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Junk Drawer

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It is a missed opportunity for a Game Show! “ I am a plumber, what’s in my junk drawer in the kitchen?” Easy one to start with rubber drain plugs, Teflon pipe tape on a roll, Monkey wrench etc.

“I am a philosophy professor and writer, what’s in my junk drawer?” Used dialectic cliff’s notes, puns to cause groans during a debate. Disarming platitudes, Names of noted Greek philosophers, half full glasses of water.

“ I am an atheist and my wife is a deist, what’s in our junk drawer? Slightly tarnished valuable shelf gods of antiquity, pocket tracts of Richard Dawkins, various colors of silly putty for repairs to the idols and a small bible with “don’t panic” taped on the cover.

Our junk drawer is good to use as a collectible at the Smithsonian as Americana sculpture. The Norman Rockwell of junk drawers. It would be a hands-on installation starting out with a drawer that was sticky and had a screwdriver at the top that prevents it from opening.

Compartments that have several paper clips and stamps on a roll intertwined. Small flashlights that don’t and are empty of AAAA batteries.

I can give you an absurd compendium but I tire of trying open it and then find a small set of pliers that I wanted last week. There is a small Phillips screwdriver in there that I needed to disassemble a worthless scanner in there that we inherited. Being a ham operator it was irresistible to try and get it to work. The junk drawer revealed it on the bottom in the back of course. Stuck under a large pencil sharpener.

I recycled the old scanner because the batteries in it came from a pyramid excavation and I recycled it before the charger caused a melt down. There is a gap in King Tuts hand which the ancient scanner would fit. I saw that in Washington’s Smithsonian where his body is on show. Who can refute that? Another conspiracy story akin to the fake moon landings. I have made an offer for the used Moon rover but the shipping was out of this world.

Collectibles are an American tradition along with second hand stores. I can do away with the humorous and self sarcasm but there is a collectible that is often found in many homes and it is bound with old leather sometimes and dates back to the family for generations. A book written in 1611. The originals are priceless and can still be read! The King James Bible. The only thing in my junk drawer is an old Yad from Israel for reading such books. A pointer used to read scrolls of the words of wise antiquity.

If I just dig it out of the drawer, I know it has to be in there! I did find an old 5 shekel coin once and gave it away but I don’t think I gave away the Yad, Or did I?

I know it’s old and most of those sorts of things are pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe.

I need a break from hauling firewood up to the porch.

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

I like the results when the wood rack is full and lately, two wheelbarrows are next to it. The rack can hold plenty for a few days IF the night temperatures stay mild. The low single digits or below need more choice opportunities. Our vocabulary has evolved over the decades of burning wood , the big round logs are called ‘all nighters’.

It really is an established science to setting a fire in the beautiful wood stove. All firebrick sides, top and bottom. Heavy steel and a glass front door. Brass around the door. It is right in the middle of the house and has been on it’s hearth for over 30 years. It’s predecessor did not have firebrick nor thick steel. Julie was on her way to the bathroom when she saw a red glow from a hole in the firebox.

Quickly the research was done, a trip to the cities and the stove we have now was delivered and we even got a brass dragon that is filled with water in the winter and breaths steam out of it’s nostrils. With wood heat any humidity is welcome. Leave the bathroom door open during showers and lastly, buy a really good humidifier and use the special fluid!

How many tons of oak, birch, maple and box elder have we gone through? Some elm too (it splits stringy and tough) The woodshed is about 50 feet away down a small hill from the porch. It’s got a metal roof and plywood sides. We go through about 4 full cords a year, depending on below zero nights (or days too) Simple calculations come to 120 to 150 cords. Simple guesses really. 340 tons of wood.

That’s a few chain saws, a lot of chains and mix gas. Now we have a hydraulic splitter and that helps. It saves splitting maul handles replacement. By the way, I replaced a lot of spike mall and sledge hammer handles when I was a track worker for the railroad (gandy dancer) and after removing the stump and punching it out, you put the new handle in as tight as you can by hand and then hold it with the business end down and hit the end of the handle with another hammer! Momentum does the job. The hammer blow is faster than the heavy tool can move.

