It began with an invite from Norm’s friend, the one he really met in a hospital. That’s in another column, ‘A battle for individual worth’ When that friend says something to Norm, it’s important and he listens.

This time was over a food truck Gyro. A casual remark about a gathering near their homes. About a mile or so away at the Trade Lake Swedish Mission church Up on a hill from the one time bustling community of Trade Lake.

A picnic/potluck was promised and Norm got mildly interested. “It’s next Saturday. Pick me up, I’ll be waiting at the door” Norm looked it up with a quick search of the paper archive (the one Norm used write for). The time was listed as well as the main speaker. He was a former pastor of his for 10 years and the mild interest turned into a firm draw. Since Norm and Julie had a pretty successful garden that year, It seemed good to pick and slice up some ripe tomatoes and offer those. Julie finished the offering with an oval Pfaltzgraff serving plate and perfect garnish’s of Basil leafs with fresh picked snow peas in the center. Norm was hoping this would be OK and it was an instant hit and ALL of it was eaten afterwards. It was well received as fall had begun in earnest and picnic dining was looking OK, nice late fall. Back to the service…

Norm picked his usual spot in the front pew and had a little chat with the two brothers that were doing the worship. Nice young men, and they listed the songs. Hymn’s. The beginning one, however, is one of Norm’s new favorites, ‘How great thou art’ done by a Gaelic band with bagpipes. It sounded promising. Two guitars.

The young men began, and when it got to the chorus, Norm rapidly began weeping and stood up. Maybe it was the other way around. Hands held high and really worshiping as the song rang out in that old wooden Mission church. The tears were unbidden and unexpected and he did not care if no one else was standing or not. He was in the front pew and it was easy to just let go and leap up.

The salt from the tears became a badge to him that a good thing was happening. Right there, right now. It felt so free. The last song was America and Norm, military fellow he was, stood with hand on his heart and thoughts of this incredible constitutional country where he could stand for the flag. Below the flag, fastened to the wall, was one of those classic paintings of Jesus with His eyes looking up. Right at the flag.

The two guitarists played more songs and Norm noticed one looked a lot like his youngest son and he was deep into the songs. He knows that look and that sound. It’s obvious, undeniable and perfect.

Looking down at his feet, firmly planted on the old puncheon floor he was transported to a C.S. Lewis vision of an old farmer worshiping at vespers. Ask Norm, he can detail it for you.

It was a simple old church building with a nice isinglass wood stove and photos lining a wall of neighbors long gone who’s names are still on the mailboxes. It was called a mission church because camp missions were funded by potatoes sold to the local starch factory. The factory is long gone but some of the funded local church camps are close by that grew out of those times.

There were four of them within the township. Two have been sold, one of which Norm met his wife at. Whispering Pines Camp. She was the director and introduced him to a mile and a half of pristine lake shore with an isthmus called picnic point. Tall pines and trails for young campers that came, spring to fall. The lake shore view brilliant with reds and yellows around the lake. The season was then closing down and near the end of tents and dining hall chatter for another season. The sale of this beauty was imminent and the buyer, a developer, built his mansion out on the point. They took down the cross, chained to two trees near the lake and that was somehow, the saddest loss.

At the mission church, (which will never be sold) it was the way worship should always be done. Done well with heart and spirit shifted into top gear and the accelerator floored. Still transfixed as I type this. Unanticipated ecstasy and revival of the best kind. It was beauty and poetry of the best kind. Norm picked up their clean oval dish and they went home. Another memory of clarity and beauty.

It’s pretty good Jack Gator

It was a ‘mandatory’ meeting. All hands on deck sort of thing. No head counts per Se’ but the feeling of head swivels noting that sort of thing. Facing forward we all pay attention to what is being said or demonstrated to us. This information is essential and a lot of us take notes in our journals. The desire is to understand it all with alacrity and conviction. This meeting should help.

The mandatory part is spelled out in a very old book. The folks that wrote that ‘how to’ manual knew things some of us have forgotten, even if we had read them a while back.

Memory is not the problem. The desire to remember is. Once a week we all meet together.

Quite a bit of the information is written by different authors and some of them use different sentence structures and can be unclear to some of us, including myself. Basic stuff as to which way do you want to live in the world. Always your choice to know which path you are to go to.

