Confluence and Conversation

   At this spot lies a confluence of two mighty rivers. The Mississippi River flows in from the right and heads south. The Ohio River merges from the left. 
    Back in the day, Indians paddling canoes must have visited this peninsula. It's an obvious rendezvous. Strangers from different tribes would have traded goods or socialized around a campfire. Later, white explorers might have gotten into the act.
     Minutes after taking this photo, I picked up two hitchhikers--a young man and his girlfriend. They were stranded on a nearby road. The couple was adventuring across the United States. I drove them near a town. We chatted for several minutes then said goodbye.
   Near the confluence, travelers and explorers are still socializing.

Candyjack Elf

   A lumberjack elf wields an ax. He chops a candy cane.
   This Christmas display is visible on a property near my neighborhood. The homeowners have a reputation for creativity. Each holiday season they introduce new displays.
   Researchers who study creativity are raising alarm bells. Tests reveal that creativity is declining among children in the United States. The downturn began in 1990.
   Some experts blame standardized testing. Others point their fingers at information overload. One expert cites lack of freedom--little time to play and explore free of adult supervision.
   Researcher Kyung Hee Kim claims that stunted creativity affects kids in other ways. They are (to paraphrase her) less expressive, less sensitive, less humorous, less imaginative, and less unconventional.
   Here's an assumption I'd bet upon: Whoever created that candyjack elf didn't grow up peering at smart phones.

Puddle of Cheer

   A puddle on a walkway caught my eye. Reflecting on its surface was an electric snowflake, part of a Christmas display up in the trees.
   I set up a tripod and took some photos.
   Lost in the moment, I didn't realize that a group of people had gathered behind me. They had stopped walking to avoid cutting in front of my lens. I didn't know how long they'd been waiting. Their patience was commendable. The evening was chilly and raw.
   I told them it was okay to cut in front. They smiled, offered a heartfelt greeting, and moved on.
   Every December, the media writes about the stress of the holiday season. Those people waiting behind me were anything but stressed. They had been strolling about and enjoying Christmas lights. Even after being delayed, they spread good cheer.
Merry Christmas!

Georgia Red

   People in Georgia describe their soil as Georgia red clay, even though it resembles orange.
   Once I walked along a roadside lined with the clay. It stuck and lumped against my boots. Walking became a hobble.
    Scraping away the goo was harder than anticipated. I'm a Yankee from up north. Our mud isn't as hard to remove. I got lazy and didn't clean away all the clay.
   Later inside my car, the clay tarnished a floor mat.
   I cursed that Georgia red clay. But not for long.
   Messing up my boots wasn't just a hassle, it was fortuitous. My visit to that state was to scout locations for a novel. (I'm writing it). Now, a character in that novel will contend with a muck of
Georgia red clay. Readers will better envision the setting.
   Authenticity demands more than research, it requires hardship.

Degrees of Lying

 
   Twenty two dollars.
   Lured by the price, I scheduled an appointment to get the oil changed in my car. I'd never before visited this business. It's a nationally known auto repair chain.
   When the job was done, a man in charge presented me with a list (seen above). It cited problems with the car. He suggested that the car wouldn't pass the annual vehicle inspection. By coincidence, my inspection deadline was three weeks away.
    I was leery about the mans' diagnosis, so I declined his offer to repair the problems. And besides, his prices were steep.
   Several days later, my personal mechanic looked over the car. Surprise! Surprise! With one exception, he found nothing to jeopardize the renewal of my sticker.
   The man at the national chain was guilty of duplicity. Chances were, he'd seem the number 12--representing December--on my sticker. He'd assumed that I was concerned about the deadline. By creating a sense of urgency, he wanted hose me for additional money.
   Why are some mechanics--or anyone for that matter--duplicitous while others are honest?
   All of us lie now and then. Sometimes lies happen on the spur of the moment; they're called innocent even if they're still wrong.
   Duplicity is rarely innocent. Seems to me, when duplicity targets other people, it represents a virulent form of lying.

Why Do I Visit a Shrine?

   One of my favorite places to visit is Our Lady of Fatima Shrine in Massachusetts. Last night there I photographed Christmas lights.  
   When strolling those grounds and praying, I feel closer to God.
   Does psychology explain this reaction? By exposing myself to a concentration of religious statuary, along with a peaceful setting, do I delude myself into believing that God or His spirits are closer?
   With respect to Fatima, I don't accept the psychological explanation.
   Shrines are sacred. Miracles happen at shrines and holy places. These miracles don't happen often, but their frequency is greater than elsewhere. That track record suggests that God and His celestial hosts are more active, and receptive, when mortals communicate to them from shrines.
   It's true that some miracles can be debunked with scientific evidence and reasoning. But empiricism can't and never will explain all miracles.
   We all have hangouts. Spirits might too.

Europe's Eyesore

     A scourge of graffiti permeates Spain. I was shocked by the ugliness of its walls. This photo was taken while hiking through an underpass in Iguzquiza. I've read this problem exits in much of Europe.
     Graffiti is not a just symptom of social problems, it's a creator of social problems.
     A 'broken window' theory claims that when people and governments ignore vandalism, be it smashed windows, graffiti, or whatever, it conveys an attitude that says, 'we don't care.' When a culture of indifference takes hold, social harmony declines into social disconnectedness.
     Here in the USA, graffiti was commonplace during the 1970's through 1980's. Not any more. Today the walls in cities look cleaner.   
     During my travels about America, I've noticed another change. People seem happier with each other. Could a crackdown on graffiti be contributing to this trend? 

Rotten Apples

     Standing on a ladder, I pointed my camera toward a stump of an apple tree. It occupies a spot in the back yard.
     Why haven't I sawed away the stump? When I push a lawn mower, the stump gets in the way. Those neat lines I cut in the grass bend out of whack.
     Sentimentality keeps the stump around. As a boy, I'd climb the tree with my brothers. When apples fell, my aunt would collect them and bake pies.
     My friends and I used apples for ammunition. We'd engage in apple throwing battles with kids from another neighborhood.
     In our rivalry with those boys, we once decided to up the stakes. A hole was dug on a footpath in the woods. Leaves and twigs concealed the hole, better described as a booby trap. Rotten mushy apples were spread beside the hole. Our plan was audacious. We'd lure our rivals down the trail. One of those suckers would trip in the hole and fall among the rotten apples.
     We approached a back yard where our rivals were hanging out. We flung apples at them. They were infuriated. They chased us down the trail. Those rivals were bigger and faster than us. They drew closer. We knew that capture meant getting roughed up.
     My friends panicked. They forgot about the trap. One of them stepped into the hole. He toppled into the apples. My friend had fallen victim to our own chicanery.
     Come the spring I'll chop the top of the stump into the shape of a bowl. A trash can lid will get placed upside down upon it. Voila! A bird bath.
     The apple tree will provide new delights.

Crappy Situation

     Dog poop baggies are showing up in my neighborhood.
     Someone walking a pet is dropping these baggies on lawns, including mine. I think it's happening after dark. His (or her) identity is unknown.
    Since I take evening strolls around here, it's possible I'll notice this person from afar when he strikes again. How will I react?
     I've fantasized revengeful scenarios against this jerk. Every one of these paybacks involve the contents of the baggie. And his door knob. Or his door mat. Or his car seat. 
     Revenge is wrong. I'll rein in those flights of imagination. But envisioning that guy reaching for his door knob--his greasy door knob--puts a smile on my face.
    Last week another baggie (the one in the photo) appeared near the sidewalk. A new idea came to mind. If I observe the perpetrator in action, I'll rattle his cage.
     That'll mean trailing him to his home, getting his address, and obtaining his name.
     The next day he'll find an anonymous note--a scarlet letter--inside his mailbox. The note will threaten him with a public outing if another baggie shows up.
     Is shaming, or the possibility of being shamed, effective? In Texas, a teenager got arrested for ripping off a K-Mart store. The judge sentenced him to stand outside the store for one week. The boy carried a sign about his crime. Later the kid wrote a letter to the judge. It read, 'I had seven days, eight hours a day, to reflect on my life. I didn't want to continue this mode of self-destruction any more.'
     The manager at K-Mart reported no thefts during that week. Shaming indeed deters misbehavior.
     When the perpetrator in my neighborhood opens his mailbox, he'll discover more than my note inside it. Greeting him will be a return to sender baggie.