Worship

Faithful lovers of Music

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

What a gift to have met and then be offered friendship with the beautiful ones. Living in the Forty Acres of musicians neighborhood, I found myself with room mates that still astonish decades later.

Bill Hinkley and Judy Larson took me under their wing and taught me well about music and love. The romance of Kismet. Poets with guitars and a mandolin, Coleridge and Tennyson did not anticipate these two.

A gentleness with much laughter and brilliance. Together they astonished people coast to coast. The little coffee houses, the folk music cafe’s. Platforms and postage stamp stages. It was the same show every time. The musical score was different from place to place, but the humor and duet solidity was always the same. They got invited back all the time. It was a dance with romance that never grew old, for all of us and them too.

I was invited along on a road trip with them, way back in the early 70’s. That’s a bit over 50 years ago in the last century if you like doing math while reading. Small town colleges were a significant place to perform on the trip. From Indiana to Pennsylvania and then way up in northern New York state to finish off. Four of us in the old four door. Myself, Mike Cass and Bill and Judy. The trunk had a few small packs of personal “stage clothing” (no cowboy hats) and a few changes of underwear. The rest of the trunk was instrument cases lined up. Fender to fender with guitars, mandolins, a dobro, several fiddles and a pedal steel.

We ate at Campus’ lunchrooms (Whittenberg in Ohio was the best) and made do with sleeping quarters. Often the sleeping bags were used on the living room floors of the friendly families that arranged the bookings. No extra money for a motel. Air B&B was not even a concept and hotels had good water pressure with room costs to match.

It was a grand time and music poured out like anointed oil upon this rag-tag quartet. Gas was cheap and the car didn’t use any oil either. There were tips from impromptu sidewalk venues and generous amounts of coffee and sandwiches from club owners. We ate well and for the most part, played well. Plenty of obscure folk and country blues songs that resonated with us and the young folks that go to those sorts of places.

There were ‘green rooms’ at some of the clubs which was a luxury. We shared one with Louden Wainwright in upstate New York. Louden kept playing the jukebox when we were tuning up. At least it had a bathroom with a door.

Travel had it’s moments. Stopped by the New York state troopers we needed ID’s. I had lost my wallet in Ohio but did have a student guest pass for the lunchroom. “I’d hate to tell you what to do with that piece of paper sir” I always remember my military number and that did the trick. We were asked if we had any weapons or knives and Cass offered up his military can opener.He said it was a P38. Holsters were unsnapped and pistols from the troopers were at hand when it came out of Mikes pocket. It wasn’t a Walther 9mm pistol much to everyone’s relief. Mike was and still is world class with his music but at that time we had a slightly different opinion of him.

When Bill was dying at the VA (he was a military translator, fluent in Japanese. Hush hush stuff) I stood on his right and Jim Tordoff, an excellent banjo player, stood on his left. We prayed and told him, if it works this way, we would like him to meet us when it’s our turn. Meet us with that Lloyd Lohr Gibson with gold tuners and a Bill Monroe banjo with holy spirit resonator. We can then go worship the risen Lord forever together with the original music Trio. A Father Son with the best comms in the Universe. Holy Spirit.

Kiss the son indeed. We loved Bill and Judy, still do. It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

The Firebricks of Orion

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

It was a hard morning to get ready for a 30+ mile drive south. It was early, my coffee was getting cold and I was getting cold as well. It was still dark and I was getting depressed. It was from fear of the world’s ways and loss I was seated in the impossible heavenly beauty and renewed and encouraged once again. The usual triggers that affect us: Checking account down under a C note, bills creating a breeze magnet on the table and prices getting into the ridiculous range at the grocery stores. Six bucks for a somewhat light loaf of bread? It must be organic, Vegan and sort of good for you if you like that sort of thing.

It is not good for anyone in the family to concentrate on those negative things, let alone the destruction of our state and country. Demented teachers running hard after perversion and seduction of children that, impossibly, seem paramount to the education agenda. No one I talk to has the slightest interest of those ideas, incredulous of how such a thing has happened.

Certainly the striped and incorrect depiction of our flag folks will respond to the above short paragraphs. I have strong memories of being underway on my Navy ship, flying the flag night and day. With a strong light upon it. The real flag, Superman’s flag of “ Truth, Justice and the American way” Not indoctrination, brain washing and the Orwellian ways. No one I meet, casual or acquaintances, has any truck with this nonsense. It’s the rural life of family, neighbors and reality.