Stoking the stove is an art and Julie is an artist of renown around here. I just do the daytime fires and burn all the weird pieces length wise. I also clean out the ashes and learned not to dump them until a few days sitting in the sealed ash bucket. Fires in the brush back of the parking lot bring excitement to life.

Cleaning the chimney is a family operation. I take down the stove pipe that goes to the chimney and Soren goes up on the roof to run the chimney brush. Cleaning the creosote that comes down is fun and cleaning the pipes are too. I pull the brush back out sitting on the shop floor and hold the pipe end with my feet braced with a short 2×4 across the end to get the brush out.

You can see how much work and danger is involved. I used to do the roof job before I hit 80 and since I play the fiddle, the inevitable Teve in ‘fiddler on the roof’ joke came with the job.

Daily writing prompt
Do you need a break? From what?
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Politics and Religion

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

A famous author from England was known as the Apostle of common sense. I would earnestly recommend reading anything he wrote! In our most recent times the term common sense has been said by our current president and so I delved into that phrase and it’s origin.

Many dialectic courses use the phrase ‘common sense’ but as a consequence there is always a position in the discourse that does not seem very sensible. The way of discovering truth in any topic was handed down to us from the Greek philosophers and they were pretty wise guys.

This type of truth seeking was very commonly taught in school “back in the days” of education. Redire to the English primary schools and these sorts of things were absolutely a foundation of logical thinking and debate. In a forensic class? Scientific discovery which in Latin thousands of years ago was referred to as ‘Ache’ finding beginnings of all things.

Echoed in the TV series ‘all things great and small’ with James Herriot? Darwin had his day with his dialectics that he believed explained evolutionary theory. This is also taught in schools throughout our country. It is a vary controversial topic, Ache or origin. It delves into a political stance in the hierarchy of our education system and is not taught as a dialectics course.

This is not common sense and is a recent phenomenon of indoctrination in education. Have you had enough large words for a while? Do you take notes when these topics or opinions are presented in this type of dialectic? Lets talk! It’s good to exchange ideas and stances on important things like this.

The writer I was referring to at the beginning was G.K. Chesterton and when told he was not to write his newspaper columns about Religion or politics he responded: “There is nothing else to write about” That was The Illustrated London News, a very famous London newspaper.

As a side note, I have had the same thing happen to me and I found great comfort in this common issue throughout our country. Every discussion, every controversy, is about religion and politics. Religion is about our relationship with God and politics is about our relationship with our neighbors.

As Chesterton again stated: “We are told to love our neighbors and also to love our enemies: probably because usually they are the same people”

A great thank you to Dale Ahlquist and G.K. Chesterton Norm Peterson aka Jack Gator

A Fish Net At a Dixieland Bar

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack Gator K0JMV

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

A child’s mind before Birth

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ora Est Labore. Jack Gator Scribe

Autobiography of Norm chapter 4

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

Things were going well for me, teaching code and basic radio operation in San Diego. Still at Camp Nimitz and then things changed. A lot. I got orders to report to Comservron 6 in Naples Italy. I thought this must be an embassy position! Just like my first job as a radio operator for the Boy scouts! I went back to Minneapolis and caught a commercial flight to Italy via Heathrow, Berlin airports. How exciting for me, the great unknown Naval job overseas. I connected with the base in Naples and was put in a landing craft and deposited on the quarter deck of an old WWII fleet oiler. The Missisinewa AO 144

I declared, “there must be some mistake. I am to report to comservron 6!” The OOD told me I was standing on the quarterdeck of comservron 6. I saluted him and turned and saluted the flag off the stern and stepped forward with my seabag. A sailor was there waiting for me and he seemed to know what it all was about. He too, had a radioman symbol on his right shoulder along with a rocker that stated the command.

He showed me my quarters below deck and I stowed my gear and claimed my bunk. He then said he would show me my duty station. We headed aft. Is this were the radio room is? No, this is where the mess deck is. He explained: Every division on board has to send it’s most junior man to work the mess deck and that is your duty station right now. Oh. “Where do you work?” He also stated he worked the mess deck until I showed up. He was Smiling. Relieved of duty.

The mess deck lieutenant showed me where to go. The potato peeling compartment. I was to put a load of potatoes in a big stainless tub and turn it on. Water would spray in and the tub began to turn. It had notches much akin to a hand peeler all around the inside. It worked. The peels went over the side and the potatoes were quite smaller then. Dump them into a stainless bowl and repeat. I heard the bosuns pipe announce “Now arriving comservron 6” which meant our captain was aboard and we were getting underway.

I watched Naples slowly fade away and was pleased I had my very own porthole. Join the Navy and see the world though a porthole.

I peeled potatoes, went down to the freezer locker and brought up frozen chickens by the flock full. There was 324 men aboard plus staff which was my division. A lot of chickens and potatoes. There was always a lot of sliced bread for every meal. More on that later

I started to meet my fellow radiomen and began the process of friendship or not game. I felt very unfulfilled and gloomy. After a few months of scullery, frozen entrees and swabbing decks, I was informed that a new guy from our division was coming aboard! I was as happy as my 1st escort was and went to the quarterdeck when we anchored out in Malta. You know the drill.

The radio shack was on the 02 level above the main deck and I found it familiar. Same thing as I had at home a while ago. Dials and wires, guys with headphones on one ear and typewriters at every radio. Morse code keys too. I was relieved and assured by the undeniable smell of electronic power surging about the compartment. Just like my old bedroom without my bed next to my ‘rig’ I had faster code abilities then expected by the men and quickly move into the comm position of communicating with the big stations and ships we were tied to. I typed pretty well and when I got promoted when we were in Beirut, I began with my top secret clearance and a petty officers ‘crow’ on my uniforms. I was then trained in teletype in my own compartment and had to synchronize our deck to overhead transceiver with a signal from England every day. Eventually I ‘cut a tape’ at 80 words per minute. The tape was six holes across and every combination of the holes was a letter or a number. If I made a mistake, all I had to do was punch a special key and it would punch all the holes and no information would be put on the tape.

It was very good alone time because the only person allowed in besides me was our division officer, Lt Laird. A mustanger that achieved an officers rank the hard way. Work your way up from E2 to E8, master chief and move up the ladder a few more times. He was tough to say the least. Do not cross one of these guys, they can do anything they want and have all the respect due them. “Attention on deck!” “As you were men.” I had dreams of making it to chief, the brown shoe navy.

After six months at sea (one tour) the oiler was headed back to the states. Staff had to transfer all our gear, records and files to another fleet oiler next to us and begin another tour. The Neosho was my next ship. Almost all of the 300 plus ships company dreaded our arrival as it meant crowding, more work and new guys that were the command structure of the missions.

I was doing well with this life. We stopped at Izmir, Rhodes, Malta, Via France, Palma De Majorca, Gibraltar, Barcelona and a few other places I cannot remember. We always had to ‘anchor out’ because no government wanted us in port with 8 million gallons of various petroleum. I loved the bunker oil because it was stored below our deck quarters. It had to be heated to make it flow. As the ship slowly rocked, I heard the flow of oil slowly back and forth and it sounded like waves at the beach. I would be asleep easily. In the winter below the decks were warm. There were some perks to being on a big fleet oiler. To be continued chapter 5

Autobiography of Norm Chapter 3

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

My second commercial airplane ride took me to San Diego for the second time in my life.

The first time was as a 17 year old representative of Fashion Curtain Company in Traverse City Michigan. This time I was bused to recruit depot at Camp Nimitz and met with a big Marine Gunny that became my new focus in life. The usual hair buzz cut and a lot of shouting and insults. Pukes, trainees, moms boys, etc. A lot of it was true and we shaped up fast. Fire watches, endless screaming and shouting and a little manhandling. Men that know basic training

can recall those things. Mostly with laughter and even fondness for finally some direction in our lives that actually changed us. With a laugh the gunny told me I got my draft notice in the mail

We trained on board the USS Recruit with many things a ship has to offer. Ladders, hatches, fire drills. Rope, line and small stuff for knot tying and spring lines and lanyards. Lots of knots. This was important stuff for us later on in life as well. How to tie your laundry on lines with small stuff, how to slide down a ‘ladder’ (stairs) on the rails. It was neat except for all the physical training and endless marching. Left, right, left right..pick it up! Those drill sergeants ran up walls and do more push ups than there were possible. And leap and clap their hands after coming up. We were wimps.

Suddenly, there was a call for musicians and singers! The Navy Choir need some guys that could sing and march and take orders well. I stepped forward (NEVER step forward to volunteer!) the choir director was from the Mormon Tabernacle and knew his stuff. “Sing these notes” In or out and sometimes got praise. There were 10 of us in the Blue Jackets Choir. I remember their faces I remember them and where some of them went afterwards. ‘Father Flanagan in the back row went on to Pensacola to be a Navel Aviator, things like that. I am in the front row 2nd from right. We sang ‘For those in Peril on the Sea’ the Navy anthem and the National anthem along with several classical church songs on Sunday at the officers services. Marching in parades and more boot camp stuff to go with it. We had our dress blues already and there were quite a few puzzled men in our class that could not understand why an E6 was in training with them (1st class petty officer with three red stripes and a ‘crow’ on my sleeve) would just answer that I was recruit education officer which was true in a way.

I skated through boot and was assigned to A school on base for training to be a radioman. Not to New London for Submarine training! I wanted to be a nuclear technician as a career choice but my color vision was inadequate and I wore glasses. Recruiter lied to me. A common procedure, after all, the draft was full bore and I did not want to go to Viet Nam under the national draft. As I mentioned, I was drafted in boot camp and just missed the chance to be discharged early and come home with a flag over me.

The Lord of my life was unfolding His plan and I had no idea that was happening. The hymns we sang in the choir were beautiful and that planted small seeds of wonder. Much later in my life I heard His voice save me from death and to say it was extraordinary is not enough. It was a miracle.

So after basic training I went to A school right there at the camp and I was turned into a teacher at radio school. My ham radio license paid off and I was given liberty every weekend and I realized soon that this was the best duty station I would have from then on. I was free to visit my ‘sister’ during the weekends and you can read about it in “A sister from Laguna Beach” here at Gatorsgracenotes.com.

To be continued In Autobiography Chapter 4

Gives and Takes Away

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 2 Comments

It is an essential line in a song our worship group sang. It refers to the essential way that our Lord deals with his will and plan for us. We do not fully understand this. Sometimes not at all.

Our kind and essential pastoral leaders at the time, did not want this line sung. They believed in our leadership in music and even licensed us as pastors. But, they did not understand the basic truth behind the taking away part. The understanding I have is that He gives us the choice. We can embrace a bad choice which he allows as free will or we can do the opposite.

There is always a road sign on that highway we walk upon. This way to join the summer tire club in the midst of a snowstorm is a complex choice. A parable of sorts for me. (we all enjoy parables)

Approximately a half century ago I was given those plain words at a pivotal point in my life. I have told this story many times. I would not be living here with a family and delightful small farm if I had chosen death. “life or death, choose now” A direct quote from Deuteronomy that was audibly given to me. I am still stunned by that grace I was given. Obviously what I chose.

We are all of us given that choice to choose a death or life in many ways every day. Curse or bless. People are in my way. Subtle but the reward of peace in choosing to smile and find a way to give way is pretty good. Simple things but obvious to others at times. Very obvious to me.

I love the smiles and relaxed encounters that occur now and then.

There are so many frowns that remind me to smile at pray. He gives me the joy and the prayer. He can take that away if I choose to frown too. The simple phrase of giving and taking away is a lot more complex than at first thought. He gave so many Biblical people those choices and many times there was a giving and blessing from a good choice. I have read it 58 times so far in my Bible of those things.

It’s very hard sometimes to see that choice. He has allowed so many of my best friends to die. We all die but when you live a long time they are taken away. Was it a choice for them to die?

We don’t know any of that. It involves eternity and that is beyond my comprehension. It’s an entertainment at times to be in a serious discussion with others to deal with eternity. It usually ends with laughter at ourselves and joy at the same time. It’s really pretty good we have a choice to embrace our humanity and blessings to not try to be God and know those things. We grieve and that is necessary.

One man I know chose both life and death, just for me and you. It resulted in eternal joy for all men.

As C.S. Lewis wrote: “God has an eternity to spend with a pilot in a Corsair in WWII going down in flames.” Just the two of them. Do you understand that? I don’t but I love to read my favorite author speculate and challenge my intellect. I set that thought aside most days and go back to it sometimes just for reassurance. I thank God he has given me that man’s wisdom to read and enjoy. I Love it, Life, it’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Pontiac Woody and the Minerva Chain

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I and my dad came up north (way north of 8) to build a cabin in the middle of the last century. Dad had a really 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 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 em’ to low”

The 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 too 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 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 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 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.

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 those white fleshed and fried in butter morsels. 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 much 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 both older and with our own 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 then. The lake shore is filled with cabins now. The fish population was diminished in an equal ratio.

It was grand and now and then, just me and 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.

They had to get the ‘big’ V hull boat loaded up and then start the motor. Dad always used artificial jigs and spoons, so no bait was needed. 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(with dad at the helm) 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 but the sounds were similar. I would be back in that small channel just like that. Sounds do that for me. They are music and that’s pretty OK. Music will moves me as a masterpiece of any art can.

I liked the sound of the small motor at the transom too and especially the smell of mix gas. There were 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. Over five decades later I got some answers to my questions from Jesus, my friend who created 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.

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. Jack Gator

A time to Live and a Time to Die

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There is one word we use more than any other in our speech. It is related to everything we do as well. The Latin word is Tempus. Time

Think about it if you have the time. What time is it anyway? Did you set the timer?

No time like the present. Time is money. It was just his time. Time’s a wasting. About time!

Try it some time and see how long you last before using the word. I was lap swimming the other day and usually start by counting the laps and then at the far end of the pool, there is a big clock on the wall. I can see how much time I have left before I have to get out. There is another clock in the locker room to make certain I leave before ‘times up’ and the lifeguard ducks her head in the entry door asking if there is anyone there. I got out on time today. She has a rigid time schedule too.

Driving home it seemed I was not at the right speed for the cars and trucks behind me. The biggest dial in front of me points out how much time would elapse with the formula for velocity coupled with time (MPH). I am always being passed at all times, it seems that most drivers are out of time and concerned they will not get to where they need to be at the correct time. Deer collisions, accidents while not passing at the right time, or driving by a squad at one of those times are secondary concerns.

I volunteer as an assistant director at a big church and over my comm I announce the next shots that need to be taken for the video to be dynamic and follow the time signature. It helps the director to put the shots in the video mix. It takes more time to explain than when it occurs. Seconds to the next take. It’s critical to the timing to tell the operators where they should be and giving them about two measures or so before the shot is ‘taken’ by the the director. Like a video ballet, and if the timing is right, seamless and pleasing to people in the audience. Setting up the shots along with who is playing at the right time. I particularly like the shots of the keyboard and hands just when that slower part happens. Excellent music is, of course, timeless. While the band is playing, there are very large screens that show the ‘ballet’on each side of the ballet. It really helps ‘tell the story’ No one sees us and they shouldn’t even be aware of us. (see men in black productions)

Speaking of music, there is a song on an album done by Pink Floyd that is still one of the top songs searched on the internet. The Album is ‘Dark side of the Moon’ and the title of the famous song is, of course, Time. It’s in F#minor. I myself like the rototoms in the rhythm with the clock sounds

In medieval times, the town clock would ring often at 8am, noon and 6pm to remind the townsfolk it was time to pray. Good idea to pray, I did while I was doing my swim today and realized how locked in I was by my time, the time, all time and began to relax and not worry about what the clock said. It’s hard to do but it seemed to start making a difference in me. I was talking to our Lord just before I sat on the edge of the pool and He said these things to me. Read all about Him from the first words of scripture: ‘In the beginning’ that’s when He invented time. There is eternity, and time is just for us to measure the seasons and our heartbeats. How old are you? Isn’t it time to eat? Stop watching your watches and perhaps you will see what I am saying to you. ” Can we talk?” I’ll make the time. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator