself and in turn, to everyone else. I always come back to the Ardennes forest in WW I as the soldiers began singing Silent night in German, French and English after yet another trench warfare battle. Crossing no-mans-land and sharing precious cigarettes and brandy to celebrate the only true God and lover of all and His birthday. Be kind. It’s pretty good.

Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Open Windows II

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

As goes a saying, especially in a novel by George MacDonald (At the back of the North Wind), the window in our hearts has to be open for change to enter. Of course, the change has to be done by Adonni. The man of no reputation, the healer and the Abba Father. More on that later.

I used to think that the window was the focus, as could be interpreted in the novel. After all, the North Wind says it isn’t A window, it was Her window. The Holy Spirit’s window.

If the cleanliness of the window was the issue, it would not be good. My heart especially. If you have read a few of these columns over the last few years, you know a bit of my life. Not very sociable is a light term. Speaking of which, another column more recently addressed that issue. Especially church attenders and faithful ones too. Open Windows.

This column is dedicated to the folks that have been attending church for some time, some even since childhood. Deacons, leaders and elders too, attentive and a lot of times, complimenting the Pastor/speaker on their talk. Just say ‘thanks, I needed that’. It’s good, don’t misunderstand me. As had been said by my very closest friend, Julie, “don’t take condemnation”Pay attention to what I am saying without judgment please. It works to think beyond our image of ourselves. Growing up is better and preferred. It’s hard and often embarrassing. We all need to grow, constantly. It’s why we listen.

All this illuminating about scripture can be rather distracting if we are not paying attention to the complete conviction and the very passionate person standing in front of you,saying these important things. It’s not a college lecture on philosophy or metaphysics. It’s not the old Greek style of a famous orator. Taking notes is very good, I do that too. The notes are not the passion. They are to be read now and then. After all , you wrote them for that reason! Just as in school you wrote crib notes for the coming exams. The thoughts of those notes return

‘Watch, look and listen’ just as at a railroad crossing is good advice. If we don’t, it’s easy to get distracted by the speeding train in our minds. “I wonder what’s for lunch?” “That gal I saw in the lobby certainly caught my eye till I remembered God’s word on that!” the worst one for me is “I wonder when church will be over, I’ve got to get some shopping done”

We must open our hearts to what is being said, don’t concern yourself about schedules and perhaps about the dirt on your ‘window’. Throw up the sash and let that cool breeze into your heart. When you start to weep, that is the first sign of successful communication and often, astonishment. Those besides you may ask, “What’s wrong!” The correct answer from me is: “these are tears of joy! I cry at great music too”

A word of caution! Don’t wipe your eyes, just get the run off. Tears are good for you. The Lord says he treasures them for grief and this grief is real. It’s conviction for how short our arrows fall when we think we are making a bulls eye with our life. The voice you hear goes way beyond the speaker in front of you.

Let the transformation begin when our dirty window is even slightly open. It isn’t a window per se, It’s just our guard we have developed to protect our damage and disappointments. Filthy windows, and hard to see into as well. We know the dirt and smudges and they mean nothing to who we are. We are created as one of a kind, a miracle of incredible complexity and unique potential. Throw open the sash and indeed, the tears will flow when truth is heard. We don’t usually hear truth about ourselves supernaturally. It’s pretty good. Norm / Jack

Discarded

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I was in my twenties when I found an apartment that fitted my mood. Recently discharged from the military and I was going to art school! The apartment fit the inherited car from his Grandfather, an old, square shaped Buick sedan. It wasn’t like my first car, the British Racing Green MGA with the real knock-off spoke wheels and Pirelli Cinturados and a Derrington wood rim steering wheel. No, It was the car of my discarded Grandfather, now passed down to me. Discarded because the once strong fireman was not capable of driving or putting out fires anymore. It felt good to me to get that old Buick.

Grandpa had killed my cat when I was young, because it had to be as Grandpa could not have my cat in his home when Mom and her new husband went on their honeymoon to Sweden. I had no say as I was in grade school and felt discarded, set aside and not worthy of dialogue or even gentleness. Mom and her immigrant husband never went on that honeymoon either. One of those memories of the life of a person now dead but living within me. a.

It felt sort of similar too that my family sold my precious MGA when the draft came in with a whirlwind of death harvest for Vietnam. I signed up first before I could have gone west to the jungles. I went east to the Mediterranean sea instead.

So I sold Grandpas Buick right away, traded it for an Austin Healy Sprite. It felt good to be in a roadster again. Made up a bit for the Green MGA and the cat.

My apartment was a dump. Second floor above a Sherman Williams paint store on the wrong side of the tracks. Corner store, separate entrance. I had a neighbor who was down and out and bummed smokes from me. When I would ask him how things were going, the neighbor always said: “just take me to the dump” That memory reminds me of Marvin the paranoid android in Hitchhikers guide. “I’m not getting you down am I?”

It seems that the latest attitude we all have. “It’s at the end of it’s service life” or “that old thing? Too expensive to fix, toss it” “ You’re what! Pregnant! Git rid of it, You’ve got your whole life ahead of you!” and our favorite: “Heck, he’s over 80. Forget that cornea transplant. I mean really, how many years does he have left anyway?” “Put her in a home, she won’t notice anyway” And so forth. As side note, as I edit this post I just had eye surgery for cataracts and I am 81. Love it! I can drive without glasses now.

Feeling useless because the popular philosophy now is Existential in nature. One man in particular, a philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche, went insane in the most beautiful country in the world, Switzerland. He came to the point of knowing the tension and despair for the loss of meaning in his life because of the loss of a personal God. His words are profound: “ But all pleasure seeks eternity-a deep and profound eternity”. Groucho Marks said: ” I want to live forever and I’ll die trying it” Truth from a great comedian.

Our country has found itself discarding our God of Creation perhaps because He is inconvenient and is sort of a kill joy because of all those rules he has. “I can’t follow all those rules in the Bible!” Of course we can’t, that’s the point of the rules. We need Him.

So we discard what we feel and know is not worthwhile to us. An old car, out of date food and personal relationships that are used up and don’t make us feel the way we want to. Or the way we feel we are entitled to perhaps. We have so much ‘stuff ‘ that it gets in our way when we don’t like it or need it. Broken things, old things past their expiration dates. Things that we don’t even remember acquiring. And so it goes on and on until it becomes easier to discard than repair. “That car, it was getting old and anyway, I was tired of driving it” How much different is it when it comes to this? “He was getting on my nerves. All this talk about going to a church marriage counselor! It was his fault, so I divorced him”

It seems prudent to us to just put it in a blue plastic container and park it down by the end of the driveway every Tuesday. ‘Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water! Throw out the tub too!’ I can do what I want, that’s what the world says. Another philosopher, De Sade put it well: “If there is no standard, no real moral base, then that old woman walking down the road can either be helped or run over. No difference if there are no moral standards” Those standards have been firmly set by an eternal infinite loving God who knows us and desires us to love him with the same passion he loves us.

So, it’s our choices, the small ones that make a great impact on everyone. Should I discard this friend? This inconvenient baby? This old fashioned religious teaching? This God who never did anything I asked Him to do?

Always, always our choice to build, repair, embrace and seek truth in the eyes of the Man who is more alive than any man who ever lived. Jesus, the master repairman of old and stressed lives. It’s pretty good.

Norm Peterson / Jack Gator For continuation of this story line see ‘Motorcycle Pilgrimage 1-5

a. Mark Batterson “please, thanks and sorry”

Hey Preacher Man

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Right out of the gate we start with a startling quote: “It is becoming increasingly obvious that those who avoid the painful encounter with the unseen are doomed to live a supercilious, boring, and superficial life…Pastors who see this feel more like circus directors than leaders to a new life”.

In other words perhaps, a lot of people that attend meetings about spiritual matters about God (out there or up there) instead of God within us, become part and parcel of that superficial life. As I have written before, the casual and totally insipid greeting of “how are you doing” countered with “better than I deserve!” is also boring and superficial. ‘You have no idea of what you deserve” is my immediate thought. Either that greeting is met with confusion or a laugh. I try with “I recognize your voice and your face but not your name.

The name section of my mind was wiped out by the seizures I had years ago and I casually refer to that issue as my rolodex got deleted. ” I’m Larry” is followed by a little laugh and glance elsewhere in the lobby and the encounter can get better or can end right there.

Close encounters of the non kind. (another column observing most of us are trapped in our own little existential world ) It’s easier not to go there. It’s easier to look for that Lazy Boy chair out in the sanctuary and watch the Bible on the cell phone (lighter in many ways and easier to carry) Nothing gets in or out is the lock down. It usually begins and ends with our mind focused on what to say as someone is speaking. I do not listen well, at least I know that.

I so want to get to know people. I like their face and I can see curiosity and perhaps an open depth that is obedient to more. It is reassuring in some way, reassuring that we odd ones do not get past that door. So close! Maybe this time I will find a soul that is curiously seeking. Eager to explore. To hear someone else besides myself. If asked, I will speak of these things and reveal my self. The many self’s that made me who I am this day.

The baby dandled on my mother’s lap, the reclusive and secret sensualist youngster. A reluctant military man. A young drug addict and a seeker of pleasure from women. A hardened and extremely powerful railroad track worker. These are the bodies buried in the family plot but are still within me. I do not live in those bodies any more and can briefly remember some of those things. This is intimacy within myself and can be shared with trust with another. We all have those burial plots.

The invitation to look closer and understand me as I will see who you are in return. Who are you and why are you? It’s a basic question to ask of the One that created us and if I listen quietly, I can hear an answer, in dreams, thoughts and once in a very great while, an audible kiss of the romantic one who created me.

We are told to rise for the intro of the excellent music production and I dutifully get up and instead of singing, open my Bible and read in a Sotto voce voice. Usually, the scripture I randomly pick is in harmony with what is being sung. I do like to sing but after many years of choir and performing, I sing harmony that pleases me. It throws people off nearby. Same phenomenon singing happy birthday. I like the alto/bass parts. It’s hard to sing melody for most, let alone try that with someone next to you going an octave below with a third or fifth.

Eventually, the sermon is presented to the room. No one rises. It is much easier to follow along with Bible in hand and for some, much easier to journal. The pastor/minister/priest gives a dissertation on the scripture at hand, in a few cases with interpretation in original languages. Greek, Hebrew and Latin. I appreciate that, illumination and thought provoking for certain. Exegesis of The Word and the scholarship of seminary shows forth. Brilliant really. It paints pictures in my mind but still does not engender an intimate relationship. That is the next step for me. Asking about life and complex emotions and fears.

If I could read an excellent book about my wife or her reading one about me, Intimacy is not brought forth. Love letters are are in the Bible and that’s what I like. Talking to the one you love and hearing back. An intimate relationship. Everyone loves to get a real letter. Hand written ones especially.

Quite a few times I have heard what I needed to hear. Passion, exhortation to go deep, deeper than we think we can go. Dive into our heart and meet Jesus there. Listen to Him, allow Him to speak and guide us. The ministering gives us the opportunity to move in the waters of life. How deep under the water with Jesus do we want to go? Let that sink in. The minister is not a social organizer, he wants us to awaken to life itself. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

With great thanks to Frederick Buechner, Mark Batterson and Henri Nowen

Unexpected Grief and Joy II

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There is a special quality to working alongside a son. Here I am with Soren, our youngest son and He is completely reconstructing my old shop. This photo was taken as we were both mildly bleeding from the usual construction hazards. Or, in this case, deconstruction before construction.

We have all done these things. New curtains and carpets, out with the old and in with the new as the saying goes. It was with more than trepidation that a task came to the forefront of our lives. The ‘tearing down and rebuilding. Two forty yard roll off dumpsters sort of thing. Nails and ancient dimension lumber. Insulation above that appeared to be cotton candy coated with mice having their own free wheeling toilet and dining areas.

All of it, the windows, sill plates and trusses. 30 by 40 or so. Fifty years ago it was old when I bought this farm. I was so nonplussed that I went to the old log barn and brought our my fiddle and played it. April 1, 1976 and I had just arrived with a moving van. In the rain.

A few years later after loosing my track worker job due to a back injury, it seemed a good idea to open a repair shop for foreign vehicles. After all, there were at least a dozen of them in the county. A kind and clever snap on dealer had me rebuild his 280Z for the tools it would take to do it. It ran quite well and I was off and running. 1979 and I should have a plaque, it’s there inside and doesn’t hang on the wall. It dangles about 3 and a half inches between my ears. Memory.

Sliding wood doors and no heat with a somewhat usable floor and foundation.30 x 40. I was 30 and could do anything, just like my son to come. The barn and chicken coop and old silo foundation were gone soon along with the summer kitchen much later. Oak 2×4 boards that held nails strong enough for mild tornadic winds. A time lapse film would appear interesting.

There isn’t much of it left in this photo. The floor and the Brick were left a few days after this

photo. Small injuries were the norm for all the family and friends that helped. Nails, metal siding and roofing, splinters from 75 year old dimension lumber. I was the only one that got nailed with a falling black walnut as I worked outside gathering those green tennis balls off of the ground.

Prep work. Building the trusses and putting up the walls and gently hoisting them onto them. As I write this, the rear you see is ¾ done with wiring and roof steel to do. Then inside walls and some shelving for all the shop sorts of things. Chemicals, parts and screws and bolts. Things all shops have in abundance. Possibly a new bench and a place for the freezers filled with venison.

Last night we pushed in the pile of inside particle board and after that goes up, the freezers go back. somewhere and the hoist is then clear for our car’s oil change and other chores. First is the install of the new hydraulics for the Kubota tractor and attendant bucket to complete the outside roof and siding. Getting closer to winter! Below freezing tonight here in the NW of Wisconsin and today, also bring up firewood to the rack on the porch for the parlor stove.

Fun, fun, fun till daddy takes the earth tilting it’s way from the sun. The design of a master creator to give us seasons of growth and hibernation, Heat to grow and snow to slow things down. Not withstanding the hydraulic snow blower on the tractor installation.

Rakes for shovels as the glory of creation gives us all another trip around the sun. 81 times around for me, how about you? Norm/Jack

Synopsis of a Fool on the road to Redemption

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A recall of my life is now being revealed to me, bit by bit. Indeed all the mistakes, roads taken that had no outlet or were literally dead ends, were there to take me to a place I did not know I was going. This is the reason I was given the opportunity to write this book. I thought it was my idea!

The Author whose books anchor a sagging bookshelf in our library, has given me hope and excitement as he has done for so many. C.S. Lewis. The first name Jessie Seline and I decided on for my Fiddling Gator identity was Jack. {It was Clive Staples Lewis’ nickname.}

So many authors have that first name in fiction writing and Jessie and I decided it was perfect. Punchy like Jack Dempsey. Masculine and only four letters long. It stuck after being known as ‘Mr Gator’ for years. That story comes to light in this book. A simple newspaper article about my role as a judge in a fiddle contest with a cartoon of an alligator, rocking back on his tail. playing the fiddle.

I know, without any doubt, that our Lord Jesus has me on speed dial to my spirit. I did not even know I had a phone like that before others before that have those, taught me how to listen. I listened when I was a big fool and now I am a tool. Those two letters are close on keyboards and are pushed with the left forefinger. Pointing the way to Him.

My counselor, Mr. Beeves, told me he had never met a man with more trauma than I. He also told me it would always be in my mind and would have six tenths of a second to turn off the reaction of fight or flight to perceived new trauma. Recently, I have asked Jesus to have a USB port put into my head and a jump drive with a program to dive deep and encase those memories where they belong. The past. He has recently acquiesced to that request! Very recently. I did not know He could do that or that I could ask. Look for the port if we meet and I will split hairs with you and show it to you.

Go, Set and get ready. Go to Him set your heart before Him and with Him, and you are ready. Stay on that Highway to Holiness, for “the road to hell is an easy slope, soft underfoot with no warning signs” a. I have asked many friends that were near death to meet me as I ‘cross the bar’ to eternity. I saw one of them leave with five words as he disappeared: “It’s better than you said!” It is.

a. C.S. Lewis

Parking Diagonally In Small Town America

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Nature and God—I neither knew yet Both so well knew me. They startled, like Executors of my identity”

Emily Dickinson

Frederic Wisconsin, is a small town with almost a thousand people, and several deer. A small red fox runs across the state highway by the gas station around 4:30 every morning. The town has a restored railway station which is very authentic. There’s a caboose on a siding, a semaphore signal, a metal-wheeled cart with wood barrels and a bright yellow track-section car. A chain-saw carved wooden bear, stands near the roadbed where the metal tracks once ran. We live 7 miles to the west. A short buggy ride for the Amish who are half a mile from town.

The train station anchors Main Street, which is about a block and a half long with diagonal parking. Frederic has a smattering of small shops: a hardware store, two bars, a library, and the usual shops that sell antiques and knickknacks to tourists and used furniture to the locals.

Leaving town on the state highway you will find a gas station with well made waist-expanding doughnuts a car dealership and a tidy golf course with another bar. It is a cute town with a nice cafe and a second rate self-service car wash. The people in the town are fairly reserved but will speak with you if you speak first to them. A few of the people will wax nostalgic about the glory days of the railroad and the daily passenger train.

When first told of the twice-a-day train schedule, I knew I had missed something by being born 20 or 30 years too late. Of course, the tracks are gone except the siding with the caboose but the roadbed is now a merged bicycle/snowmobile trail. The bicyclists park by the bakery and the snowmobile folks park at the bar on the corner.

Much to the towns confusion, the bakery has been closed for several years from a fire. Now they only sell wholesale and the main street side windows are covered up. There has also been a fire next door above one the bars. A fire no-sale. Two for the price of 1. Soon, the two buildings, which were destroyed, will rise from the ashes become one. A patio for patrons of the bar and bakery will finish the project. As I write this there is still windows and doors to install and the insides finished. The town is excited about the project. Have a pastry with your beer and relax.

There are five churches of the usual preferences, and even a small Amish community on the edge of town. Their carriages and the clip-clop of the horses add charm and fertilizer to the main street. The small town chugged along pretty well and the years brought the expected changes. A late night two dollar store and an old department store now selling secondhand furniture and dishes. There are treasures worth searching for: top line toasters and old hard-bound books. The two dollar store has a red box for last years latest movies. I always wonder why everything anyone buys from those quick two dollar stores smells like laundry detergent.

The early-morning men gather every morning, parking in the same parking spots and sitting at the same table. sipping passable coffee and eating good sourdough toast. The restaurant on the corner was named ‘Beans’ and now is known as ‘The Tin Shed.’ It is an early morning place of connections and warmth on winter days. The Tin prefix refers to the new metal siding. Well done face lift. The huge ventilation fan, dripping delicious smelling grease is still around the corner over the sidewalk. Bacon and french fries mingle their smells delightfully.

On those snowy winter days the village sweeps while its people sleep, the snow and drift removal goes on with the metallic rasp of shovels and the diesel snort of the plows. Some merchants shovel other store-front sidewalks because they have hearts for it. There is camaraderie in the winter, a hunkering and shared misery too: dead car batteries, ice on the roofs and leaking roofs in downtown with all the flat roofs common in row-house shops.

The down-town sometimes appeared like an old man with teeth missing. There were too many empty store-fronts. The draw of the big box stores about 25 miles south takes a toll on local merchants. A small town can only support one antique store or one that has used books, Jackets and couches. Frederic had a burned out bar, the bakery with no public access, an empty appliance store and an excellent hardware store, an old one with everything you need. A new pharmacy and clinic. There is a friendly grocery store with a deli and things the big box does not handle. (My favorite is Lingonberry jam.) There is an exit power door that sticks open slightly and that is a reminder that the wholesale grocery business operates on a rather slim margin. It still works but keeps the entryway nicely cool in the winter.

There is a food truck that shows up in the summer by the old railroad depot with great gyro sandwiches. A tow behind coffee business is faithful a block up the main street parked at the laundromat lot. Great coffee. to be continued

r

Extraordinary Vision Of an Ordinary Life

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Getting up early for the routine of morning. Ablutions in the salle de bain a. (pardon my French) and then the usual half awake gathering of juice, coffee and pills. I sit in my very lazy boy and gaze out the south windows to the garden and also view the parking lot, west of the garden.

The old Saab that our Son lovingly made into a fast sports car. Whistling as the 15 pound turbocharger bent around a tight corner on a local narrow road, channeled through granite boulders, but it now has a bad second gear and an extension cord at the hood. The other collection of vehicles, all facing me bringing memories of transportation. Horse power in the corral that nicker and ask to be useful.

Musing on the dog eared books near me, smelling the warm coffee nearby and distracted by the memories brought forth, suddenly pleasing. Watching for the hummingbird sipping at the feeder with it’s long proboscis looks like the cord coming out of the Saab.

I fondly remember the dishes I washed last night when I operated the coffee maker, another successful stack in the drying rack. Morning sun as I relax and read Thomas Moore’s quotes about these types of thoughts. Everyday life that is not ordinary. A butterfly with a damaged wing affects a galaxy a thousand light years away.

We are Created in the womb by the thoughts of our creator and brought into the universe for His joy and pleasure.

Julie arises and I make our bed and feel the quilt that Grandma Jeannie made, and I center it. There is wind visible now, it’s hot and 90 degrees is forecast. Outside work will be brief, but still fulfilling. An expectation of today’s holiday and the smell of the grill wafting over the parking lot for guests coming this afternoon..

Time now to lay out clothes, toss the laundry into the washer and go see what is coming up in the beauty of the garden.

Ordinary day? Just miracles one after another, another extraordinary day. Love it.

It’s pretty good. Norm/Jack

a. toilet/ rest room

The origin of Jack Gator

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

There was young Norm, I was moving through my life as though it was a normal one. I am a high functioning Asperger’s child and did not trust anyone with my love. No one. There was a secret place in me that is a go to place when my life feels scary and in need of protection. I found that comfort in various ways. I have body moves grounding me in a way with a touch on a silk blanket or just zoning out with movement patterns. A little sniffing on the back of my hand. You have seen the movie The Accountant. The main actor was affirming to me with his portrayal of a a survivor of Autism.

I made up stories and submerged myself in music. Still do. I learned piano early on, then guitar over in Italy. I graduated to mandolin and violin/viola later on with country western and square dance bands. That worked for a while until I was almost 70. By then, the made up stories were real ones and music was my dream world. Listening and playing.

Recently, I began writing about my life and observations of astounding events that only be classed as theologically overwhelming and usually joyful. I recently got some good advice on writing. “Try to be original and you will not succeed. Write your heart as best you can and you will be original” I got that advice in a dream as I sat at the feet on Earnest Hemingway as a boy. I’m sure someone else has been quoted but the dream worked for me.

I began writing day by day and I filled up a journal once a year. There is a stack of them on my desk shelf. I began reading them and saw all the stories and many people began to say to me; “you ought to write a book. I like your stories and the way you tell them” As a known raconteur, I told stories all the time. Writing them down helps me to remember them!

I had the nickname of Mr. Gator from a photo I put into the local paper. They needed one for an article on a fiddle contest I was judging. The picture was a little alligator rocking on his tail, playing a fiddle. It stuck, I even had Mr gator license plates too. Decades later, a close friend, Jessie, drew a picture for me of an alligator resting with a fishing pole and I use that as a header now and then. He said it was something he sketched out the night before. I was stunned with his talent and friendship. He also is a writer of action stories with gold coins and thieves and murder. (I can’t wait for the next chapter!)

After Jessie gave me the drawing we decided that the Gator needed a first name if I was going to write with that name as a byline. Jack Dempsy, Jack Ryan, Jack Clancy and C.S. Lewis’ nickname, Jack. It stuck. Masculine with punch.

I began publishing these stories at a local newspaper once a week as the editor liked them a lot. I give a lot of credit to Jesus in most of them and that was OK for a while but the new manager was uneasy with that. After 4 years of writing one a week I had well over 300 columns stored away on several drives. I resigned with grace and dignity from that paper. They deserved it. I still write for a great newspaper in Ashland, Wisconsin. The bottom Line News and Views.

Again, “You ought to write a book.” I already have written a book, I just need to jump in the water and get it published. Of course then, I have to mention my book in conversations and carry several of them in my briefcase to sell. Easy sell if someone says they would be interested in reading it. And paying for it.

Meanwhile, I keep writing and publishing on my web site. Gatorsgracenotes.com No ads of any kind was my decision. I don’t like pop ups and no one I know likes them either. That money stream is out of the equation. The grace note thing is a double entendre. It’s a very fast note or notes played that are too rapid to write down on a score. And Grace is what Jesus gives me time and again.

I have faith that it will all work out. Faith, it’s the very gift of God.

Gator picture by Jessie Selin

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

An Old Fashioned Cell Phone That needs no Contact Numbers

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

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.

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. QSO means conversation. Cops still use some of these.

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 webstream news links. Very distracting on not in real time either. Breaking news of scandal real or invented. Who knows?

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 sideband) 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. At church, the common reasons were are asking them if they or I can pray together is usually pleasantly surprising. It is a position I now hold in a very large church (2000 + attenders and staff). I arrive early so that it is easy to meet and greet staff and volunteers getting ready for the day. I am right where I have been led to be since I was 12 years old. What a coincidence or was it a 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

picture of ham radio shack courtesy of KB1SF