It was time for the ritual which my young son enjoys. Laying out his coffee equipment before he awakens. Thermos, sugar and long stirring spoon. Turning on the Keurig. Then holding the storm door open for him (from the outside to clear his load of lunch, motorcycle helmet and warm jacket.) Then standing on the porch that faces the driveway to wave him off.

It is a family tradition. If he is driving his truck, he keeps the dome light on briefly so I can see him waving back. I watch till he turns north at the end of the ¼ mile driveway. With colder temps and snow, the bike goes into the storage shop and his pickup comes out of the big shop door. Power door. The exhaust from the truck swirls and a bit of heat is lost until his remote commands the door to close. The luxury of a heated garage with a hoist and many tools from the days of running a repair shop.

The parlor wood stove is now working well with new firebricks and angle/strap supports. All installed by our son. welded, ground brick to fit and cleaned and he got filthy in the process. It works so much better. Warmth in later fall is welcome and secure feeling.

And so there I sit, in my chair in the dark living room of early morning. Holding my coffee, looking up at our library walk and above it at the big half round window. This morning, it was perfectly aligned just for me and, showing the families favorite constellation, Orion. His belt and his sword clear and the words came loud and clear . “He made me alive, when I was dead and he raised me up and seated me with Christ. And it’s by His grace that I am saved and it’s through faith, the very gift of God.” a.

Once again, I know my creator is smiling at me and the ‘coincidence’ perfectly arranged to show me I am seen and loved. The message is clear. Jesus is with us and sees all the trepidation and troubles of our lifes. “This time too, it will be OK” Just as the way the Lord has used his power and audible voice to literally save my life several times. This time the Lord of Lords is with me. It is not the book of Job, It is the new Testament books of Jesus healing and loving that are reflected in that window. High above and in the darkness. My family is seen and we are not alone.

It’s pretty good, Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

a. Justin Rizzo

“Esse Est Percipi” [ To Be Seen as Who We Are]

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A Latin saying that goes back to Greek thought and perception of our souls The absolute need for connection to purpose of our lives. To be perceived as to who we are.

Are we pulled or pushed towards who we are? Causality is pushing and Teleology is being pulled towards a goal. Not fate but Telos which Aristotle defined as pulled to a definite end. That thought, that my soul (Greek diamon) is seen and known and helped by all circumstance. Finalized. Why did that happen to me, and if so, how can this be?

A book I have recently read by James Hillman, Souls Code, brings these issues to the forefront I cannot put the book under others by my living room chair. More and more of this wisdom from an author that does not mention faith, but through inference breezes quickly past it.

I cannot set it down. From Ingmar Bergman’s ‘Through a glass darkly’ to Adolph Hitlers Mein Kampf comes the brilliant analysis by psychologist Hillman of the mystery of our lives. Not found in the cards or in the stars can the guidance or reason can be discerned. Often we refer to the revealed path for us as from a guardian angel. Hitler was listening elsewhere.

I wrote a column on that thought in ‘Prayer in the Big City hospital‘ Upon leaving a room where a friend was recuperating, I met a young man walking slowly down the hallway. I spoke with him and he initially said he was recovering and I did not have to walk slowly.

I told him it was OK with me and at the end of that corridor I asked him if I could pray for him and put my hand on his shoulder while praying. When we parted he asked me if I was an angel. I said “no but I have been sent”. I do not remember what I prayed for him. Almost always I never do remember what I prayed for someone. It is given to me on the spot by the Holy Spirit and He never forgets it.

It was not a usual encounter between strangers for him at that moment and perhaps it was Telos that put me there. It seems to be one of the most essential things I had ever done for another person. Perhaps ever. Finalism. God’s will and Divine plan is the definition of that word. Post hoc ergo Propter hoc (it had to be)

There is a thread t hat runs through our lives, if one can call it a thread. The voice of the Holy Spirit that pulls us to that path that leads Telos and purpose. Not creating our lives but instead, guiding us to Holiness and a path we can choose to follow. A gentle and powerful word if we decide to listen.

Ask for these things and pray to Jesus for His guidance. Teleology indeed! It’s pretty good.

Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Warranty

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

We have all been there, done that and almost given up on it. I know I had a ten year warranty on that leaf-blower! Oh dear, I will look in my pile over on the desk, OK? Otherwise we can look on line. Could you get me the serial number? When did we get it and is there a model number on it?

