What a gift to have met and then be offered friendship with the beautiful ones. Living in the Forty Acres of musicians neighborhood, Norm found himself with room mates that still astonish him decades later.
Bill Hinkley and Judy Larson took me under their wing and taught me well about music and love. The romance of Kismet. Poets with guitars, a fiddle and a mandolin, Coleridge and Tennyson did not anticipate these two.
A gentleness with much laughter and brilliance. Together they astonished people coast to coast. The little coffee houses, the folk music cafe’s. Platforms and postage stamp stages. It was the same show every time. The musical score was different from place to place, but the humor and duet solidity was always the same. They got invited back all the time. It was a dance with romance that never grew old, for all of us and them too.
I was invited along on a road trip with them, way back in the early 70’s. That’s a bit over 50 years ago in the last century if you like doing math while reading. Small town colleges were a significant place to perform on the trip. From Indiana to Pennsylvania and then way up in northern New York state to finish off. Four of us in the old four door. Myself, Mike Cass on dobro and pedal steel and Bill and Judy. The trunk had a few small packs of personal “stage clothing” (no cowboy hats) and a few changes of underwear. The rest of the trunk was instrument cases lined up. Fender to fender with guitars, mandolins, a dobro, several fiddles and a pedal steel.
We ate at Campus’ lunchrooms (Wittenberg in Ohio was the best) and made do with sleeping quarters. Often the sleeping bags were used on the living room floors of the friendly families that arranged the bookings. No extra money for a motel. Airbub was not even a concept and hotels had good water pressure with room costs to match.
It was a grand time and music poured out like anointed oil upon this rag-tag quartet. Gas was cheap and the car didn’t use any oil either. There were tips from impromptu sidewalk venues and generous amounts of coffee and sandwiches from club owners. We ate well and for the most part, played well. Plenty of obscure folk and country blues songs that resonated with us and the young folks that go to those sorts of places.
When Bill was dying at the VA (he was fluent in Japanese. Hush hush military stuff) I stood on his right and Jim Tordoff, an excellent banjo player, stood on his left. We prayed and told him, if it works this way, we would like him to meet us when it’s our turn. Meet us with that Lloyd Loar Gibson with gold tuners.
We can then go worship the risen Lord forever together. Kiss the son indeed. We loved Bill and Judy, still do. It’s pretty good.
It’s complex but it makes sense if you look at the end result. Everyone has seen those controls where music or vocal amplification is used. In small rooms or huge auditoriums there is a place where a technician operates the sound and sets it so that it can be heard well. It is a learning curve to get it right so everyone can hear well. On stage included. In big rooms there is a booth that is called front of house. Many control panels for the lights and screens and video as well.
Mistakes are made seldom but one of the worst ones is called feedback. You may have heard that screeching sound that in the sound controllers humor is called a sound engineers solo. People in the audience swivel their heads and look back instinctively to the sound booth. Oops. Turn a knob or push down the volume or even mute the microphone that could be causing that. It is technically called a sound loop where the speakers are feeding their output into the mikes.
There are two controls that can be set wrongly to cause this. Gain and output. Makes sense. What is coming in or what is going out. This is what happens when in a conversation between two or more people goes awry. We don’t really notice it except when feedback occurs and two people are talking at the same time. Confusing and a mess to comprehend. This is usually caused by us thinking of something to say about what is being said and just blurting it out. Very rude and mostly not thought of as such by the speakers involved. Mostly, not always.
I have noticed the same mistake when I am alone with my thoughts! I interfere with what I am observing or hearing and put my own spin into the experience. When I ask our Lord a question and He gives me His response, I get impatient and say to myself what I anticipate he will say. Staying silent and listening can be developed but it takes a bit of awareness about my anxiety. I am learning to listen to people who speak to me and listen alone. You know how to do this. The facial expressions, nodding and smiling result from communication. A brief flash of your car lights when a tractor-trailer is passing is sometimes returned with a brief flash of his rear running lights. Thank you for paying attention is the message. Now it’s your turn to travel along the road knowing that others are listening to you and your acknowledgment of them. Gain is good for clarity. It’s output that needs attention.
Watch, listen and pray. Turn down your output and turn up the gain.
The photo is from Wellspring House of Prayer our family built around ten years ago in Frederic, Wisconsin. Toby, Soren, Julie and I worshiping on our usual Thursday night. We got to touch eternity for four years in that glorious prayer room. It’s all gone now and that room is a tattoo parlor. Main street Frederic Wisconsin. The Lord keeps those years in His treasury of joy. Beautiful, precious. Wellspring indeed!
I lost half of my seniority with the railroad but it was worth it to transfer up to NW Wisconsin. Commuting to my job on the Dinky Town railroad section was getting a little dreary when I moved ‘up north’ to a small house with 30 acres. Driving every morning with my blue 1947 Ford coupe to Minneapolis was the cost of the veteran’s loan approval. Of course, getting the loan in the beginning was harder than the drive to pay it off.
The paperwork alone helped heat my new house in the wood stove that I had little experience to run. The better words would be ‘no experience.’ I bought a chain saw, a bicycle and a splitting maul from my old friends hardware store on the West Bank in Minneapolis. I also had an old GM pickup to haul the firewood from the state forest about 15 miles north of my new digs. I had that pickup out in California and lived in a little house I built on it. I gave the little house to a friend for his child’s playhouse.
Of course, at that early time [1975] there was not much commuter traffic as the concept of commuting had not taken hold. That was a good thing as Led headlights had not taken hold nor been invented either. Being blinded by a new pickup these days with lights that illuminate about twenty miles of road is now somewhat of a hindrance to a long drive.
At those early times the drive was dreary and dangerous too asI had to keep a wing window open for fresh air to keep the CO gas out. Tiring it was to drive a long way with an exhaust leak. It seems white tailed deer had not been invented yet either, at least the ones that commuted across highways. However, back then, cars weighed a lot and had real bumpers. Sometimes you knew when you hit one. my job was on the section at DinkyTown, right across the river from my old neighborhood, The West Bank.
So, pulling into the section yard and perhaps being called to do some ‘back breaking’ jobs outside of the section. Derailments, road crossings and laying ribbon rail were some outside jobs. The section would survive a few days without continuous maintenance. myself and big Leroy were called out to put in the dome spikes on crossings. They were about two feet long and had to be pounded through the crossing planks down into the heavy black ties beneath. Swinging those 16 pound malls was a young man’s task. The spikes would rotate going down and had teeth that would engage the plank at the last swing. The deterioration to L4 and L5 began then. Leroy was well over six foot seven and weighed around 250 or so.
When I transferred up to the ‘farm’ with it’s pump jack well and log barn I was green to the isolated rural life. A few new friends I met at the local watering holes helped me adapt. Wood burning stoves and chimney rebuilding it was made doable with these other young men who grew up working the farms. It was quiet and the only link to the outside world was the black wall phone by the sink and a new princess phone next to the wall in my bedroom. The phone was out of reach unless I was in bed.
I got transferred to a section gang closer by over in Minnesota and gained respect with my strength and accuracy of work. The road master would call for me to put the pin into a switch actuator while he held the pin at the two holes. “Get Norm up here” I never missed with the spike mall, never. That back damage was still lurking but not complaining much yet. It was good work and respected by the locals. They knew strength from farm work. In spite of all the good camaraderie with my new crew, I was transferred to another section, closer to home.
When I showed up, the foreman immediately insulted me about my pony tail and gave me a job in the yard that was hard, demeaning and unpleasant. It involved jumping from a ladder into grain cars to sweep them our of grain dust. Just punishment for being different, an old hippie from those years of the San Francisco days. I found out later that no one ever did that sweeping job.
This was the last straw for my back. At home after work, I suddenly could not get up from a sitting position on the porcelain throne and collapsed in agony on the floor. I could crawl but standing was impossible. It was also impossible to call for help. “The first day and night was the worst. The second day and night was the worst too. After that and no water, I began to go into a bit of a decline”. 1.
The cat water bowl helped a little and eventually I listened to another five words from the Lord for a way out of death.
I pulled all the clothes out of the lowest dresser drawers and the bed sheets and blankets and made a ramp I could roll up into the bed. Grabbing the phone next to the wall up there I then called for help, I do not recall any more than waking at the hospital and being somewhat free of pain. Drugs. I remembered the addiction to heroin I had and was a bit concerned about this but the lack of pain was OK.
( The first five word rescue was audible and I wrote that story in Motorcycle Diary 5)
Hot and cold packs, traction and hospital food (motivator) did it’s work and I could walk again and the railroad days were over for good .The railroad docked me pay for not showing up for work and then granted me a few months to recover. I had to get a lawyer to sue for the jumping order and consequences.
I thank the Lord for saving my life. Again. It’s pretty good.
I think good preachers should be like bad kids. They ought to be naughty enough to tiptoe up on dozing congregations, steal their bottles of religion pills, and morality pills, and flush them all down the drain. The church, by and large, has drugged itself into thinking that proper human behavior is the key to its relationship to God. What preachers need to do is force it to go cold turkey with nothing but the word of the cross—and then be brave enough to stick around while it goes through the inevitable withdrawal symptoms. … Robert Farrar Capon (1925-2013),
Genuine controversy, fair cut and thrust before a common audience, has become in our special epoch very rare. For the sincere conversationalist is above all things a good listener. The really burning enthusiast never interrupts; he listens to the enemy’s arguments as eagerly as a spy would listen to the enemy’s arrangements. If you attempt an actual argument with a modern paper of opposite politics, you will find that no medium is admitted between violence and evasion. You will have no answer except slandering or silence. …G. K. Chesterton (1874–1936),
Was there a moment known only to God, when all the stars held their breath, when the galaxies paused in their dance for a fraction of a second, and the Word, who had called it all into being, went with all his love into the womb of a young girl, and the universe started to breathe again, and the ancient harmonies resumed their song, and the angels clapped for joy?
…Madeleine L’Engle (1918-2007)
O be calm and quiet all by yourself is hardly the same as sleeping. In fact, it means being fully awake and following with close attention every move going on inside you. It involves a self-discipline where the urge to get up and go is recognized as a temptation to look elsewhere for what is really close at hand. It is the freedom to stroll in your own yard, to rake up the leaves and clear the paths so you can easily find your way.
…Henri J. M. Nouwen (1932-1996)
Here is my examination at the beginning of Advent, at the beginning of a new year. Lack of charity, criticism of superiors, of neighbors, of friends and enemies. Idle talk, impatience, lack of self-control and mortification towards self, and of love towards others. Pride and presumption. (It is good to have visitors – one’s faults stand out in the company of others.) Self-will, desire not to be corrected, to have one’s own way. The desire in turn to correct others, impatience in thought and speech. The remedy is recollection and silence
Dorothy Day (1897-1980),
Everything is made to center upon the initial act of “accepting” Christ (a term, incidentally, which is not found in the Bible) and we are not expected thereafter to crave any further revelation of God to our souls. We have been snared in the coils of a spurious logic which insists that if we have found Him we need no more seek Him. This is set before us as the last word in orthodoxy, and it is taken for granted that no Bible-taught Christian ever believed otherwise
A. W. Tozer (1879-1963)
It must be admitted that a few clergymen glory in the contrast between their status and that of ordinary Christians. They accept obeisance as a natural right; they monopolize public praying; they learn how to keep themselves in the limelight. There is something about the pastoral office which makes the temptation to egocentricity especially powerful. This is partly because the successful preacher is regularly praised to his face. His mood seems a far cry from that of Christ when He girded Himself with a towel and washed the feet of His followers. Elton Trueblood (1900-1994)
I am tempted briefly to capture and quote this collection of wisdom from my heroes of the world of words. The unsung often, and the missing books of education in truth. I can tell they have read others I do not even know enough about, yet I seek them on the shelves of the local libraries. Order those books from other libraries that cater to education in nearby colleges and bastions of wisdom.
If the change jar has enough weight, it is tempting to purchase them used from the jungle named retailer that ships them right to my mailbox. At the end of our driveway sits the simple metal half domed box. A clever ramped mount keeps it intact when the snowplow comes by and only throws the mail on the road without doing in the box itself.
Books, the bastions of wisdom, way beyond the courage of Tindale and smugglers to bring the Word itself, printed illegally in hidden shops and stowed in ships dunnage to the people eager to read truth.
Now I badger the local librarians for the aforementioned authors to be loaned to me. A few of them are pleasantly surprised that a patron would request them. They help search for these treasures. I do too when they are busy. Remember the card catalogs?
Breeze past the books of fiction thrills and romance novels and films. I do enjoy “As you wish” as a guide for the treasures among the drivel however.
Read the local paper with mug shots of apprehended near-do-wells for real self back patting as I do. The news is interesting but not knowledge. Gossip in nice clear ink and I do like the full sized papers that snap open. I pretend I am on an old trolley in England, getting conversation starters for the morning club with my friends.
Books, hard bound and weary found at second hand stores. Treasure hunting at it’s best.
There was a job that I took on. I had not worked for many years, regularly that is. People would tell me; “Must be pretty good to be re-tired now!” bristling inside as though they were really telling me; How does it feel to be somewhat useful and just hanging about on the couch?
I would then tell a joke about I didn’t need new tires and that I was working harder then ever. I was, somewhat. Not behind the desk and in front of the toolbox with my name on a blue work suit. A business I built up for four decades, it was hard at first, not being in charge but after a botched anesthesia, I began having seizures.
A friend took over for a short time and then left with out much notice or contact. Our automotive Shop is still in great shape, but the work is now on our own stuff Our youngest son, Soren, takes care of all of it. He is a chip off the old man, brilliant. He does not run the old business He takes care of everything in the mechanical build, repair and maintain department for us all and our friends. He works at a local business and makes much more money than fixing vehicles ever paid me!
Soren tore down the original shop which was a garage that was old 50 years ago. I had it built onto decades ago and the front new building has a snazzy German vehicle hoist (Nussbaum) Soren then designed and totally rebuilt that back building from the foundation up. Beautiful work and the mice no longer have a drafty freeway to enter. A shop cat makes sure that is not an issue any more.
I now work at Gardening, firewood, land upkeep, and writing about my very strange and exciting life. Hurricanes at sea, betrayed love, deliverance from heroin by five words from Jesus. Things like that. Bold things, near death experiences. Imprisonment in Spain, torture by jailers, preceded by escapes and living on the street in Rome. Work on the railroad steel gangs and bold section men who could handle the steel tools and rails. A Hemingway life.
Many more things I write about and my editor at the local paper encouraged me and was attempting syndication of my columns. Four years went by, syndication never happened and I got let go for writing too strongly about Jesus and his Father by the new manager of that paper. C’est La Vie.
I am still writing and send my columns to a great paper in Northern Wisconsin, The Bottom Line News and Views. I am Contemplating a collected column book of 365 columns. It wouldn’t sell on the planet Mercury very well. Why even think of sales on nearby planets? They are pretty close to us as interstellar distances go, and the info on life is sketchy. Shipping would be a big issue too. Maybe E books?
A day on Mercury lasts longer than a year there. It’s Pretty hot and the bookstore distribution business has yet to get Amazon on board with those markets. Those thoughts float in with my love for books by Heinlein, Azimov and Lewis’ Sci-Fi. Neuron cross fires. It helps me write but could be distracting to read.
Then along came a job paying good money for traveling around the extended area, interviewing people for a government program. The Census. Ostensibly an every ten years type of job. Perfect, even pays mileage.
I got a plastic badge and lanyard, a clipboard and an iPhone. I drove a lot and found roads not traveled and places that were somewhat unpleasant and threats from people that didn’t want to talk to me. However, the pleasant folks that opened up their homes and front porches made up for it.
I got pretty good at establishing common ground and had some great chats about experiences in the military. Often, some would notice my demeanor and know that I was a man of faith
Working for a little extra cash. Great conversations occurred and made all the scary encounters fade into the background. Connection. The shared lives that were just like everyone’s: Heartache, loss and loved ones gone. There once was an invitation to share sloppy Joe’s at a lakeside cabin. They where pretty good and the buns were firm and not greasy.
A memorable visit introduced me to homemade Kahlua. ‘Grandmas night-night juice’ she named it. She gave me a flask of it and it was pretty good.
The money I made was earmarked for a new sidewalk from the our house to the shop. It was worth all of the tough interviews. The connections with people from the high end, golfers putting near their private aircraft to the very run down houses with wary women peeking out from the edge of slightly opened doors. All of them worthy of the love of God. Equally and, in their own ways, somewhat open to this strange Scandinavian at their front door.
Of course, there was a bit of tension when deadly force was mentioned in retaliation for me daring to show up for the government’s people counting. A slight short peek at a holstered wheel gun for my perusal. People of different ethnic backgrounds, poor and rich, helpful and insulting. It was life in a distilled time of weeks and roads not traveled. Road food and decent pay.
A side benefit was a sign in the back window my car that had a real official government look about it. Tailgaters would get close, get a glimpse of the sign and suddenly drop back a decent amount. I wasn’t driving a Dodge charger like the squads, but it was very subtle and effective.
The sidewalk to the ship then was done with a slight color and texture added in. It is easy to shovel and sanded in season. We should have one from the porch to the driveway too. Why not put one in from there to the garden gate! “It ain’t happening” as the local colloquialism says do those Census activities every ten years and it’s been twenty and I haven’t got a job offer again. Maybe they found out I was enjoying the job and that is not an attribute for government work. Politics is an exception of course.
I would have a good time on the “What’s my line” show. Comforting, ministering and praying as well as writing about those things would be an accurate job description. The pay is heavenly and a good investment too. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
First photo is of the back half of the shop before restoration Second photo back half restoration third photo is of the sign on the front of the shop (sold to a collector that drove the roll off dumpsters)
Read Henri J.M. Nouwen’s ‘The wounded healer’ for clarification.
It was always there. A loss, not even known for what it was. An emptiness that fell upon every thing that I experienced through my life. Empty of love and lost it when I was a child. I weep now when I realize what I felt that time when the emptiness took hold of me. I always thought it was abandonment. A memory that diffused relationship with everyone.
I tried to cope with that memory, not even aware I was doing that. Clever words spoken and written. There were many times when that empty feeling would diminish and it was always the same thing. Smiles and words that promise embracing mutual friendship. I needed to forgive the people that it seemed I was abandoned by. My family did not know me nor did I know them. Relatives that should have known those things too. Inherited behavior, perhaps cultural.
Music was soothing then and a smile inside at a moments of beauty got me hooked into that beauty. Songs and orchestral creations still work well. I remember some of those songs. that I played. the phrases of praise momentarily fill the emptiness. ”I loved what you did” or sometimes just a few notes spoken of. It always makes the emptiness fade. I still crave approval and contact. Applause was nice but fleeting, Playing Ashokan Farewell on the violin perfectly, without an accompanist on guitar for example. Fulfilling for a moment. List, Chopin and Beethoven are soothing time and again. A perfect den of pleasure, even listening while driving alone.
It was a coldness in my very core that drove me to play well, and now, to write well. A romantic spirit. Those moments are when the emptiness would back off. Approval and love of just me. I did not know why those times of contact and praise satisfy. It seems selfish to enjoy a secret pleasure in being alone.
Isn’t it like that for everyone? Seeking smiles and laughter from people and amazingly, an interest in us that might be a friend! There are few friends that I can contact anytime for their care and seeing me and they for what we are. An empty man, perhaps like they are. Leaning on one another like an unmovable roof truss. Solid wood. With knot holes and defects but Oak. A trust able to withstand bad storms.
I was overcome with this angst, self pity really this afternoon. A Sunday where the message hit home. You know the quote that was sung by the Byrds. There is a time for grieving and time for joy in Ecclesiastes wisdom.
Many of them are Gone now from the inevitable event we all must experience. They died. How inconvenient of them to do so. I still love them dearly and I know they still do. Friendship and love is eternal. I lean on Jesus often when desperate.
Most of those friends were the kind we all need. A phone call or even showing up without calling, just showing up. Not even a hint of inconvenience from the open door. You were in the neighborhood? That’s over a hundred mile trip! Tell me what’s going on! “I felt that you need encouragement and a good hug so I dropped by”
The day of the wall phone is gone. Now we have Facebook and posts telling us what’s right with us. All neat and clean without any tears or embraces of understanding. Isaac Asimov’s robots now have cell phones and good internet. We edit conversations akin to open book exams.
The last two years of isolation and fear have reduced our civilization to rubble. No smiles seen from many. The old game of keep away. The deadly bat flu made it fearful to come near and we were so much poorer, even crippled by it. We all lost, the stats and graphs and zoom meetings were just party favors for the worthless messages of untimely death. It’s always untimely for everyone. covid left but it left damaged people. Masks are now in our favorite aisles when we shop. No one smiles as with masking, smiles are not visible.
I an not alone in my quest now. The world needs good friends and we must learn again how to do it. Smiles. Waving from the mailbox at lake people seen in season. I have noticed that a slight smile and a nod are beginning to make a difference. Laughter rings out as bells from the steeple.
Come. Gather together and be thankful for blessings and deliverance from evil. Look upon the world as a small child’s smile at an adoring adult. It opens our hearts as we look upon our world. Not through rose colored glasses but with clear vision. We take off the disguise of indifference and reveal ourselves and see them.
This is who we were created to be. I’m not afraid of you. It’s civilization 101. I have been hiding for most of my life and I have began to offer myself to my best friend who is nearby. Close as my heart beats in synchrony with His. Asleep while I am dreaming, He tells me stories of romance and adventure.
The creator of us all, different and beautiful. Loved and embraced as we listen and the world becomes pleasant and we enter into the joy of the Lord. Well done good and faithful. Well done.
It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack GatorPhoto taken from our east porch
Another movie coming to a government agency near you. Some of you remember Orwell’s movie but this is a powerful remake. The plot is basically: A semi-secret agency in our nation’s capital has made moves initiated by insane people acting on odd convictions and they are using political power and the captive Fourth Estate (look it up) to promote, indoctrinate and mold public thought. It’s against the constitution in many ways. the First amendment states freedom of speech. (Not freedom from religion but freedom OF religion) Debate, thought and discourse cannot be altered from this basic right.
Already that article of freedom was trampled in 1962 which removed the foundation of this beautiful country. A lawsuit by Madeline Murry O’Hare, an atheist, successfully removed any mention of faith, prayer, the Bible and anything pointing to our original pledge of allegiance in our schools. The universal statements of our founding fathers and our first Presidents.
You perhaps have noticed the words under God have been dropped in some public pledges. I am certain the next move will be removing In Godwe trust from our currency. As I look at a twenty dollar bill, President Jackson has a serious expression. Perhaps seeing the way things have gone with the disgruntled proponents of decadence and oppression (in the name of freedom of course) Of course, we don’t have the freedom to disagree. Haters, oppressors, now if you oppose these things, everything you write or say is phobic. Islamophobic was not a talking point years ago in New York on Sept. 11.
We have watched these things escalate, political correctness is the insidious phrase used to alter the past, wipe out books that say things that are truthful. Science! They shout, it’s inhibited by Religion!
Read Plato’s logic which is one of the solid philosophy truths we know. “If there are no absolutes, the the individual things which are about us, have no meaning” The particulars, the individual things that are about us always matter.
At that time, thousands of years ago, very wise men spoke these things to one another about reality and reason. People like Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. Even Paul went to Mars hill and was asked to speak about the unknown God. They did not have him arrested because he talked about the God of creation, Logically.
The absurd is the cause of the talk of banning great childhood books that are accused of having racist images. Also Books of great scientific knowledge that state men and women are created by God and they are created as men and women. A recent quote seems to fit an absurd thought: “I was trapped in the body of a woman and then my mother gave birth to me” Good sarcasm.
Perversion is now taught in our schools and any mention of truth can get you fired as a teacher. I wonder now what biology classes teach. “It’s not my fault, I was created that way” But it takes sperm and ovum, a womb. A Man and a woman. A medical exam can tell which we are. Thinking we are someone else is a definition of insanity and is indoctrination by absurd theorists who demand re-writing of scientific truth.
The thought police are hard at work to destroy us and put us under their control. George Orwell put it quite well (look it up if you are interested, or write me) {New think}, tear down the statues of history, rewrite or ban and burn books of truth and also history. The pilgrims are now referred to as white oppressors. Of course, this is a simple path to fear of being politically incorrect. That can get you into trouble and get you reprimanded by the woke [sic] people.
The socialist play book instructs the power hungry to paint themselves as victims. Phrases stating that you and I are oppressors. The real story is that they want desperately to be the ones in power by controlling any thought or truth as an antitheses to your path of righteousness. It Worked for Lenin, Stalin and Trotsky who initiated the socialist tyranny that still exists. The concept of equality of income and government support to endow us with re-written history. The only thing I can remember that our government gave to me free was a uniform, training and free air plane rides to a foreign country to serve our country. I even got paid and free meals too. Serve your country, do not demand your country serve you.
Awaken my beloved friends and ones I have not met yet. Be free to disagree with me and use logic to speak to one another, not propaganda. A new shirt says: “What is printed on the back of this shirt is true.” The back reads: “What is printed on the front of this shirt is false” It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson /Jack Gator
There is a strong tendency among men to jump into action. An immediate thought of doing, something, anything that will show the way we feel. An action defined by using our strength or resources to accomplish the task that seems to fit the bill. Demonstrating commitment or love to the world at large or a small piece of it.
I felt he I was really getting through to my family, especially my wife, when I would do something on her behalf. Fixing something, maybe even a meal or a surprise action or gift. It wasn’t enough. That is my love language. I would wonder what I did wrong and why if it felt so good. Why it didn’t last or feel the same to someone else. There was something missing. I don’t listen to her, I listen to myself.
There is a short piece in the Bible (have patience now, this is important) that the most important thing we can do is love our Lord with all our strength, spirit and mind. That’s the first part of two. The second part is a lot like it.
Love your neighbor as yourself. It’s like an instruction manual with only two things to do to find fulfillment, peace and romance. The simple part of any instructions, you have to do them in order. You cannot build a house without first laying a foundation. You cannot lay a foundation without preparing the place. Before that is perhaps the architect’s plan and so forth. There is always a sequence to building and it starts with a vision.
Where does that vision come from? And why does it fit in with your life? Do we do the first things first?
There is a very old piece of wisdom which I may have mentioned before. It’s from the Jewish Talmud and it is a conversation between a Rabbi and Elijah the Prophet:
He asks Elijah when Messiah is coming. Why don’t you ask Him yourself? He is out by the city gate.The Rabbi complains that the Messiah has deceived him for not showing up that day when He said He would. Elijah laughs and says, “ He didn’t say He was coming, He said to listen”
And so, we make the same mistake, over and over again. Be still and listen.
We jump right into the second part of Jesus’ explanation of all of scripture, of all the prophets to love our neighbor. But again, we gloss over the first command which is Love Him. All of us. All of who we are.
There is no shortcut to loving by going to work. I have experienced this in several ways. I was a part of a ministry in Lino Lakes called, ‘God’s grease Monkeys’ This must be a calling for me!
I was sort of on board with this Loving God command but I wasn’t waiting for that still, small voice of the Lord. I thought I was on the right track, seemed logical. I grabbed tools and showed up, even recruited a some good friends. The ministry was not where I needed to be on my own reckoning. I was Not listening for His quiet voice. After all, I saw the newspaper column that wrote about those grease monkeys, a Sunday edition of all things which I hardly ever buy. Who needs that much fire starting paper just because the funny section is a good memory?
Now, the same thing happens when I try with works of sacrifice to show Julie my love. I do not listen to her as she needs me to listen and not rush into talking or doing. Just listen. That’s how the house is built. Not buying 2 by 4’s when we think that’s all that is needed. Listen and hear well. All of our heart, soul and mind. Love the Lord first by listening to him. He will show us how to listen to others and understand their voices . It’s hard some of the time, but it’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
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.
It’s one of the farm chores in the winter. Looking towards the east of this photo is the barn. When we had horses and a few cows, a pathway would have be made from the driveway east about 150 feet or so. If the walk behind snowblower started. We always had a laugh about our snowblower that did not like to start when it was cold. The big snowblower for the driveway was not used for the path. Too many stumps and debris that were hard to see from the tractor seat. The walk behind would not be damaged bumping into such things. Nice and slow and closer to the ground.
The hose for filling the water trough would be laid out next to the path. When the trough was full, the hose which was set up on hooks that were screwed into the garden end posts. Then the hose would be blown out with the air hose from the shop which has a manifold to the water supply. Tedious work and the hose ran right across the parking lot and had a few damaged sections seen in the spring and had to be repaired. It was easier to see the leaks in winter and make note of them.
The chicken coop was next to the barn and of course, needed water as well. We sold the horses and ate the cows and the chicken coop is built on running gear. When a place is cleared nearer to the house it will be much easier to gather eggs and give them food and water. Meanwhile the water had to be taken in a wheelbarrow in summer when the hose and horses were gone. A declaration over breakfast “who’s going to water the chickens?” A brief summery which chickens were sharing a nest and how many eggs should be in it.
Farm life without a stand pipe in the barn. Labor or a lot of money to bury the water line. Which choice to make after cursory glances at the bank balance?
There are other paths that do not require snow blower attachments, or shovels and cups of coffee to accomplish. These are paths much more important than watering troughs or gardens in the spring. Paths for us every hour of our days till transformation to what we really are. We are created as eternal beings. All of us.
A place, a time and a decision can put a path in front of us. I made a decision on an address that had the first three numbers of my old Gibson mandolin as I walked by. 777. It seemed right and stunning. I kept walking into a church because of that sign. A guidepost for only myself that I trusted immediately. I Still go there.
I was walking out to the barn in the middle of a snowstorm and when I reached the barn, there was a white out of snow. The only way back home was to follow that water hose , or be lost. Trust in the creator of all things and He shows us how to walk out of the wilderness. I was lost and now am found.
The shelter He calls us to when we have a bale in each hand when the wind blows bitter and the shadows are dark A.
The architects of large buildings of every kind do not know how pathways are supposed to be built. They watch and look for wear and footprints of the people drawn or working there. Those paths tell them where to put sidewalks. They are called meander lines. No one gets lost in a blizzard there but it can be tedious to find doors if there are no direct walkways.
Be steady on your walk through life and look for that lifeline that is given by the spirit of the living God within you. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
Jack gators grace notes 