Revelations are quietly done. Creator to created. A lot of times just the two of you. There are no badges of seniority or symbols as such. Just knowing what comes next is exciting enough. The pay is the same plus very good retirement benefits. Learn everything but knowing your Creator is the outcome expected. Not knowing about Him but knowing Him as your closest friend. His heart is always open but incredibly enough, quite a few of us just want to read about Him thinking perhaps we know everything and have discovered a precious jewel in that knowledge. 1.

So, there are some of us who listen, but just ‘tune out’ and think about other things. The main speaker is serious and often humorous. It’s more common than we think. I can only imagine the research and inspired writing that coalesces into these talks. It seems so fluid and easy. It isn’t.

I am one of the blessed few that stay behind after the meeting is over to talk with anyone that wants to know more about the world and what it means to them. I am very glad to be called to be there because it usually leads into revelation about our world to both of us. There are a handful or less that attend to help right afterwards. For a room that once held hundreds, perhaps a dozen or so would like to be prayed over about their lives. Hunger for more than just knowledge is the key. Hunger for love reassured. Hunger for the food of love and the water of life.

The world’s part is worship and knowing it’s Creator with eager and open hearts. It is my extreme pleasure to tell them of this Creator and that He knows everything about them. He is eager to help and above all that, loves to hear our concerns about our lives. He is Jesus, King of the universe. Getting to know him and talk to Him is the greatest reward of our life. It’s the hardest and best thing we can ever do. {It gets easier!) and It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

1. George MacDonald

History thoughts began with my morning drive to a Bible study. Starting to drive over our hill to the lake ‘cabins’ below the hill. Nice road, paved a number of decades ago. Before the pavement, the drive was quiet and the lake had about 500 feet or more between each cabin. First was the WWII surplus Quonset hut that had snapping turtle shells arranged on the garage. A garland of them. Nice folks with an artesian spring who’s outlet went under the road, down to the lake shore and kept a stock tank going all year filled with healthy fishing minnows.

The next cabin down the road was old and had a little outhouse next to it. There wasn’t anything for hundreds of feet until just before the bridge there was an old Ma and Pa ‘resort’ with four red cabins. Another few hundred feet down was an old farmhouse on a hill with butternut trees. Butternut hill. A ways down was another small cabin and that was about it.

The snapping turtle folks had a dock and the resort had one too. Things have changed a bit in the last half century or so. Another dozen homes and as many docks are there and along with it a lot of chained gates on the driveways. Another new road to the east and one going south to the public landing with about twenty more homes.

The two lakes, big and little Trade, connected with the bridge, were pretty decent fishing lakes and the water was clear. Today the smaller lake is surrounded with new houses, some of them with multiple chimneys and three new roads.

The flat bottom boats or the ‘newer’ aluminum V hulls with small motors have been replaced with pontoons and 500 horsepower Japanese engines on low gunnel bass boats. There are still some fish here and there and the water is all green and weedy. It seems that all those incredibly powerful motors churn up the bottom of the lake. Something about releasing phosphorus that hangs out at the bottom for a while.

There is also a fascinating invention called a Jet-Ski that holds one person, goes incredibly fast and all the loons and fish are a bit disturbed about it. Very loud they are. Sort of sounds like a 57 Chevy with a hot engine and straight exhaust pipes. Going around and around an old flat bottom fishing boat with gaiety and huge waves. The boat attempts to surf much like I did in California with storm surf.

At least there are no dangers of jelly fish although the boat could ‘pearl’ (that’s when the front end of your board goes under the wave a bit) I did that once and a jelly fish slid under my surprised jump and went off behind me. Their boat now could take on a bit of water and cause the the gunnels to get a bit closer to the surface.

The noise on the weekends gives the impression that a small highway is just over the hill and the evening fireworks are competing with thunder from huge pickups towing boats. A lot of the new folks are pretty friendly and know our outfit on the fringe of the lake. They buy eggs from us now and then. One of them remarked about our old style home with the blue fan wood sunrise trim above the gables and porch. A few upgrades over the last 30 years or so. One comment was intriguing. “It’s too bad it’s not closer to the road so you could see it!” One fifth of a mile is close enough for us.

Everyone knows these things. It’s the illusion of progress. The dodge em’ cars are fast and some are electric. Go fast, pass everyone and get ahead for some reason. An anachronism song from my past comes to mind as I drive our old Ford Ranger and I sing, “Forty miles an hour is a good speed to go” Besides that, if I go any faster, the now empty garbage can in the bed will fly out. Just a trip to the village recycling and home again to our flashy old home that inspires somehow. Nice place, some wish it were theirs to own and be seen.

As an old friend once said on his radio show: “That’s all the news from Lake Wobegon” It’s pretty good. Jack

Norm worked with a man from Stalingrad that was somewhat fluent in English, This man, Stefan, ran the largest machine in the shop. After working on the shop floor for a time, the Russian was seen by the Norm as the heartbeat of the shop. Stefan was always moving, lubricating, adjusting even while the huge machine was running.

There was quite a bit of noise from the machine as it worked and no one talked much to one another. Stefan hardly spoke to anyone except Bob, the foreman. He was the first person Norm had ever met from a mysterious country. The impressions of Grade School duck and cover from nuclear war did not seem to fit this man. He was a simple man with a good job.

Indeed, a humble man, obviously of some means, Stefan wore old white dress shirts and woolen trousers. In the summers and the winters. He didn’t socialize but did share lunch with the men. The only heated room in the whole building was the bathroom, so that was the lunchroom too. Running water was handy and it was a welcome break from blowing snow and gloves that made assembly hard. This factory made power poles and cross arms that held insulators for the wires.

There was a loneliness from Stefan and it was expected when you saw him. Perhaps it was because of the war and his time at the battle in Stalingrad. Rarely did he speak of these things but Norm, being an introvert himself, set himself to be a servant to him. Reading Russian classics gave him the way to treat a Zek or prisoner. It can be seen from Dostoevsky’s writing of the mid nineteenth century. ‘The house of the dead’ is a good place to begin this discovery.

As a new guy in the ‘barracks’ of the factory, Norm knew he could attach himself to Stefan as servant to a lord. Small things like bringing in some sweet rolls known as Vatrushka or smoked fish to share. It is the way things are done when men are together in the prison of work. Norm had a friend on the East side, a great violinist, Peter Ostrushko that knew the places to go for authentic foods. vatrushka sweet buns and such too. Norm was intrigued with Russian culture and now, at hand, was a fellow worker that lived those things. It was a path to a desired friendship.

Gradually, Stefan began to understand Norm’s respect of the way Dostoevsky wrote of those things. There was even hot tea for break time and the very young Norm and the very old man began to talk. Drinking tea by sipping through a sugar cube. The deeper personal things that bond and enrich life. There was so much depth to Stefan. Indeed a man of the world and holder of the highest Soviet war medal, The Orden Pobeta which translates to ‘The order of Victory.” It is the rarest order in the world. Sometime later, Stefan showed Norm the actual medal. It indeed was beautiful. To actually touch and hold this badge of honor, given to his friend Stefan was humbling indeed. It was at Stefan’s simple west bank house in an old cigar box. To be continued part II

Subtle it seems. Just do like a good, saved Christian and you will be on the right track. The subtle thing is that doing is not correct, become is the right thing. Not becoming either, Become. It’s in a passage that stands out in my book printed around 1611. It is found in the updates to history in the 12^th chapter. It was written by a manual laborer who was in Antioch at the time. I can get more specific if you contact me (gatorjack75@gmail.com)

Quite a few people in a meeting house heard this distinction between do and become and it was yet another world changer for everyone who read and reads it. Especially for me.

I felt if I was doing well with my life and becoming more and more like Christ, I was doing OK. There’s that word, doing again. Little by little, not getting mad in certain situations. Doing that forgiveness thing better. Giving now and then and even listening instead of talking.

On the straight and narrow road. Sounds right. Getting in the ditch and off track now and then. Like the path of Pilgrim in Pilgrim’s progress. Gradual improvement and maybe I would make it into Heaven, whatever that means. What would I do there? Be transformed into perfection? Why would I want to be in His presence when all I have is the questions of why.

It is been said so many times “How can a good God condemn people to hell?” Another one of those logic arguments that assumes an incorrect premise. Yes He is good. Impossibly good. We cannot even come close to knowing how good. The mad/sad angry God, good cop/bad cop thing.

We are already in hell, we just don’t know it. You have heard of the fallen world we live in. It’s true. It’s more than fallen, just look at your attitude and life. Just like mine. The details are very different and they are always the same. Trauma, pain, betrayal and hatred to start with. From birth to death.

I give in and rage at Jesus, alone in our car when I go by a home of the local lord of our land. Arrogant and bribed by Chinese destruction. Hatred and frustration. Another why is it like this? Just when our small farm is so beautiful and the air and water being offered to a foreign power. For money. For more power.

I am raging and now, caught suddenly with a light, coming into the car. Brilliant and yet soft with comfort and giving me a glance to the left to that hated family. He loves them too. He knows everything and gives me what I have been ignoring for decades. A way out, a way to an incredible and impossible thought of understanding. A blessing in my spirit that washes out the anger and pain and replaces that wound with a gentle sight of just another fallen man like me. Trying so hard to survive his past. Not awake yet and there is hope in my faith. As Paul has taught me when he was in Ephesis. Grace to that farmer because now I have Faith which is the very gift of God. Faith in love, faith in his embrace. Faith in the impossible love He has for me and him.

I met with that man several times, trying to convince that powerful and successful farmer of his foolishness and destruction. It didn’t work. I gave him a gift which he told me to give to his son just emerging from the machine shed. Sitting on his golf cart like a golden throne. The memory of anger and disbelief from my spirit. Now transformed in the love I was trying to give. Not giving with a smile and a knowing of the love You Lord have for him in his life too. I was not able to understand the world you created and Your people that live in it. Especially me. Flooded memories now as I drove past years later. Same place, same magnificent farm now seen by me as another man’s treasured home. Wounded in many ways, just like I was.

Not awake yet but as my old hero, George MacDonald taught me: “And why would the good of anyone depend on the prayer of another? I can only answer with the return question. “Why should my love be powerless to help another?”

Listen well and pray for the flooding of His Holy Spirit to all men. The gift of faith and the New life freely given. Go tell it on the mountain, here and there and everywhere. Go tell it on the mountain that Jesus Christ is born.

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Yes our God, says of Himself with brilliant shorthand, “I am” loves in His way. . 

He doesn’t have a que or a request line or column. He touches us every day

He tells old man Gator about how to express His love

to all those that are lost in the fray

He speaks of His creation with the wind and the snow.

He knows it’s hard and when we have to weather the blow

But He doesn’t come in the great wind of a hurricane today

So possibly only the weatherman’s storms are coming our way

Don’t think you can earn it, you don’t deserve it,

He just gives His love away

God is love, talk to Him and open your heart

and hear what He has to say.

There’s no one that’s like Him, no one can know see Him,

but He gives His extravagant love every day. 

It’s a pretty good poem from Jack

It’s not too bad for a reptile hack

Forward it or send one straight back

He’ll put it on his wall with a very sharp tack

It means that you love him

In spite of his old wounded lack

It’s pretty good to love him right back

He loves you so much and knowing knowing his knack

for true friends who know it,

there’s no turning back,

Jack

The Volvo came to a stop right in front of the shop doors. It was early in the afternoon and Norm had just changed into clean work clothes. The Volvo looked familiar and two men stepped out and began walking down the cement sidewalk towards Norm at the door. They were, perhaps, looking for a quick visit. Possibly to have work done on their car.

Norm felt good at his hospitality and genuine welcome to the two strangers. Well dressed and with a briefcase. His First thought was insurance adjusters from a many months ago traffic accident. Better yet, the knowledge that this might be astonishing to emissaries or missionaries from the local Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Norm asked them in with a smile and showed them the handy seat for changing boots and asked them if they could like to come in and if they would like to take their shoes off in the entryway. They did so and Norm went into the parlor and sat on the couch. He beckoned them to have a seat and swung around his desk chair and scooted up the rocking chair a bit closer to the warm wood stove. They felt welcome and they sat down. The fellow with the briefcase pulled out a Bible and asked Norm if he read it.

The answer to the Bible question was that Norm and his family were somewhat literate with scripture. With the gifts of the spirit visible around the living room walls and signs of faith, it was well received. The older man and his young companion smiled and were pleased. Just to relax them a bit, Norm told of his favorite John Crist video about Lazarus.

All the Bibles were then given serious flipping of the wonderful thin and strong pages. The focus at this time was the prophecies about the end times and Jesus’ role within them. Daniel to Revelation. It all seemed to concentrate on the New Earth and Salvation. Julie joined them and began asking questions. When the tract came out from the elder it was obvious the two of them were Jehovah Witness’ members and relaxed perhaps because that they were sitting in a comfortable warm place with people that love our Savior and His Word.

Perhaps the usual brush off was anticipated. A quick hand off of the Watchtower and it’s over.

The Biblical discussion segued into the end times and questions about who gets ‘in’ who doesn’t. Simple enough to be known by Norm and Julie and yet it isn’t an easy path to maintain. The world seems to feel differently about those things. Norm’s new favorite quote: “My mind still visits from time to time” Prayer is the key. There were mainly questions tossed out referencing to Daniel and Ezekiel, two books that Norm has not committed parts of to memory. (Norm is studying Job and the Song Of Solomon). Men’s group is into a really good book too, John. The old covenant and the new Jerusalem were a focus now with the two men.

Julie asked some really good questions with her testimony of Christ living within her heart. An essential situation for lovers of the Lord. A prayer warriors weapon of mass construction of a peaceful life. Norm is glad she is by his side as his partner in faith and worship. Often she gives clarity to the hard things of life.

It went well and time was slipping away when it just started getting to be a good conversation about serious things. The two polite and well dressed men had other appointments and it was sort of rushed. Many reasons came to mind, but it was not yet time for them to go. Julie invited them to a coming prayer gathering. But they had to go. Not chased off in a huff but encouraged by lovers of scripture as they are. Real handshaking and smiles as the two men left. It would be swell if they show up at the prayer event. It’s local for them too.

It seems common that some of Jesus’ church seem to have a bit more hunger than other gatherings. Too much of this and that, too little of that and this. Some gatherings feel that their way is the only way.

For Norm and Julie, prayer is the focus of their faith. Sung prayer too. Sung scripture is another window to Jesus’ heart. Rather than suddenly leaving a gathering of their current church, they move on when called to yet another place to pray and intercede as Jesus intercedes for them. Their friends left behind stay friends, that is a given.

Mystery and hunger and love combine as fuel for the best fire of all. Perhaps another gathering of the Lord’s romance will call them away again. Their travel agent supplies destinations. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To err is human. To arr is pirate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MacDonald: “All that is not God is death”

with credit for inspiration and quotes from Mitch Teemley

The past 3 and a half years with the Inter-county Leader have been very pleasant and rewarding. Editors that showed me respect and gave advice were necessary for a fledgling writer as I. Gary and Robert, thank you.

There were lots of context, grammar and spelling errors that needed to be fixed (thank you Sue)

A growth of my ability to focus and express the way I think occurred. Quite a few people I met were pleased to put a face on the ‘Gators Grace Notes’ column. “Oh, your the Gator!” I would ask them what it was that intrigued them about my writing. Most of the time it was the encouragement they found that there was another person out there that had thoughts akin to theirs. Impossible stories of danger and rescue. Stories of a building faith and a lot of humor coupled with sarcasm, puns,and stumbles. We all have such stories. None of these stories are insignificant.

The by-line in the top of the columns, Grace Notes, is a reference to a musical staff note that has several diagonal lines through the staff. This indicates a rapid staccato that note hammered on’ rapidly and too fast to notate. I am a long time musician and used to read music pretty good. Another meaning of grace is the forgiveness I am given for straying a bit of the path I am walking. Eternity has already sent these stories to the publisher. He reads every one. I believe Jesus really enjoys my writing when I mention his name and His guidance and Grace.

I am now spending a lot of time amending, redoing and proof reading the book I have almost finished. The title of the book is ‘A fools highway to Redemption’. It is my life story and most of the columns I have written (and continue to write) will be in that book . It might be a thick book! There are well over 165 short columns so far.

All columns can be found at my web site, Gatorsgracenotes.com The menu page needs some work in categorizing. There are so many listed that I need to put them in drop downs of genres. {adventure, faith, satire and so forth. Drop me a note if you know how to better do this in the Word Press software! Email is GatorJack75@gmail.com.Your encouragement and friendships are precious to me. Those things, given to published writers, are very meaningful and uplifting. Keep it up to the writers you enjoy. We thank you for those words. I am still writing columns to Bottom line News and Views, published in Ashland Wisconsin.

The name I use, Gator, was given to me decades ago when I was asked by the leader for a photo. The article was about a fiddle contest that I was judging. The only photo I could find was of a little alligator, rocking back on his tail, playing the fiddle. It worked and it stuck. I even had vanity plates saying MRGATOR! The Jack part came much later when a friend, Jesse Selin, thought I needed a first name too. We decided on C.S. Lewis’ nickname, Jack. It’s got a little masculine ‘punch’ to it. Jesse also drew the line drawing of the Gator overnight just as a fun project. . I still love it.

I’ll let you all know when the book is available. Again God bless America and God bless you. It’s pretty good.

Jack Gator

Another early morning with sub=Zero temperatures and the house a bit cold, down to 64 in the kitchen. The radiators were on and the big wood stove in the parlor had good coals but needed a refreshing of some dry wood. Chores for the earliest to arise. Put away yesterdays dishes in the drainer, make the coffee and some toast. Then light up the monitor and take his pills with some juice. Always taking the anti-seizure pill as the first one. Washing the distasteful pills with orange juice. Every day this winter. It’s comforting to have a schedule.

Now, for a reading choice. David Hume’s ‘The standard of Taste’ or Suess’ ‘The birthday bird’ (perhaps Snetches) as a continuation of Hume’s opinion of the Koran.. .Maybe just check email and watch a movie about a Japanese bullet train intrigue. Perhaps completing editing for the umpteenth time of his book with compilations of these columns at the end.

It is a good clear morning as Norm extinguishes the lights and watches the American flag and the wind advice. Step out on the porch for a few pieces of dry wood and try not to wake anyone up with the clack of the living room door. Snow piled up feet high this year. Carefully grab a few logs and check to see if the cats have slipped out to pursue the mouse family beneath the pine bush, next to the porch. Wave goodbye to his son while standing on the porch around 0500. He waves back and then extinguishes the interior lights as he drives to work.

These rituals are stabilizing and a mantra of sorts. Get the keurig going too and make a somewhat decent cup with the added ½ and ½. Put the coffee on the left side of the desk and the warm toast with cinnamon on the right.

Are you getting the picture? Is Norm a leftover Asperger survivor? Norm’s favorite movie, ‘The accountant’ featuring another ritualistic man with a gifting of oddity. Especially the part of sniffing his fingers just before he does his deadly work. Autism spectrum’s are similar but also include difficulty in language retrieval. Not the case with Norm. He did have a problem relating in childhood and still uses fabric to stimulate calmness and concentration. It’s complicated, an old friend called it ‘pointing’ and that’s pretty accurate. Ask Norm if you are interested. Julie, his wife is completely at home with it as is his youngest son who does a similar thing.

Perhaps now Norm will start on a column based on Hume’s razor sharp analysis of Plato/Aristotle but that seems a bit foggy until the second cup of java has been drunk. The readers will either enjoy the writing or get confused a bit as Norm was until he read those books for the third or fourth time. His newspaper editor will delete it as a possible column. Hard to understand at the least. Not interesting, “I really get the paper to see the sports.”At least that’s what the paper’s opinion is. They are probably right. Norm tries to give the impression he is a classicist.

Jack has been called an obsessive reader with nearsightedness in several ways. He likes to refer to this as entertainment and stimulated analysis. His family just rolls their eyes and are used to it. If you find this particular column a bit familiar, perhaps you are ‘normal’ too. Psychiatric pigeon holes have to include the roost for the pigeon and the newspaper on the bottom of the cage. If you understand that analogy you are more akin to Norm than you think. Ritual is stabilizing and necessary to this world’s ways. Grounding might be another way to describe it. It works. It has been a part of his life since childhood and there is no ‘cure’. There are some side effects which can be dealt with through advice from professional counseling. Fear and rejection of perceived threats is one of his old path decisions. His analyst taught Jack how to read the fork in the road signs.

Norm hopes this column is illuminating someone’s self behavior and at least, illuminating their friendship with him. His family is very gracious with him and this is indeed, a gift from the Lord to give him a family that will put up with him. Life is good and his best friend (Jesus) understands everything. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.