Paperwork, endless claims sent to claims department where the phones are manned by well meaning people who don’t speak your language very well. An insurance claim has the same rigmarole with hidden clauses of abuse of product or subparagraph B. which states you have no claim if you are living in one of the following states: A state of exhaustion, bewilderment or confusion. Of course the warranty is a lifetime one, but whose lifetime is tit?

There is one warranty query that comes up often, throughout the world and the forms are quite direct and to the point. I wanted to check and make sure the warranty was OK so I inquired the maker. Name and model number. Norman Peterson, Human. Serial number, XY. Date warranty was issued, December 1970. Regular maintenance performed? Yes.

Amazingly, the warranty contract forms were issued about 1960 years ago and are still solid and in effect for anyone that ‘fills out the form’! You can find the warranty in books, on line or in small pamphlets often found in nightstands in hotel rooms. Your contract can start at any time. Payment for this all inclusive contract is to completely follow the maker’s instructions. Give up all thoughts and actions and give those things up to the manufacturer. He will gently give you directions on how to do so. This is not the fine print at the bottom, it has to be read over and over and there are supplemental readings that can help and assist you. There are also offices throughout the land where you can get encouragement and help.

The forms are more specific in the last chapters of the book which spell out the terms and conditions. They seem rather difficult the first time you read or hear about them. Complete and utter surrender of all assets, life holdings and your life itself! No other payment required.

You have probably guessed by now who honors the warranty. It’s pretty good actually, your make and model are warranted forever. Eternity. Actually your old model gets a complete overhaul and is made perfect when you move into the Arms of Jesus.

It will be good, feels right and the warranty is now eternal. If you understand what eternity is. The best I have read is a parable about pinwheels!

Spin one with all the colors and it will look white. Spin one with past, present and future and they will all look the same too. It’s a package deal. You also get to read a book that no one on earth has ever read! Every chapter is better than the one before.

I haven’t a clue. I’ve tried to understand a place with no time and filled with incredible beauty. And us. Would you care to view the warranty and guarantee? Let me know, I’ll help as best that I can.

It’s pretty good, Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Gain or Output

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It’s complex but it makes sense if you look at the end result. Everyone has seen those controls where music or vocal amplification is used. In small rooms or huge auditoriums there is a place where a technician operates the sound and sets it so that it can be heard well. It is a learning curve to get it right so everyone can hear well. On stage included. In big rooms there is a booth that is called front of house. Many control panels for the lights and screens and video as well.

Mistakes are made seldom but one of the worst ones is called feedback. You may have heard that screeching sound that in the sound controllers humor is called a sound engineers solo. People in the audience swivel their heads and look back instinctively to the sound booth. Oops. Turn a knob or push down the volume or even mute the microphone that could be causing that. It is technically called a sound loop where the speakers are feeding their output into the mikes.

There are two controls that can be set wrongly to cause this. Gain and output. Makes sense. What is coming in or what is going out. This is what happens when in a conversation between two or more people goes awry. We don’t really notice it except when feedback occurs and two people are talking at the same time. Confusing and a mess to comprehend. This is usually caused by us thinking of something to say about what is being said and just blurting it out. Very rude and mostly not thought of as such by the speakers involved. Mostly, not always.

I have noticed the same mistake when I am alone with my thoughts! I interfere with what I am observing or hearing and put my own spin into the experience. When I ask our Lord a question and He gives me His response, I get impatient and say to myself what I anticipate he will say. Staying silent and listening can be developed but it takes a bit of awareness about my anxiety. I am learning to listen to people who speak to me and listen alone. You know how to do this. The facial expressions, nodding and smiling result from communication. A brief flash of your car lights when a tractor-trailer is passing is sometimes returned with a brief flash of his rear running lights. Thank you for paying attention is the message. Now it’s your turn to travel along the road knowing that others are listening to you and your acknowledgment of them. Gain is good for clarity. It’s output that needs attention.

Watch, listen and pray. Turn down your output and turn up the gain.

The photo is from Wellspring House of Prayer our family built around ten years ago in Frederic, Wisconsin. Toby, Soren, Julie and I worshiping on our usual Thursday night. We got to touch eternity for four years in that glorious prayer room. It’s all gone now and that room is a tattoo parlor. Main street Frederic Wisconsin. The Lord keeps those years in His treasury of joy. Beautiful, precious. Wellspring indeed!

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

With thanks to the professionals at Eagle Brook

The Story of God

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A sunny and cold February morning while the temps are single digits and the parlor stove at my back is going well. I am up early and typing to share these things with the world.

