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House Concerts

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Decades ago, there was a connection and an area wide idea. House concerts with well known folk artists who played acoustically. Mostly these concerts were actually in homes of people who listen to those types of things. Many, if not most of these singer/songwriters were well known from the popular radio show, ‘The prairie Home Companion’. This radio show was hosted by local personality and writer, Garrison Keillor.

I knew these performers from my immersion in the folk music scene back in the early 70’s. I toured with a few of them and they all played at the New Riverside Café in Minneapolis. It was good music and an outgrowth of the beat generation ( Jerry Garcia, Joan Baez, Carolyn Hester, Utah Phillips and Woody Guthrie to name a few) It was the musical time of the singer-songwriters and very popular when I was in the Navy overseas. I even ordered a classy Martin D12-20 to be mailed overseas to my ship. Never arrived. “Lost in transit” as so many of us were as well. Middle sixties, lots of war everywhere.

When I got back home, I went to Schmidt music to ask about that Martin guitar they shipped. No delivered notice received by them. They still had my 400 dollars on account and pointed to the wall display of guitars and asked me which one I would like to have. I picked a Brazilian rosewood D28. Still have it, It’s worth has increased over the years.

I went to Junior college and transferred to another after a short stint in my Mother’s basement after discharge. A common experience for vets at that time. Focus is a common experience issue for vets. You miss all your buddies but you don’t miss the rest of it. Authority rebellion occurred with me as well. I tuned in and dropped out as the saying of the 60’s went. Long hair and an attitude of hippies and old beatniks began for me. The wars were not popular with anyone.

After a year in Mom’s basement, I moved into an upstairs apartment in a somewhat unfashionable part of town and met my lifelong friend, Bruce, at the yellow cab stand at the airport. They became roommates at the crummy apartment. It worked. I practiced painting on the walls of the apartment doing reproductions of art seen on the Beetles albums. Acrylic paints left over from my Minneapolis School of Art classes.

After a short time with Bruce he and I began playing country blues together. Advertised as 16 string blues (Math issue) , they went under the stage name of ‘Actual Mexicans’

Before we met, Bruce spent half a year on China Beach, Danang, after getting blown up in a PSY OPS truck. After a month or so, Bruce’s skin got lighter, I said “I thought you were a black guy.” Bruce then replied, after his distinctive laugh, ” Heck no, I’m a dark Norwegian with curly black hair. ” It became the subject of many humorous conversations. He is gone now and I miss him a lot. You know how it is. We grieve. Not lament. I still hear his merriment laughter when I screw up.

We got a bit antsy and Bruce knew some people who lived in Berkeley. Why not ditch this joint, get some cool motorcycles, strap our guitars on the back of them, and go west? A long story in the archives here under ‘ motorcycle pilgrimage 1-6. After the pilgrimage we came back to Minneapolis and I wound up on the west bank and got involved at the New Riverside Café. Music, my real life focus’ became the catalyst for the next few years. I joined the Riverside staff.

It was glorious for Bruce and I to be playing on the stage where famous musicians and poets came. I got a money to perform, bit none of the of the cafe workers did. Record contacts helped for some of us and we had a good friend at KQRS radio that did some recording of myself and Bruce. Alan Stone was his radio identity.

Remember records? We never made one although we did some reel to reel stuff at the radio station. Tony Glover worked there as a DJ at those times too. Tony was already well known from recordings of Koerner Ray and Glover. (I just had contact with John Koerner late last year for a funeral for one of my good friends, another 12 string folk artist, kyell. He also had a distinctive laugh.) How many times friends and their laughs are remembered!

I finally tired of the poverty of the café, and I started track labor with the railroad. Upon urging from Bruce, I moved up to Trade Lake a half a mile from him. That was in 1976. Bruce lived just down the road from my 30 acre homestead. It was a good introduction to the rural life. Frozen pipes, racoons, gigs with country western bands and lots of new friends. Wood heat. Chain saws and splitting mauls. The railroad work got me fit enough to endure the northern life. It felt right and the air was clean and the noise of the freeways was gone. Highways 35 and 94 surround that area.

Through Bruce and and my music connections, we continued to visit the West Bank. It was grand times and upon meeting a radio star at a party, he and I got loaded on some of my homemade wine. First and last time they ever got together. I dropped the name of his good friend that performed on that show to get in the door. She was the fiddler for the Powder Milk Biscuit Band.

I was still friends with a lot of the West Bank performers from the café days. They were usually broke and I offered ‘House Concerts’ up north of Highway 8 in Wisconsin for them. Actual money was made, not much, but gas and housing guaranteed. Advertising of those concerts found it’s way into the St.Paul Pioneer Press. Turn outs were large enough to get a scramble for usable chairs, baked treats and front row seats. It was grand for a time and my musical friends became a rumor and a quaint source of amusement for the locals. Most of the ones attending were radio fans. Old hippies that had graduated to organic gardeners and ford 8N tractors. Those times are gone now. Radio shows are passé with U tube, CD,s Television and the internet. Television is actually now supplanted with Netflix and other streaming computer web sites. Wireless internet? Lots of wires otherwise!

We are not the better for computer transition. It is not nostalgia perse, but the loss of good fellowship and neighborly entertainment. Except for a very occasional pricey large venue concert, there is little to replace this loss.

There is one platform where some of these musicians still play however. It is not billed as entertainment. Some of these ‘old timers’ can still be seen and heard locally. It’s in the churches and it abounds. Old hymns, gospel and up tempo worship songs. The music just starts getting in the groove of a team playing off one another and way to soon, it’s over. Older pickers, strummers and such. It’s called worship music.

One of the greatest fiddlers I heard, quit the stage and it’s acclimation and applause. We all thought it was a tragedy for us. At that time it did not make sense to me. Later, much later, I discovered why he went on to play for Jesus. The applause from Jesus moves me and it moves my spirit and the joy is stunning. It often causes the me to stop playing and just stand, overwhelmed with the Joy. Jesus loves the worship. After all, the man after God’s own heart was a musician. He loved to dance for Him too. David. It’s the best music. Jack Gator

Memories With Strings

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It seems like a few weeks ago when I was playing on the worship team at New Life Church. We just climbed up to the stage before and I plugged in my wireless to my belt pack. Jeff began the song softly and Soren got a soft mallet accompaniment going on his drum kit.

We began with a beautiful favorite and my old mandolin started playing, seemingly by itself. My fiddle hanging on the music tray with it’s mini XLR waiting for the next song. We dove into the present song and I exploded way up on my frets and began a fast tremolo that sequenced down about four frets before ending to chords. Jeff looked my way and smiled. I switched for the next song to the violin and we started the second song. I am not skilled enough to go beyond second position but it was adequate for that song. We completed the set and we all unplugged and began to set our instruments aside to Tony’s dive into scripture.

Jeff said; “ I thought you were way up the fret board on your viola.” As I was walking down the short stairs to the main floor a young boy walked up to me and simply said ; “ I like your violin”

Later, ,Jeff told me he laughs inside when I play the high tremolos on my mandolin. I will never forget the simple things like that. I was and am fulfilled with that memory. It’s a small church, maybe a hundred or more seats. Doesn’t matter about size. Neither does eternity when I think about those things. Timeless. God was there with us and he danced for us as David danced before the Ark with the tambourines and string players. We played good songs and had a good time, we got to touch eternity.

I miss those things that happened. The high notes on my fiddle that Jeff thought was my viola beyond second position. What a band, what joy. I transitioned to production at huge multi campus church 75 miles away and was satisfied with telling camera operators what was coming next from our control room. That small voice that came through on their headsets as one of them, Fred, told me. Another gentle laugh from worship involvement.

I ran cameras later and I understood those things. A quick ‘nice shot five’ from the director to a hand-held operator and the upcoming shots for each camera also coming in on the one earphone in our right ears. It was nice to hear the lead electric guitar player tell me that Jeff was his guitar teacher. A connection between huge and little church. No differences. The people always come about 5 minutes before worship and leave just as quickly. A good laugh and puzzlement for me.

I like coming early and leaving late. Just me, rushing is a waste of time, not a gain.

It was challenging and fulfilling but not as much as having Jeff laugh inside when I played mandolin. I miss those times and treasure them as musicians do. If you play ensemble with an audience you know what that is. Timeless, eternal joy to Jesus who dances and laughs when those things just happen for Him. He is the best teacher of all these things.

It’s pretty good, Jack

God’s Grease Monkeys

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was at a time when I was very enthusiastic about community service. Problem was, I didn’t have a clue as to what that looked like. From earliest days, I was a loner, growing up self focused. Finding pleasure and personal piece, with an appetite for self importance and recognition.

Being a mechanic, and a pretty good one according to my satisfied customers, I chanced to see the headline on a big city newspaper section. ‘God’s Grease Monkeys’ Perfect fit. I was a new Christian and had the usual images of what that meant. Be nice and get extra points for doing something for a stranger. It was in the Bible somewhere. God likes that stuff after all. God himself is pretty nice and that seemed to be the ticket for theological success.

I read on and the article outlined a garage in a suburb of St. Paul that repaired cars for people that had little or no money. I got the address and time of this outreach and picked a few hand tools, a code reader. I showed up and they gladly put me to work. An oil change and a headlight bulb or two for starters. On the floor of the shop. The next month, the staff knew I could do more complex things and assigned me a brake job and another light bulb replacement. Those can be harder to do as you might know.

That ministry team even stuffed my Volvo station wagon with food that was part of the Grease Monkey ministry “Spread it around your neighborhood” were the instructions. Right. my neighborhood is mostly lake homes and farmers. We ate most of it and gave some to friends in town.

I was racking up God points and then the inevitable for all car ministries occurred: The repeat attendee with yet another car, and another after that. Judgment time. The perfect ministry was buying the parts. Tires, wheel bearings, blower motors, filters, window regulators and lots of light bulbs. When questioned about things, often the response would be; “oh, I sold that one you fixed a while back”

There was no more clarity for me. However, my coworkers were good with these situations. I did not take it to the Lord in prayer. There was a reason I was there which I did not know. I just showed up because that’s what people of faith do. I was puzzled to this giving away to strangers.

I started another car repair ministry,ten miles away with town friends. The same thing happened. ‘Why am I doing this?’ “We are just being used!” This time I took some advice and sat with the Lord.

What are you learning, what is happening to you? Do you find joy no matter what, do you connect with Me and talk with me? I will show you things beyond your dark curtain that will give you great joy!

I knew that I wasn’t really nice and I was not praying, not abiding and not listening. It got better after that. I began to open up and began seeing and listening to the Father I always craved. I surrendered leadership to Him. I began talking, singing a bit while I served the ones given to me It was pretty good. Jack

Wisdom and Satire from Old

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Quotes from Andrew Arndt’s Mother

He is the security you seek in Money

He is the high you seek in Alcohol

He is the ecstasy you seek in sex

He is the health you seek in doctors

He is the song you seek in Music

He is the dance you seek in performance

He is the beauty you seek in traveling

He is the wisdom you seek in books

He is the peace you seek in worry

It is Jesus that you seek

Quotes from the Philosopher Diogenes

Alexander the Great was reported to have said, “Had I not been Alexander, I should have liked to be Diogenes.” Once, while Diogenes was sunning himself, Alexander came up to him and offered to grant him any request. “Stand out of my light,” he replied.

(There are many other references to this incident, principally Plutarch, Life of Alexander, XIV.1–5.)

When asked why he went about with a lamp in broad daylight, Diogenes confessed, “I am looking for an honest man.” Seeing a young man blush, he remarked that it was the complexion of virtue.

Why do people give to beggars, he was asked, but not to philosophers? “Because they think they may one day be lame or blind, but never expect that they will turn to philosophy.”

To a young man who complained that he was ill suited to study philosophy, Diogenes said “Why then do you live, if you do not care to live well?” Of grammarians, he was astonished that they desire to learn everything about the misfortunes of Odysseus but nothing about their own.

Of mathematicians, that they keep their eyes on the heavens and overlook what is at their feet. Of orators, that they speak of justice but never practice it.

When asked why he alone praised an indifferent harp player, Diogenes replied “because he plays the harp and does not steal.”

When asked what wine he found most pleasant to drink, Diogenes replied, “That for which other people pay.” 

Photo of G.K. Chesterton and his wife who I owe some of these compilations to.

The Best Advice, the Hardest to Do

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 2 Comments
Al Quie

Chuck Colson

There is a man that I trust. More than any other man I have ever met. I’ll tell you about him in a little bit. There is another man, I talk to him less often, but the trust bond is there as well. This other man tells the truth to people. How many of us have a job like that? Tough job, really. Lot’s of training involved, study, college and ‘ample’ on the job training as well. The part that may confuse you is that this man’s desire is to tell stories about the other man! Oh yes, truth is absolutely a job requirement for both men as well. Character, discernible, is a gateway into seeing these things. Usually, the eyes are the first indicator to character. You may do this without even knowing that you do so. Eyes that look into you as you look into them.

I have spent a lot of this life looking away, fearful of what I might see (or be seen.) You also know this without it being something you think about when you meet an old friend or are introduced to someone. When the eyes, portals into the mind are not giving information, I usually forget their name as soon as it is said. This may also due to short term memory function a bit lacking. There are tests for this, usually avoided if possible. Who would want a total stranger telling them they were old ten years ago. “get used to it”

The second man has a lot to say to me and often, in a room filled with others, I will notice an unease in some as what this man has to say is a bit disconcerting and perhaps even confusing to those of us not used to communicating deeply. Questions are raised, sometimes boldly seeking some other fine point of the this man’s spoken words. Good questions, even encouraged and I have questions but usually hold them back because I am aware of an awkwardness of focus to others.

I would rather be silent and let the talk by the second man sink in a bit deeper without a distraction of speaking aloud. There was a man that did this speaking better than anyone since. He is long gone from us unfortunately. His name was Jonathon Edwards. A standard to which most speakers of truth aim for. There was one ‘speech’ that Mr. Edwards delivered that was so powerful and so convicting that a room full of ordinary listeners fell on their faces. There really was no other response that could be made when hearing the most important and life changing truth for everyone within hearing. A long time has gone by since that original speech but it remains powerful, convicting and stunning still.

The bold and inescapable truth taught was how bad we really are, especially if we think we are OK and are pretty nice. Compared with ‘those people’ we are in the ‘swell’ zone if there is a measuring device that could do that. Actually, there is a ‘swell’ or ‘free of faults’ measurement and on the other side of the gauge: ‘Bad and Wicked’ There is a thumb on the scale however and surprisingly, it’s our thumb. I leave it to you reader to decide which measurement the scale defaults to. Every time.

The revelation of who is first man is now at hand. He has many names that are used by many people to address Him. Somehow all those names are powerful nouns and are recognized easily by people that have met Him. Some of them are: Yaweh, Lion of Judah, First and Last, Beautiful, Shiloh, King of Kings, Everlasting, I AM, Chief Cornerstone, Teacher, Dayspring, Son of Man, Prophet, Alpha and Omega, Bread of Life, Savior, Light of the world, The Word, Branch, Good Shepard, Jesus. Those are just a few of his names.

As an illustration of what the first man does for those of us who look to Him for help, I will use the story of Al Quie and Chuck Colson. Many of us remember Watergate and Mr. Colson was convicted of conspiracy. Minnesota Governor Quie, quoting an obscure law, offered to serve the remainder of Mr. Colson’s sentence. Chuck did not take him up on it. The offer was real. Look it up.

Quite a bit of time passed after that before the Al Quie center was built at Lino Lakes prison. It was for the prisoners there to study Jesus and hear sermons from dedicated men that wished to serve. I was part of this ministry and was always told to give a sermon on the wrath of God. It was hard for me and I suspected the ministry leader was giving me an honor to select me for the task. Think about teaching a room full of prisoners about wrath and judgment! A challenge for certain. I have finally found out about God and His wrath. We deserve it but the first man has taken it upon Himself. All of it, for all of us. Impossible we say, but it’s historical truth.

There are many incredible stories about this Man. No one is like this, no one will ever be like this again. Now I am flat out preaching and it feels good to do what my friend does for me.

“There is something going on and you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?” Bob Dylan

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Sea Anchor

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Moving through a hurricane, we had a sea anchor set. This anchor, set at the stern, is adrogue that gives a steady pull, deployed like a huge parachute dragging behind the ship.Steering into the oncoming waves at an angle to prevent being pushed sideways and the pull from the drogue preventing us from pitching forwards. (It’s called pitch poling in nautical terms.)

We had to keep steaming to punch through and keep adjusting the helm to enter another wavecoming at us. I was standing two decks above the main deck and the waves were thirty feetabove me. The ship had a big draft to the plimsoll line, so I figured 60 foot waves.

I watched the spray covering the bow back to the masts as we kept steady onward. I heard thatwe were in the ‘shadow’ of the island of Malta. The place where Paul the disciple was shipwrecked. A real place of peril for everyone. Right in the middle of the Mediterranean sea.

It occurred to me in afterthought as I was listening to a podcast was the phrase of being safe and secure as an Anchor was used, quite a few times. We had huge anchors and used them when we had to ‘anchor out’ at a seaport. Tied up at a dock, we used hawsers and fore and aft ‘spring lines’ to stay steady. Anchors kept us in one place of course. The anchor of my soul gives me the image of the sea anchor. Moving through my life with it’s usual storms and holding on as best I can and relying every time now with staying the course with the Lord’s sea anchor. Keeping me pointed straight through my life filled with peril and

my penchant to change course in rough places.“My anchor holds against the gale” Not to stop but keep pressing in to the goal. Don’t get off that true and righteous path.

“ The safest road to hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, with out sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts “ C.S. Lewis

Stay the course, He will hold you and guide you and give you peace. It’s pretty good and guaranteed.

Norm Peterson/ Jack Gator

The Sight of a Smell

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was early in the morning when I saw the delightful smell drifting in from the kitchen. A haze,It was Soren my son cooking bacon for the family breakfast. Delightful, visible and delicious.A combination of several senses at once.

Another combination is lightning. The stroke, which grasps our sight as suddenly it appears and continues for a very brief time afterwards as dark lines as we blink it away. Then comes the sound. Calculating the speed of sound @ 1125 ft/s we come up with a mile every 4.7 seconds.

It’s fun to see how close the strike is by the timing of the thunder. So, we have sound and sight in combination. If the lightning is close, there is a smell of the ozone as well. The fertility of the earth is enhanced by the generation of Nitrogen. A natural fertilizer and the ozone protects us from the harmful radiation from sunlight! Quite a few senses involved. Sight, smell, hearing and the engagement of our mind in calculation and awe.

Along with the lightning, comes the wind and the rain. So now we combine sight, smell and sound in a different way with seeing the rain, hearing it spatter on our head or the rap on a roof. Then comes the smell of freshness. Does anyone have few words for the smell of the rain? It’s the smell that aromatic companies try to duplicate for those car ‘fresheners’ or scented soaps and dryer sheets. That isle in the big box store that gives us the challenge of holding our breath until we wheel past with the wobble-wheel cart, looking for toilet paper (Same breath holding reaction to the kitty litter aisle)

There is the smell of an old bound hard-cover book while reading it. We could talk about the delight of those two, but that’s another sense we have. Awe. It’s a natural emotional response to the senses combined. It’s a sense of presence of the Numinous Creator God. You may call Him a different name in your awe, I call Him Yahweh or Lord or God, the best one for him is Jesus.

Another sense often occurs with that Awe, shivering or a tingling of suddenly being aware of the supernatural that is always with you but now, sometimes visible (It HAS happened to me, but it is very rare.) After all, no one is supposed to see the face of God lest he die. In the words of Pogo..”Death, I can live without it”. It’s not the of God I have seen, it’s the result of His presence I have seen. I know He has permitted me to see things and hear things, along with that presence that is unbelievable when I talk about them. That’s OK if someone scoffs at these things, I was there.

As I have said before, I am not claiming any thing else. Just a gift we get if we know it is so. I look forward to this gift from Him with a smile of expectancy. None of us knows when it will occur, but it does and gives all of us more than we can try to describe in the description of senses. You have had this happen to you, but have thought of it as incredible luck or coincidence unexplained. It’s Joy, that’s for certain. Its pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Training Ground

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

TRAINING GROUND

It wasn’t too bad, looking back. The success’ outweigh the tough parts. That’s the way it looks now anyway. Like boot camp for everyone on the planet, you’re drafted and you have to do it. Just show up and survive. Some don’t survive, some don’t even show up. The draft notice doesn’t come in the mail, it’s not on your email or Facebook. It just comes and it’s pretty obvious what it is.

Report to recruit depot and get prepared for the toughest, most interesting time of your life. Anyone’s life. When it’s over, you can stand tall and be someone that did the right thing. “Fall out! get your uniforms and find your barracks.”

What am I writing about now! It sounds like going to basic training…yes for all of mankind and there is nothing harder nor more rewarding. I have been taking a University Class on Philosophy and it approaches me in strange ways. The last lecture was on Emmanuel Kant. He stated that the greatest example of Moral law was someone sacrificing for another person. Not a cause. Learning how to embrace that concept and make it our operational motive is very hard and can be the only thing we have to decide in this world.

A moral decision. Akin somewhat to the decision to lie to a Nazi guard looking for the Jewish man hiding in your home. Do you lie or do you tell the truth which is a basis for moral decision? Of course, telling the Gestapo the reasoning behind their miscreant behavior would not go well, even though that itself would be telling truth.

These are basic things for maturity, to wrestle with our reasoning. To seek out a ‘basic training’ that will tell us a way to think and act that fulfills, founded in a moral law. A law of civilization. Some folks will say it is tied to survival to assure survival of community and family. Sounds reasonable. Define survival, that’s all that’s required. Evolution aficionados like to use the old tooth and claw to describe survival of the fittest.

That sort of evolution works for watching trees fall when dead and then see what happens to the surrounding forest. Seems rather random to most of us. What if it isn’t? The old silly question: “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, is there a sound?” What a ridiculous question! As though sound were a philosophic decision. Can you discern the timpani of that statement?

There are decisions that echo throughout our lives. Often seemingly small decisions. A friend of mine a very good fellow writer put it in 20 words:

What can I do? What should I do? What is God telling me to do? What am I willing to do?” Pretty astute. How indeed do we know what God is telling us to do? It’s a thing that we are taught in basic. Simple in some ways. Keep our mouths shut and pay attention. Don’t call the sergeant sir and don’t embellish the tasks you have been given. That’s boot camp.

Now, we are out of boot and aware that survival depends on paying attention to everything around us. That is key, not fear of the unknown. It’s awareness of who you are, where you are and what can and what should you do. At this time the communication is critical.

I was communications man/radio operator. Handy skill to help me listen. Some of the important messages had such weak signal strength it was only listening intently that made it clear. Shut out the static, the thrum of the ventilator fan and the hatch noise. Stop listening to the ‘world’ and be still. Headphones worked then and now I need self control over static.

As is taught in scripture, it’s not the thunder, the wind and the earthquake that our Lord uses to speak to us. It’s a still small voice and as though you are remembering a conversation you had 15 seconds ago. “Turn left up here” “keep your eyes open” “go visit him, you have the time” “walk slowly and stay alert” These are a few that I remember. Falls in the category of what is God telling me to do.

It usually begins by believing those faint messages are there for you. You alone. Keep listening. He will tell you he loves you right here, right now. Often He will tell me to do something that either seems impossible or simply, I not want to believe what I just heard. It’s OK. The Lord is patient and kind. We can hear Him if we want to. He isn’t going to tell us to go to Africa (usually) and it’s things that we can do to make things right.

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson/ Jack Gator

If You come to a Fork in the road, Take it.

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There you have it, an old saying just modified a little bit. There is truth behind this. There is no longer any option to travel. One way or the other, left or right. Up or down, etc. Having a good map really helps when this happens. That’s why we have Alexei in our GPS apps to tell us which exit on the roundabout to take. Of course, it gets confusing a lot with those choices and names. At least you can go around for another shot at it.

So it goes with travel. An old Scotsman farmer remarked to a lost tourist. “Well, if I was going there I wouldn’t start from here” So where do we start with other forms of travel such as serious choices? Which way to turn? Travel is a multipurpose word. It can also mean our lives as well traveled or not so much. Of course, if one is of a mind to be blasé’ about life in general, turns and forks just mean another adventure. I lived like that for a great amount of my life. The buzzwords were: Karma, or life path. No choice involved, just what was lined up for you. Studying chapter and verse on such worldviews was a path to meaninglessness. The standby word for unexpected paths was “whatever.”

C.S. Lewis’ writing on these things is succinct:”The road to hell is a gentle slope, soft underfoot. No warning signs, no signs or turning.” There is the thought of my master in writing. That there is no fork in the road once you decide to pursue it.

When I was on our ‘walkabout’ on my Royal Enfield, I knew the destination but took a few forks in the road on the way. laissez faire sort of travel, led to all sorts of adventure. There was a map on board but the dominant thought for me and my best friend, Bruce, was the unknown path. (Bruce was riding an old BMW R59)

Mistakes were made, ones that were ‘challenging’. Both of us had recently been discharged and it was nifty to choose your own path. Bruce’s bike had an arrangement of the front suspention on his bike, it was called an ‘Earles Fork’ Getting tired of the homographs? A few more to go.

There were also plenty of forks in the road in the early days, not even seen as decisions that had to be made. Just ‘chance’ or ‘luck’ or ‘destiny’. There weren’t any warning signs either. A simple ‘rough road’ or ‘falling rocks ahead’ would have been enlightening. I am not certain that forked decisions are destiny or foolishness. After all, if you can even hear the screams or explosions, it would seem prudent to go some other way or just do a U turn. So, random fork choosing can be fun, dangerous, thrilling or destructive. How can you tell which road or path is correct?

There is perfect advice available and it isn’t Map Quest. Consult the map maker himself, He will advise and tell you of the choices. You decide. That’s called freedom. One fork will lead to a fulfillment destination and the other one will lead to eternal captivity of an unpleasant type. The Map Maker will even tell you which fork in the road is good and correct. If you choose to listen to Him. Take the wrong turn anyway and you will not be saved from falling into Judgement, the eternal type.

That’s right. He will save you from His Father. 1. That’s what salvation means. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

1. Gregory Koukl The Story of Reality

A Pontiac Woody and the Minerva Chain

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My dad and I came up north (way north of 8) to build a cabin in the middle of the last century. He had a neat station wagon that had a tail light that swiveled when you opened the tailgate. It always pointed straight back. It was a mechanical marvel to me. A usual car to start driving lessons on when you are around 10 or so. Three on the tree and the high/low headlight switch was pushed with the toe of your left foot. Dad had wise advice when to dim the headlights: “Just when the oncoming car’s lights can be seen as two lights, then switch them to low” These days with bright halogen headlights I switch earlier and when ever I am behind someone.

Our cabin was east of Danbury on Gull Lake. I handed tools up to dad as the roof rafters formed up. The end of the ridge pole was cut off and the chunk fell right on my head. I yelled up “I’m OK” and the work continued. It was a pretty small piece and surprising when it arrived.

It was exciting to be right there when the dream cabin was actually forming up. Dad was a city fireman and used to ladders. He built cabinets on his off times in our basement. Grandpa was a fireman too but he was too old and cranky to come up and help. Besides, Gramp’s didn’t like to fish like his son in law and grandson did.

There was one other family on the lake and they owned a small resort next door. Since it was my first time ‘up north’, this seemed a good place to be. At that time, a small green flat bottom boat was at the dock and it was mine to use morning and night. I was not allowed to row out beyond sight of the resort where the lily pads were waiting for me. A fly rod with floating line and a small popper was my choice of tools to entrance the fish just under the pads.

It was easy pickings and the sound of the swirl and the tug are still vivid in my memory. A dozen bluegills and paper mouths (crappies) in the bottom of the boat and it was time to row back in to the dock. Sometimes I put them on a stringer but those pesky and poky fins were a challenge when the fish were several pounds and my hands not quite big enough to pull the fins back. The poppers were too big for the fish to swallow and that helped get them off the hook.

Dad would scale and gut and lunch was served with the resort owners sharing in the bounty. Every decent day, morning and night was my job to row out and harvest white fleshed fish to be fried in butter. There was a camper that myself and my sister stayed in while the two men went into town at night and they stayed pretty late.

Sis told me later in life that she seduced me when we were alone. I am pretty foggy about that but it would explain my sisters reticence for friendship when we were older and with our children.

We were still in bed when the time to row out and fish so we waited until someone awoke. I was a good swimmer, but the rule was, don’t go out where I can’t see you. Dad’s eyes were closed for a while on those mornings. The fishing was still very good in spite of the late start. After all, the two families were the only residents on Gull lake. The lake shore is filled with cabins now. The fish population was diminished in an equal ratio. F + xC = -F (or fish plus more cabins equals less fish)

It was grand and now and then, just myself and then Dad would get the motor running and troll for bass on the link between Gull and Minerva. We thought they tasted pretty good too but it seemed a lot of effort to get them.

So we got the ‘big’ V hull boat loaded up with all the accoutrements. he always used artificial jigs and spoons, so no bait was needed. The red Daredevil was a favorite It was always exciting to motor up the channel between Gull and Minerva. That old Evinrude just putting along . There was no one around there. No other cabins, no other boats seen. After trolling for a while the motor was shut off and the waves it made were heard on the banks. Ten years later, it was big Navy fleet ships that made splashing noises too. Waves slapping the hull from the battle fleet and sometimes sounds from nearby shores were similar. I would be back in that small channel just like that.

Sounds do that for me. They are music that moves me as a masterpiece of any art can. The movie August Rush lines it out. Try a concerto directed by Jacob Collier in an Orchestra hall.

Wind and waves with shaking trees. Add the mix gas smoke and the vibration of the motor and you have orchestral surround sound. A loon now and then to add the high notes.

I love the sounds. Perfect. Dad’s smiles to remember when things got tough later on. In those early years, I thought a lot about those things, wondered where the fish came from and why it was so good to catch and eat them. I wondered why Dad smiled when they were together. Dad didn’t smile much back in the cities. I wonder about a lot of things as most of us do. It gets stronger when Wonder is manifested in our lives. The symphonies kettle drums and strong brass awaken us and our pulse matches the score.

Over five decades later I got some answers to some questions from Jesus, my friend who created me and all things. We do not think about the thoughts of young children and their questions of what and why. We are very complex and our thoughts on life itself are formed and dreamed about early in our lives. Children are wax recordings of life and can melt away if we don’t listen to those concertos when we think we are grown. I look for the wonder I had with my mouth smiling and my eyes staring at beauty while the music was all there. It’s not gone, the cacophony of life masks the concert.

It became clear why Dad wanted his ashes put in a trout stream, way up north. It was fishing that bonded me and my Father, and it was thoughts of fishing at the very end. After all, Jesus had a lot to say to his close friends about fishing. He still does.

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson /Jack Gator