The stats in my dashboard tell me there are 12 countries or so that have read these short missives. I am satisfied. My coffee cup by my left hand and the keyboard in front of me.

It’s early and still dark and I have my headphones on and I am listening to singers from Kansas City praising the Lord . A Live broadcast.

“From the garden, to the desert, to the mountain, to the Heavens. It’s The story, the story of the Glory of God.” It brings me back to singing those spontaneous chorus’ as we worshiped at church’s all through the state. The Wellspring team.

There are times now when I can capture those precious moments that occur spontaneously where I now work in video production. Just a week ago I got a shot of a singer on stage right

“Ready 3, take 3” Simple com instruction and that shot, taken briefly makes it out to the broadcast that goes to the side screens, the lobby and perhaps the Web-stream to many around the world. It’s the best I can envision coupled with my tears at it’s beauty and perfection of worship at it’s best.

All of you have experienced these stunning events. Your eyes filled with sudden tears and briefly overcome with unexpected glimpses of beauty and eternity. Just for you, right then and right now.

I try to share them as best I can. A butterfly’s close kiss, the sunset or sunrise that takes your breath away. Too quickly to grab a camera and share it with loved ones.

Treasure that lingers, forever yours. A gift from our Lord. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator.

RED camera at Lino Lakes Campus. Camera 3

Flannel Graph Jesus

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

We are made in his image. We breath in every breath Twenty five Sextillion molecules which get fed into sixty thousand miles of veins, arteries and capillaries. And the 1+1+1 = 1 made it all within us. As far as we can see into the universe. It is now seen as at least 93 billion light Years long or wide, whatever you want to try and imagine as impossible to comprehend.

God spoke it to existence by the way. How big or small is the Lord of creation?

I read a lot and some things stick a bit longer in me such as I have mentioned, meditating on simple things such as “who are you Lord and who am I praying to?” 1. I have also read about a church that Frederic Buechner searched for. He visited them all nearby. Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic, Presbyterian, New age, Old age and all the rest. He finally settled on one called Smokey Mary’s.

It was a large cathedral type with constant incense burning and smelled like Christmas. At the stage or platform as it is called, were the leaders and priests/clergy dressed in elaborate ways that seemed as the Micado was in production. There was chanting in Latin or perhaps Russian. It seems to me Frederic was seeking Holiness, mystery and something incomprehensible to him. It worked and the mystery was there. I would like to visit there too. “Never loose a Holy curiosity” 2.

No flannel graph Bibles to be seen. Otherworldly approaches to everything of religion and faith in an incomprehensible worship of the God of creation. A good start. There was no preaching with words that we have grown used to and even doze a bit thinking about Sunday dinner. Sin, Transfiguration, repentance and such. We just breeze by listening sometimes and once again, try to imagine what God meant when he stated we were made in their image.

I wear flannel shirts sometimes. I could be stuck to a graph in two dimensional purgatory for all I know. I heard His voice once, saved my life but I did not see Him or a burning bush either. I know I have been blessed beyond my comprehension many times and the only answer to that is my purpose is to tell everyone I can about the love of God.

What does He look like we all wonder. I stood and stared at the ceiling of the Sistine chapel and the finger of God reaching towards Adam. It worked as an image for a while. The best that Michelangelo could come up with. Anthropomorphic, to keep us all a little calmer when thinking of a million galaxies and it’s creation. By one word. A planet in the unfashionable spiral arm of the Milky Way. Orbiting a yellow dwarf star at 161,000 miles per hour. Every second our star burns 4 million tons of matter into fusion energy (E=MC2) Oh yes, we spin at 1,000 mph. What a creation. Just for us, perfect except for the north and south poles. Hard to live there.

1. Frederic Beuchner Also with many thanks to Henri Nouwen, Mark Batterson, and Tycho Brahe

2. Albert Einstein

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Contemplating Eternity

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

“In the beginning” Three words that describe the entry into the creation of time and the impossible comprehension of what time really is and how time and eternity exist together. Heady stuff. Once
in 10th grade physics, I was asked to do a presentation on Einstein’s theory of relativity. It was
impossible and the best that I could do was try to describe the bending of light by suns and massive
Gas giants. Light that would cause the known universe to actually be a sphere. It made our solar system feel like an indoor affair. I theorized that with a strong enough telescope you could see the back of your head.

The impossible times mentioned by astronomers which try to describe distance by the speed of light itself. A traffic sign out in the Crab Nebula: Speed limit 669,600,000 miles per hour. Light years
used to make it a bit simpler. A few miles a year. A bit faster than the fastest cars on the Autostrada in Europe. After all, the closest stars to our own are only 4 light years away, next door neighbors. So far, the closest exploration of space has been our moon, and recently, Mars. Not much to show for that effort except a couple of reasonably priced ATV’s left behind which are really neat.
The price for them is very reasonable, delivery is an issue and expensive. Really nice though, great on sand!

There is no logic that affirms bigger is more important. Saturn or Jupiter are not more important than
earth. The Andromeda Galaxy is not more important and worthy than our solar system. It’s just a lot bigger, Is a child less valued than a grown man? Logic dictates the answers to this question.
I am assured that I am just a valuable as a President and the opposite. So it begs the question: What is
more worthy than anything we can see or touch or hear?

The dialogue between Lucretius and Posidonius in Voltair’s writings is another, older dialogue between the atheist and a spiritual man. Never grows old, these conversations. Both imaginary men were written into existence by Voltaire and are brilliant and their arguments well versed. I leave it up to
you dear reader to read and enjoy the dialogue. Same one between Steven Hawking and Ravi Zacharias. Many acknowledge Steven’s genius as I, but in matters of creation he was a bit off.

The debate continues throughout history. As for me whom has been spoken to by the living God, it is a moot point. What a privilege to have your life saved to write and speak about Jesus and His gentle ways.

Time and time again He reveals himself to us. Paying attention to that still, small voice
from the Word of creation is key. Impossible it is said. I must be delusional and a fool. Such talk is
humorous and disappointing to me. Seeds of beauty and inquiry are planted at such conversations. Denial is useless. I know my beautiful and incomprehensible Savior chose a drug addicted young man for salvation. Me. No reason other than to be a witness in the dock telling such truths.

Look into my eyes as I tell you story after story that excites me. You can tell. I am not delusional nor insane. Look into my eyes again. The steady gaze I have seen from my King with an unbelievable privilege Is in there. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

A Dance and a Kiss

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was a real scorcher of an August day. The usual formula, 80 to 90 with humidity to match. The heat index was high and I always wanted to learn the calculations but plowed my calculus exam at the institute of technology. It was sweaty and work of that sort was on the menu.

Not the garden today, the weeds on the south side of the big automotive shop I ran for almost 5 decades. Metal siding and roof and a big commercial sign over one of the bay doors.

Everyone knew what needed to be done and everyone but me was already working today. Volunteer locust trees, accompanied by the usual weeds. Gravel on a slope all around and some of the small trees very close to the greenhouse and the cement foundation for the old pump house.

I began to work and the locust bushes (some over 7 feet tall) doing their best to turn into trees were on the A list. Main trunks well over an inch thick needed the long handled lopper. Thick gloves, good jeans with only one diagonal slash from a small chainsaw accident and excellent boots. It was hot and short sleeves prevented overheating. Then I had to put on a thick canvas jacket at the time of picking up the trimmings. It started to get a little hotter.

Several small puncture wounds and the forty foot row of trap rocks against the building was once again visible. The blood had dried on my left arm. It was getting pretty sweaty after pilling up the branches, weeds and such. Time for a break. I was amazed at how wet I was with sweat.

I found the small clippers that I had covered up with weed debris, grabbed everything else including my thermos of ice water. I walked down the three steps from the shop, turned left off the new sidewalk and went over to cool off under the shade of our gigantic Chinese elm. I sat on my birthday gift wooden swing and settled in with my water jug horizontally stabilized on the slats of the swing. There was a delightful breeze and the view is always pleasant. The white lap sided farmhouse with six gables and a treasure of small trees and plants set in the trap rock around the perimeter.

A swallow tail butterfly was fluttering near the pots of zinnias by the shop and it caught my attention. I asked to see a butterfly dance with an imagination and a wish. The butterfly soon came over the top of the zinnia bush flowers and it began its dance. Just over the grass on the other side of the walk. Back and forth, up to the top of the lilac bush by the house corner. Then gliding back down to the grass up to the zinnias. Dancing in the sunlight. Back and forth several times and then went out to the driveway and sat down. “How was that?” It seemed to say.

Why not ask it to come over and give me another dance and then a kiss? I closed my eyes and there coming close to me was the butterflies creator. Smiling with an embrace and a brothers kiss of greeting. He looked like I imagine Him to look. His description is found in Isaiah 53 by the way. If you are with a friend, the confrontations and weariness of your world are soothed over and sometimes, are forgotten completely. There is great comfort in intimacy with another’s spirit and the love of Christ shared between each other. Starting sometimes with a drawn fish in the sand. New and old. Transformation takes place again and smiles in our heart began to show.

Meanwhile, Julie was concerned as she hadn’t seen me in hours and was in contact with Jesus asking Him if I was OK. Quickly she was assured that I was ‘with Him!’ Her first thought was she would find me lying in the sun smiling and gone. At the exact time I was still entranced with the kiss of brotherly love and satisfied to the whole of me. I was indeed, with Him. “I could go right now” Not my first choice I thought but about as good as it gets nonetheless. A perfect ending to a love affair that grows stronger every day. I too knew I would have a smile if I was lying there.

I finally grabbed my ice to water thermos and left the swing and swallow tail and went in the back door to the kitchen. Julie was processing sweet potatoes for the drying racks and we shared this kismet of the butterfly and Jesus’ gift of faith with one another. Astonished by Him stopping by and then our shared joy. It was now toward the end of the afternoon. Julie was reassured as to what was meant by ‘I was with Him’. Not my time yet to “go rest high on that mountain.”

Julie mentioned that a few days ago she had been asking our Lord if she was hearing Him correctly that He would answer her earnest prayers. He told her to go to the raspberry bushes and pick four of them. Late August and the berry season is over. She found them and as in her usual way, wanted to share them with me. “They are just for you was warmly said by the Lord”. Very sugary and brilliant red. Four of them, all that was there. She shares a lot of things.

As I write now, I can see from my desk our flag waving on the long pole just to my left. The garden and the gladiolas and the heavy laden bean poles are also visible through the front door windows. I am still stunned. Indeed, I have a smile. Limitless delight and faith abounds once again. My work clothes are stuck to me and my shirt is hard to remove. A light supper awaits.

My mentor that I delight in wrote this about prayer: “And why should 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?” George MacDonald

Jack Gator With thanks to Henri Nouwen on the Lectio Devinia on Mount Tabor and Vince Gill for the song

It Swirls Like Smoke on the Ridge

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A sunny morning in winter found me reading in our living room in my favorite chair. An excellent book by Frederick Buechner. His story inspires mine. I was also glancing up and watching fine, powder snow swirl in strong wind just beyond the window on my left.

It was blowing off the barn edges and up on the high hill, obscuring the 40 foot tall pine rows. It was swirling about in a Brownian movement. Circling about itself and appearing as smoke that is mostly seen as driven snow, sleething across a highway

Reading on in Frederick’s book , Listening to your life. I began following the intimate thoughts and loss of dear friends that shared poetry of life with me. An unusual chord progression or high harmonic would engender conversation, long after the shared concerto we were playing, just the two or three of us in a room. Swirling about in delight for us all. Never repeated or written down.

I miss those friends and their instruments that opened from the cases with the snap of clasps. Tuning just a bit with their 12 strings that needed constant attention. My six was in tune before theirs were. We would then start playing, slowly until the tune would catch up with us and akin to the smoky snow swirls, would indeed spin around, settle in a new mound of notes and harmonies never before heard.

As I continued reading I began to see my desire for that engaging and impromptu beauty with dear departed ones. We sat many hours and years together, also impromptu, delightfully just in time for another go at it. We were separated later in life by long lines on a map and later by eternity itself. They are together, waiting for me to join the beauty of music. King David would perhaps join in the jam session on his harp with Asaph with his beauty with words.

A vision brought to me by the gift of a perfect small snow blizzard as I sat near the parlor stove. Looking out our big windows. I could feel that beauty. Never to be repeated as every snow flake is different in uncountable numbers.

I see that hunger for communication now with others, often as old as I am. We wander about in the large parking lots and buildings or even on the opposite sides of gas pumps. There is a sign from each of us as shared events and life experiences that only are remembered by our generations. Duck and cover, the draft and several puzzling wars we all were in. I see them proudly wearing their ball caps usually with Vietnam Veteran on them. A glance and a brief nod of my head is enough for both of us. Adrift and swirling around our world and just needing that high E string tweaked. Harmony and those 12th fret harmonics signaling unity in tune with one another. I miss those friends and I know you still miss someone when all of the love was there.

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator