Home on New Year's Eve

    I am typing this blog at home on New Years Eve. It’s forty-five minutes before the ball drops in Times Square. People are partying all over the world.
    But not in this house. My mother is sleeping. She’s 93 years old.
    I just photographed a Christmas light in the window of a bedroom. Seen behind the pane of glass, my neighborhood is aglow with holiday colors. It’s peaceful out there. And quiet. No revelers are present on the street.
    My neighbors’ car is parked in the driveway. They’re home. It’s the same with houses across the street. Nobody is throwing a party.
    A memory comes to mind from a trip to Brazil. I met a nurse there. She lived in Sao Paulo. I asked her what she did on Carnival, the most popular festival in that nation. She told me her family—and lots of families—didn’t take part. Instead they went camping. They preferred the quietude of nature to crowds and partying.
    For many years, I felt awkward by staying home on New Years Eve. I’d think, why wasn’t I attending a party? Everybody else was having a grand old time. Was I not normal?
    Now I realize that I was normal. Most people, I believe, are content to remain at home on New Year's Eve.

You are my Sunshine

    While visiting Boston, I listened to a street singer. Her repertoire featured songs from decades ago. One song was 'You are my Sunshine.'
    That song is an Americana classic. Its appeal endures. The lyrics are recognized by millions of people. Here are the opening lines:

                                    You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
                                    You make me happy when skies are grey.
                                    You never know dear, how much I love you.
                                     Please don’t take my sunshine away.

    I asked her why she sang oldies rather than contemporary music. She told me that listeners preferred the older hits.
    Nowadays, new songs rarely achieve crossover appeal. I can’t recall the last time a new release became recognized by Americans from all walks of life. Michael Jackson’s song, Billy Jean, might be the last such occasion. But even the appeal of that song, I predict, won’t hold up like ‘You are my Sunshine.’
    Why is there a lack of songs with crossover appeal? One reason might be a decline in creativity. Also, music and audiences have fragmented into genres and sub-genres.
    I believe there’s a yearning out there for simple music, the kind with catchy and uplifting lyrics. Someone might be composing such a song right now. Maybe he’s a teenager, unknown to the world, scribbling lyrics in his bedroom.

A New Target

On my porch, a metal box hides a light bulb.

    For decades, a metal box gathered dust in the cellar of my home. Nobody paid attention to this box. It was empty.

   Yesterday, I examined some words embedded into its side. They read Amm Box, 50 Cal M2. I looked up its meaning. The box once held ammunition for a Browning 50 caliber machine gun. M2 ammo was used during World War II.
    I don't know how the box ended up at my home. Perhaps it housed something my father had purchased. Military surplus must have been abundant back in the 1960's.
    During the Christmas season, this box has a new location. It lays on the floor of my porch. I placed a light bulb inside it. The light bulb illuminates a wreath. Thanks to the box and some tape, light does not spill every which way.
    An object intended for war now serves a better purpose--celebrating Christ's birth.

Ammo box and bulb pictured during daytime.

Chipping Away a Holiday

    On Thanksgiving morning I frowned.
    A heap of advertising inserts spilled out from the newspaper. Some of them publicized shopping hours for later in the day.
    That’s right, shopping on Thanksgiving. Which means employees working instead of relaxing with families. And people fixating on so called ‘doorbuster’ sales.
    Why can't retailers exercise restraint? They've already conditioned millions of people to shop on the following day, nicknamed Black Friday, an orgy of spending (of which I refuse to participate).
    What's happening is an encroachment on a cherished holiday. Shopping hours are confined to the evening, that way, the Thanksgiving dinner is not affected. People will be less apt to raise a stink.
    But that doesn’t make it right. In future years, those shopping hours might increase on Thanksgiving. The chipping away is gradual and insidious.
    Holidays are vulnerable to encroachments by monied interests.

Giving Thanks

I photographed the Mayflower while it passed through the Cape Cod Canal.

    Imagine the misery. Those early Pilgrims, crammed aboard the Mayflower, suffered from an assortment of diseases during the winter of 1620/1621. It happened while they were anchored off the coast of Massachusetts. Half of them perished.
    Imagine the relief. Half a year later they had built homes on land. Crops where being harvested. No wonder they held a celebration. Turkey meat was devoured. It was our nation’s first Thanksgiving.
    On Thursday—Thanksgiving—that tradition continues. My family will eat turkey. So will my fellow Americans.
    Will they also thank God for their blessings? Some people won’t. But I am confident that millions of Americans will recite a grace before eating their meals. And that’s a tradition repeated every day.

Radio Free Worksite

A workman paints my garage.

    The boss prohibited his workers from listening to radios while on the job. They were three men. They painted my house last week.
    Past experiences brought about the ‘no radios’ policy. The boss had received criticism from customers. They objected to profanity blasting from painters’ radios. The painters had listened to hip hop and rap.
    It’s easy to assume that swearing is pervasive in our culture. Television shows perpetuate this assumption. Often, actors utter dialogue that is laced with profanity.
    But in reality, lots of people object to profanity.

Projecting Charisma

    When I photographed Donald Trump, his flamboyance was on display. The location was a restaurant in New Hampshire. He arrived in a stretch limousine. If my memory serves me well, no other passengers sat inside the car.
    His charisma was obvious. People thronged to him. At the time, he wasn't even a candidate.
    The same reaction occurred when I first photographed Barack Obama. He showed up at a bookstore event. He wasn't yet a candidate. People seemed in awe of him.
    I photographed Mother Teresa, another person regarded as charismatic. She smiled often. Her expression came across as genuine.
    I've looked up the traits of charismatic people. One trait jumped out: Charismatic people smile a lot. And their smiles don't appear fake, even if those smiles in reality aren't sincere. Sure, Trump often scowls. But up close and personal, he also smiles. So does Obama.
    Charisma can be acquired. That means smiling often and in a manner that appears natural.

Quiet by Nature

I photographed these Lakota Indians during a public event at Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota.

    American Indians don’t talk all that much to strangers. I learned this fact during a visit to the Lakota (Sioux) Reservation in South Dakota.
    A local family was hitchhiking. I pulled over my car, they climbed in, and we traveled eighteen miles. I tried to initiate conversations. They had little to say. I felt awkward.
    Later, while on the reservation, someone explained to me that Lakotas are quiet by nature. Chances were, that family didn’t feel awkward inside my car, even though I did. They were just being themselves.
    Later, I read that American Indians by and large aren’t talkative. They appreciate silence.  So do I.
    Silence triggers introspection, and introspection helps us navigate through life.

Degrees of Satisfaction

A mother and son earned general ed. diplomas on the same year. I photographed them in New Hampshire.

    I no longer consider my graduating from college as a source of lasting satisfaction. The same goes for my graduating from high school.

    Don't get me wrong. I'm not unhappy about earning those degrees. They've benefited me. But earning an education was nothing out of the ordinary. It was merely fulfilling a necessity.

    What has contributed to my well being? Hiking the Appalachian Trail left an enduring satisfaction. So did hitchhiking across North America. And so did writing a novel. Those achievements resonate because they were not undertaken by necessity.

    When we achieve what’s necessary, the satisfaction wanes. But when we achieve what’s unnecessary, the satisfaction endures.

Purity of Heart

    Sometimes, while visiting a chapel near home, I read prayer requests left by other people. These requests appear in a notebook.
    A visit last summer offered a surprise. Two dollars lay beside the notebook. A message from the donor read, A little $ for anyone in need.
    Reading that note brightened my mood. (I didn't take the cash).
    The donor didn’t leave his name. Perhaps he was familiar with an exhortation in the New Testament. It reads: Beware of practicing your righteousness before men to be noticed by them.
   The media often reports when someone—often a famous person—donates money. These reports dismay me. I wonder if those donors are motivated by self aggrandizement rather than compassion.
   Anonymous donors are inspirational because they reveal purity of heart.

Vigilance

A hawk perches on a fence behind my house. Note the meat beside its talons.

    This hawk exercised vigilance. Rather than feeding beside the remains of a dead animal, it took away a hunk of meat and perched on a fence. Caution made sense. The remains lay in the woods where coyotes lurk. The fence provided safety.
    Even while eating, the hawk peered about. It rarely let down its guard.
    Like the hawk, people are cautious. They look each way before crossing a street. They avoid strangers deemed—rightly or wrongly—as a threat. Immediate threats trigger caution.
    But not all threats are immediate. Many people ignore long-term threats.
    Friends and acquaintances of mine are dead. They succumbed to cancer. A high percentage of them partied too much during their lives. They weren’t vigilant about their health. Their bad habits caught up with them.
    Short term vigilance comes easy. Long term vigilance requires discipline.

Audio Overload

I took this photo at a high school field where, on another day, the announcer was too loud.

    I no longer enjoy watching sports. One reason is audio overload by announcers.
    This problem came to a head while I attended a high school football game. The announcer working the public address system was loud and incessant. He rarely shut up. I could barely converse with a friend beside me.
    Twice, the announcer drowned out the band as it performed during breaks in the action.
    The announcer’s motor-mouth ruined the fun.
    My friend agreed with this assessment. I suggested he write a letter about this problem to the editor of the local newspaper. My friend demurred. He didn’t want to anger people in his town.
    Fair enough. But I didn’t live there. So I write a letter to the editor. This letter explained in detail how the announcer’s relentlessness made it hard to enjoy the game. 
     My opinion incensed many people. Some of them wrote angry rebuttals in the newspaper.
    My phone rang during this period.
    “Hello,” I said.
    “You’re an a…hole! a woman said before hanging up.
     Anyone who challenges a status quo encounters fierce resistance.

Healthy Dirt

    Does mowing the lawn keep a person healthy?
    The man in the photo, close to one hundred years old at the time, still mowed his lawn. He was healthier than most people his age.
    I also push a mower. It kicks up dirt, dust, and all sorts of bacteria. Filth cakes my body. When I shower afterwards, water flows with blackness.
    Researchers theorize that when children play in the dirt, or stuff dirt into their mouths, they’re developing their immune systems.
    I am 59 years old. My health remains good. I'm not taking meds. And once per week, while behind a mower, I breath in gobs of airborne dirt.
    My gut tells me that exposure to dirt contributes to the health of adults.

Beyond Books

    Libraries have improved since I was a boy. They’re not just about books anymore.
    For example, I photographed a librarian posing with an art collection. Patrons can borrow a painting, hang it on a wall at home, then return the painting.
    But not all libraries loan paintings. And not all libraries are top notch.
    I have visited libraries in many towns in the United States. All of those visits led me to a conclusion: The quality of a library often indicates the quality of life, or lack of, in a community.

Creative Delusion

In Massachusetts, high school basketball players compete.

    When photographers begin careers, they often believe their work is exceptional.
    For example, I once took a photo of two basketball players vying for a rebound (seen at top). Good expressions. Peak action. I was proud of that photo.
    Not any more. I later discovered that ‘armpit’ photos of basketballs players are commonplace. That photo is nothing more than a cliche.
    I once managed a photo department at a newspaper. A staff photographer job opened up. Applicants stopped by with their portfolios. One man’s photos featured artsy and eclectic subjects. One image was hard to identify. It looked like a birds-eye view of a bush. I asked him about the photo. He said, “It’s a close up of my girlfriend’s vagina.”
    I was puzzled over why he’d shown that picture, and other artsy images, for a news photographer job. I think he was delusional. He believed his work was so good that I’d be duly impressed. But I wasn’t. He didn’t get the job.
    Delusion affects writers too. My dream is to become a full time novelist. I thought my first novel was excellent. I sent the manuscript to publishers. They all rejected it. Years later, I realized the writing wasn't up to snuff.  
    Exceptional works follow inferior works. Young artists often can't tell the difference.

Steel Appeal

    While photographing a political rally in Pennsylvania, I noticed a girl with a steel worker union shirt. Behind her stood a woman. This event happened inside a union hall.
    When that woman was growing up, jobs were plentiful in the steel industry. Maybe her father worked in a mill. Chances are, union wages still support the family of this woman and girl. They are fortunate.
    Not all steel workers—or former steel workers—are fortunate. I’ve driven through several communities in Pennsylvania where steel jobs have declined. Many of those places appear rundown. They’ve had trouble bouncing back.
    Other former steel communities, like Pittsburgh, have fared better. They diversified their economies.
    It’s all about adapting to change. Some places—and people—handle  change better than others.
    Robert Kennedy once said, “Progress is a nice word. But change is its motivator. And change has its enemies.”

Second Blooming

    Summer took a toll on my hanging flowers. They began shriveling in mid July. By September, the petals were pretty much gone. I disposed off their roots and dirt among the trees behind my house. Those flowers were destined to be forgotten.
    Or so I thought.
    Several days later, I noticed a splash of color in the woods. A smile creased my face. Some of those petals were again blossoming. A floral comeback!
    I'll leave the flowers at their second home. But they won't be neglected. Every few days, I'll give them a drink of water.
    When simple pleasures come out of the blue, they boost our spirits.

Signature Works

Children play at the Make Way For the Ducklings sculpture in Boston.

    Many artists create a signature work, regarded as their best achievement.
    Sculpture Nancy Schon created Make Way for the Ducklings (seen in photo). It occupies a spot in the Public Gardens of Boston. Children throng to the statues.
    Musicians create signature songs. Led Zeppelin recorded a masterpiece called Stairway to Heaven.
    Architect Frank Lloyd Wright designed Fallingwater, described as a tour de force.
    Author Henry David Thoreau wrote Walden, his classic.
    Signature works shouldn't only apply to literature, objects of art, and their creators. Nor must these works be famous. Signature works should cite accomplishments-of-a-lifetime made by everyday people.
    In our lives, have we each done something that made world a better place? Those actions might someday represent our signature works. Or have we merely gone through the motions of life, without making an impact?

Faster and Faster We Go

Photo taken in August on Long Island Sound. The shoreline in background is Connecticut.

    A ferry, churning a froth of water, passed by a wind driven schooner. Diesel engines powered the ferry. It moved at forty miles per hour. Customers like quickness. The ferry’s business probably booms during summer.
    The schooner moved like a slowpoke. But two centuries ago, schooners were the speediest vessels. Fisherman used them to rush their catches to shore.
    As time marches on, modes of transportation quicken. The same applies to the performance of tasks. Technology speeds things up. Faster actions result in convenience. And convenience leads to more leisure time.
    Or just the opposite for some people. Speediness leaves them more time for productivity. Their workloads increase. Their brains process more stimuli. Fatigue takes hold. Over time, burnout looms.
    Going faster and faster may inadvertently slow down a person.

Bad and Good Samaritans

    Water is scarce along the Appalachian Trail. A drought prevails. Thirst afflicts hikers more so than on typical years.
     Last week in New England, I day hiked along that trail. Good and bad sides of human behavior revealed themselves.
    First the bad side: While visiting a lean-to shelter, I read a message written by one hiker to her peers: Here's a photo of that note (with an identifying road name deleted):

    How could someone deny water--the font of life--to fellow human beings in need? How selfish. The reality that more than one hiker has knocked on that homeowner’s door is no excuse.
    Now the good side: I came upon a collection of water bottles (seen in the bottom photo). A Good Samaritan, I was told, had placed them there for hikers.
    People who lend assistance to others derive happiness from their generosity. Research proves that fact. That Good Samaritan probably lives a happy life.
     I doubt that selfish homeowner lives happily. Her heart is a stone. She probably suffers from a self inflicted depression.
    Generosity implies happiness whereas selfishness implies unhappiness.

When Slower is Better

    I met a backpacker in North Carolina. He was hiking on the Appalachian Trail. He had walked over two thousand miles—an adventure of a lifetime. The conclusion was near. He would soon ascend a final summit.
    This man expressed one regret. He never should have hiked at a fast pace. Quickness diminished the quality of his adventure.
     The same can be said about life. Moving fast leads to productivity. The more we produce, the more we earn. But there’s a flip side to achievement. Too much productivity—and too much speed—dilute our lives of meaning.

Busting their Humps

Ecuadorian immigrant labors on a roof in my town.

    Most roofing laborers, at least in this part of the nation, are immigrants. Many come from Ecuador. I had assumed they gravitated to roofer jobs because they are shorter in height than average, which means they’re less apt to fall.

    Turns out, there’s another explanation.
    Four Ecuadorians replaced shingles on a roof in my town. Their work ethic impressed me. Hour after hour, they toiled under hot conditions.
    I spoke to a contractor who hired this crew of Ecuadorians. He told me that shortness of height had nothing to do with their prevalence in the roofing trade. He hired them because American born workers won’t perform roofing jobs. The work is too hard for them.
    Back when I was a boy, American born white guys hammered shingles on roofs. They weren’t immigrants. And they weren’t adverse to busting their humps.
    Does a widespread aversion to hard labor indicate a nation in decline?

Ecuadorian wears wide brimmed hat for protection from sun.

Is Joy Temporary?

     Green to white. Firemen, entertaining children in my town, hosed water and foam upon a grassy area. Kids frolicked in a churn of whiteness. They shouted with joy.
    I looked up the definition of joy. Equivalent words appeared up such as gaiety, bliss, and delight. Those words suggest brief episodes of emotion.
    But does joy happen only in fleeting moments?
    Consider a definition of joy by a pastor named Rick Warren:’ Joy is the settled assurance that God is in control of all the details of my life, the quiet confidence that ultimately everything is going to be alright, and the determined choice to praise God in every situation.’
    Warren’s joy is long term.  
    Joy isn’t only about moments of happiness, joy can also be an enduring state of happiness.

Does Home Size Affect Togertherness?

Home buyers in Massachusetts visits a construction site for small homes. I took this photo 35 years ago.

   Small houses, like the ones in the photo, are rarely built anymore. Developers construct bigger homes. Profits are greater. And people—well, some people—can afford these larger dwellings.
    House sizes in the nation have doubled during the last four decades. At the same time, family sizes have shrunk.
    Bigger homes with fewer occupants—this trend strikes me as hurtful to family life. Excessive space in a home encourages family members to sequester themselves.
    For several years, I’ve strolled each evening by some large houses. Blue lights used to flicker in several windows per house. These lights originated from personal computers. People were online in separate rooms.
    Those families weren’t hanging out together.
    Nowadays, blue lights don’t flicker in multiple windows. The flickering usually comes from one room—a family room—with a large screen television.
    This change doesn’t mean family members are gathered together watching television. They’re still sequestering themselves in separate rooms. What’s different is that personal computers have given way to smartphones.
    Not everyone lives in oversized homes. Lots of families still reside in modest homes. 
    I suspect that families in modest dwellings are knit tighter than families in large homes.

Faith in Common

    The only words I understood were ‘Ave-Maria.’ It meant ‘Hail Mary.’ Portuguese-Americans proceeded behind a statue of the Blessed Mother. They recited The Rosary. It happened yesterday at a shrine near my home.
    A Portuguese woman approached my elderly mother. The woman said something in her native tongue. Mom, of Polish heritage, did not understand.
    The Portuguese woman lifted her rosary beads. Attached to them was a figurine of Jesus. The woman kissed it. She presented the figurine to Mom. Right away, Mom leaned down and kissed it. Afterwards, the two women smiled at each other.
    The language barrier didn’t matter. Those woman shared in common their Catholic faith.
    Fellowship is one reason why religious people score high in happiness surveys.

Toiling in a Basement

    Two afternoons per week, I notice a man cleaning the floor at a senior center. He's usually by himself. The room, busy during the morning, is empty. I pass by his door while picking up my elderly mother.
    Last week, I struck up a conversation with this person. Bob (I think that's his name) is a retiree. And he's a volunteer.
    He told me the town lowers his taxes in return for cleaning two rooms. His toil is lonely. The rooms are situated in a basement. Few people walk by. Quietude prevails.
    Cleaning the floor crimps Bob's social life. His friends sometimes play golf on weekdays. He doesn't join them. Volunteering takes precedence. Instead of swinging a golf club he sweeps a broom.
    Bob said of his job, "When I commit to something, I try to stick with it."
    His attitude reminds me of a quote by Carlos Ghosn:
    'Commitment. This is my favorite word because in some way, people who are committed are always much more interesting and much more reliable, and much more, I would say, deep than people who are not.'

Simple Attraction

Farmers' Market last week near my home.

    At a farmer’s market, two women drew in the most customers.
    The women wore head coverings and long dresses. They were conservative Mennonites. Simplicity is a hallmark of their religion.
    Their plain attire contributed to their their popularity. Also helping them was authenticity. Customers sensed that these women weren’t wearing costumes to earn a buck. They wear those outfits every day.
    The popular culture ignores people of humility and simplicity. But they’re respected by everyday people.

Pokemon Hot Spot

Boys and a young man play the game Pokémon Go at a town common in Massachusetts.

    I watched a zombie parade. It happened while sitting on a bench in Massachusetts.
    Passersby stared into smartphones. Unlike people in a real parade, these folks zigged and zagged in all directions. Some remained on walkways. Others cut across grass.
    They were playing Pokémon Go, a virtual game that uses real world locations. It's become a craze. Smartphones are required for playing.
    Yesterday was my first exposure to the phenomenon, even if I merely observed.
    I've often criticized the social ill effects of smartphones. This time I'll defer. The fixation on Pokémon doesn’t seem bad. Most folks played in groups of two or three. For example, the first participants I noticed were a man and girl, possibly siblings. Comparing them to zombies isn't fair.
    Exercising and playing together beats staring into phones, even if ironically this activity includes staring into phones.

Park to Myself

    Most summer evenings, children occupy the playground in my town. But not on July 4th, a national holiday. The setting goes quiet. So does the rest of the town.
    On that weekend, people head to the beach, or the mountains, or wherever. They’re looking for a break from the hustle and bustle. The problem is, it requires hustle and bustle to reach those places. Highways and tourist areas become crowded.
    I remain in town.
    The park becomes a haven. Behind the swing sets is a grove of trees (seen in photo). There, shade and quietude relax me.
    On July 4th weekend, people who stay in town enjoy more relaxation than those seeking it elsewhere.

Screens and Sky

Fireworks explode in a suburb of Boston on the eve of July 4, 2016, a national holiday.

    Facing fireworks is different than watching them.
    Two girls (in the left photo) sat on the roof of a pickup truck. Fireworks exploded in the sky. The girls ignored the extravaganza. Their eyes fixated on smartphones. Maybe they were texting, or visiting social media websites.
    The girls were tuned out to the reality in front of them. In a sense, they were even tuned out to each other.
    Nearby, an elderly couple (in the right photo) watched the fireworks. No smartphones in their hands. They were tuned in, to the fireworks and to each other.
    Watching fireworks is great family fun. Well, most of the time. Staring into screens diminishes the togetherness.
    Smartphones curtail family bonding.

Knowledge and Zeal

Man portrays General Ulysses Grant at Civil War encampment in my town.

     I arrived late. An encampment of Civil War reenactors was breaking up. Tents were disassembling. Union soldiers no longer spoke in character as though the year was 1863. They were speaking in a normal fashion.
    I struck up a conversation with a man portraying General Ulysses Grant. He bore a resemblance to the actual general. This guy was more than an actor, he was an expert on the life of Grant.
    “I’ve spent twenty-four years studying Grant,” the man said.
    Testing his knowledge, I mentioned my visit to the battlefield at Spotsylvania, Virginia. Some historians consider that battle the most ferocious of the war. Grant was in charge.
    During one assault, a union officer (not Grant) ordered his men to attack a Confederate line, and do so without firing weapons. This ‘bum rush’ strategy was unprecedented. Troops always fired their muskets while advancing. The officer calculated that time spent while firing was detrimental to the prospects for success. Better to make haste and shoot later.
   The bum rush succeeded. Union troops overran the Confederate position. Granted promoted the officer. The bum rush tactic was adopted by the Army.
    General Grant—the actor standing before me—knew about that assault. He said, “You don’t fire to get there. You get there and then you fire.”
    I asked him for the name of the innovative officer. Grant couldn’t recall it.
    Not wanting to take up any more of Grant's time, I thanked him for the conversation. He ducked into a trailer. For several minutes, I busiest myself taking photos.
    Then, out of the blue, General Grant addressed me.
    “Emory Upton was his name.” Grant identified that officer whose name eluded us.
    I nodded toward Grant’s trailer. “Did you look up the name?” My question suggested that Grant had internet access inside the trailer.
    Grant touched his head, “It’s all in here.”
    I’m not easily impressed, but this man impressed me.
    When someone reveals depth of knowledge and zeal, he earns respect.

Canvas tents, authentic to the period, at the encampment.

Indignation

    I showed up early, as I always do.
    The location was a hotel in downtown Boston. My assignment was a portrait session with two magicians (seen above). They were in town for a show. A newspaper reporter accompanied me.
    A room was chosen. I set up equipment—light stands, umbrellas, flash heads, and a powerpack.
    So far so good.
    Next, I’d perform a lighting check. That would require me to plug a power chord into a wall socket.
    An employee of the hotel told me to wait. There was a safety concern.
    Huh? I inspected the socket. It looked fine.
    The employee said that he’d summon the house electrician. That person, not me, would plug in the chord. The whole thing seemed ridiculous. But okay, bring in the electrician.
    Silliness gave way to seriousness. I was told the electrician would charge me a fee.
    I expressed outrage. It was absurd to pay someone for such a routine task.
    The employee said the policy was a union rule.
    Safety had nothing to do with it. The policy was a shakedown for money.
    The electrician arrived. I refused to cooperate. I told him I’d take the portraits without artificial lighting, even if it meant the quality wouldn’t be as good. I also conveyed my disgust.
    The electrician backed down. He told me to go ahead and plug in the chord.
    I’m not sure why he relented. Was he afraid the reporter would publish an account of the situation? Was he uncomfortable after being the object of derision? Or had he been trying to scam me and didn’t want his bosses to know?
    I’m glad I stood my ground. Righteous indignation, whether it succeeds or fails, strengthens one’s character.

Male Camaraderie

High school football players pose in town near my home.

    When teenage boys gather together, they express whatever is on their minds. They do it without drama. Their candor builds camaraderie. In turn, this camaraderie boosts the confidence of boys. It helps them mature.
    When boys enter manhood, this camaraderie takes a hit. Speech codes inhibit free expression in workplaces and colleges. Family life take precedence over hanging with buddies. Some elements of society frown upon tight bonds between heterosexual men.
    Some guys, myself included, still value close friendships between males.
    Most of my best friends are guys that I hung out with during high school. We still live near each other. Our get-togethers are like time warps. We speak with candor to each other, just as we did during adolescence. Our bond contributes to our happiness.
   Male camaraderie is good for men and good for culture.

Unpredictable Happiness

    The scene was tranquil.
    A waterfall gushed over a spillway. Geese dozed near a bystander. Just another day along the upper Charles River in Massachusetts. How could anything go wrong?
    Over the years, lot of things have gone wrong at this river and its tributaries. I’ve capsized several times while canoeing. My brother’s friend drowned while swimming. I’ve fallen through the ice with a dog. In the adjoining woods, a fellow hiker fell off a ledge and broke his foot. A blizzard of snow disoriented myself and a friend as we snowshoed.
    Good things have also happened, like wildlife sightings and spontaneous acts of fun with companions.
    Whenever I venture forth into nature, unforeseen circumstances occur. Most incidents are pleasant. Sometimes they’re bad. This unpredictability is welcomed. It relieves me from the humdrum of my life.
    Exposing oneself to unpredictability--now and then--contributes to happiness.

Grass as a Metaphor

    Something predictable is happening to a bare patch on my lawn. Shoots of grass are sprouting with vigor on one half of the patch. (The right side in the photo.) The grass on the other half isn’t doing well. Bare spots remain. Grass is growing slowly.
    Why the difference?
    The unhealthy grass is over-exposed to sunshine, especially during this time of year when daylight lasts the longest. Too much sunshine dries the soil.
    The healthy grass is shielded by a bush. There, grass is exposed to fewer hours of sunshine. The soil retains moisture.
    We’re all like shoots of grass. Some of us achieve our potentials. Others fall short. What determines our prospects?
    The answer, in part, is the people we associate with. Do we spend too much time with people of bad character? If so, it’s like grass being overexposed to sunshine. We’re held back.
    Good people bring out the potential in us. Bad people inhibit us. To achieve our potentials, we should consider the people we hang out with.

Dodging the Truth

My mother visits the fresh grave of my father.

    “Should I give your father last rites?” a priest said to me over the phone.
    Dad was sick in the hospital. Terribly sick. But there was still hope for his recovery. The hospital staff was suggesting rehab clinics. They also mentioned hospice care at home if Dad’s condition became terminal.
    I didn’t wanted to dispirit Dad. He would have been demoralized by the administering of last rites, a sacrament associated with death. Better to save that ritual for when the end was near. I told the priest to hold off.
    Shortly thereafter, Dad died.
    Now I’m troubled with guilt. Dad was Catholic. He would have wanted his last rites. And I denied him that sacrament.
    Surely the staff at the hospital knew—or suspected—that Dad was dying. He looked awful. His condition was terrible. They never told me that Dad was near death. I don’t think they’re allowed to make such statements. Revealing pessimism, even if it’s truthful, might rub patients and relatives the wrong way. Better to keep hope alive.
    As a result, I was deluded by a false optimism. I inspected rehab clinics where Dad could transition to. What a waste of precious time. I could have spent more time at Dad’s bedside. Perhaps I could have been present when he died. (My brother was thankfully there when the moment arrived).
    The hospital should have been forthright about Dad’s condition. Reality over hope. That way, Dad would have gotten last rites. And I wouldn’t be burdened with regret.
    Dodging the truth eventually leads to negative consequences.

Why Do We Suffer?

My father John holds me at age of three months. Dad died last March.

    Suffering is an opportunity from God.
    This opportunity doesn’t come from our own suffering, rather, it comes from the suffering of other people. Their miseries invite us to show compassion.
    Do we accept these invitations? Do we perform acts of compassion?
    If we do, it could benefit us when we face the judgement of God. Our acts of compassion might sway God’s judgements of us.
    Some people rarely show compassion. Their indifference to the suffering of others represents missed opportunities. Later, when they face God’s judgment, they will regret their indifference.
    Other people do perform acts of compassion. They earn grace from God. They will be rewarded for their compassion.
    This outlook entered my mind during the last few months. My father John was dying. I lived with him during his ordeal. I did the best I could for him. I treated him with compassion. He suffered physically while I suffered anxieties.
    Don’t think I cared for my father simply to earn brownie points with God. I loved my father. I wanted to be there for him.
    People often pray to God for miracles. They want cures from illnesses. These cures are requested for other people or themselves. I often prayed for my father’s recovery.
    Most of the time, prayers don’t result in miracle cures. It’s not that God is indifferent to suffering. I suspect He has a good reason for not answering these prayers. He doesn’t want to deny us opportunities to show compassion.
    Thanks to suffering, and subsequent acts of compassion, there are more souls in Heaven.

Grief Update

        A month has passed since my father’s death. It’s been hard. I haven’t posted any entries or photos.
    I’ll soon get back to blogging. I’m anxious to share my thoughts about the meaning of suffering. 

A Difficult Period in My Life

My father died. I'm in mourning. A few days will pass until my next entry.

Cultural Nuances

    It might seem odd, posing an investment portfolio manager within a cornfield. Professionals like him usually reside in urban or suburban areas. This man is cut from a different cloth. He prefers a rural lifestyle. His home is the state of Vermont.
    One of my best friends also lives in Vermont. He moved there after loosing a job near Boston, Massachusetts.
    He says there’s two types of people in Vermont. There’s New Yorkers who own second homes. Those people are wealthy. And there’s country folk of limited means. Many of those country folk earn their livings by performing maintenance jobs for the New Yorkers.
     My friend doesn’t fit in as a resident of Vermont. He’s not rich like the New Yorkers. And his outlook towards life is more cosmopolitan than the rural people. When he retires, my friend will return to Massachusetts.
    And now for my take on Vermont: My sense is that people there aren’t all that friendly. This don’t mean that Vermonters are hostile. They're just not as outgoing as people elsewhere in the nation. There’s an insularity to people in Vermont.
    Across the Connecticut River from Vermont is New Hampshire. That state also has large swaths of rural area. Those people are friendlier. I relate to strangers in New Hampshire better than strangers in Vermont.
    I made a similar differentiation while in Africa. The people I met in Zimbabwe were friendly and easy going. That attitude is common among the Shona Tribe. Then I crossed the Limpopo River to South Africa. No more Shona tribesman. People in South Africa seemed aggressive and less friendly.
    It’s been said that people everywhere are basically the same. In many ways they are. But there are noticeable differences.
    Some places are friendlier than others.

Seeking Inspiration

    The function room was a mess. Books and boxes lay all over the place. Volunteers, including myself, were setting up for the annual book sale at our town’s library. Second hand books had been donated by citizens.
    My eyes settled on the novel, East of Eden. Right away I purchased it. That work of literature, which I had read years ago, profoundly affected me.
    Most things in this world don’t have a far reaching affect on me. But now and then a book touches my soul. Other people—those who possess admirable characters—occasionally leave a mark on me. Sometimes they’re famous. Most of the time they’re not.
    Many people seek inspiration but few people inspire.

Resisting Greed

 Law firm solicitation (names and numbers etched out)

    Several weeks ago, a drunk driver crashed into my car. I was not injured. Insurance paid for the damages. The driver reimbursed me for nominal out of pocket expenses.
    And he apologized. As far as I was concerned, the matter was over and done with.
    Or so I thought.
    A few days ago, a law firm telephoned me. They wanted me to file a lawsuit against the driver. Another firm sent me a letter of solicitation (seen in the photo). One sentence included the words, ‘you may be entitled to recover money.’
   I won’t take the bait. To sue that driver for no other reason than money would represent greed.
   Greed is a sickness of one’s soul.

Versatile Happiness

    While attending school, this young woman participated in three sports. Her versatility used to be the norm for young athletes. Things have changed. Many youth now specialize in one sport. 
    Studies have shown that multi-sport athletes are happier. Single sports kids aren’t as happy; they’re under more pressure to excel.
    What about adults? Many of them possess one specialized skill. It’s usually related to their employment. Are these people less happy?
    I’ll bet people with multiple skills are happier than people with one skill. And it’s not just about work. For example, I know some women who knit for charity. Knitting is an additional skill. Those ladies seem happy with their lots in life. People with hobbies—and hobbies involve skills—also strike me as happy.
    Learning new skills, even if they’re unrelated to work, might improve our happiness.

Transitioning

    Mastering a skill requires a transition.
    For example, a girl at the Boston Common learned how to skate while clinging to a plastic seal. I never saw her skate unassisted. That’s okay. She needed more time to transition from a raw beginner to someone with a basic skill.
    Adults are no different. Education is required to learn a trade or profession. Going to school is a time consuming transition.
    My goal is to become a novelist. That means transitioning from photography to writing. I’ve spent thousands of hours learning how to write. I’m still unpublished. I’m still transitioning. I’m okay with that.
    Some people skip transitions. For example, anyone without writing experience can pen a novel. Anyone can upload such a novel to a book retailing website. But would the book find commercial success? Probably not. The writing would be subpar. The author wouldn’t have learned the craft of writing. Time wasn’t allocated for a transition.
    Ten years from now, that girl in the photo might compete at the Winter Olympics. One never knows. She might even win a gold medal. If so, her success would have begun with a plastic seal and a transition.

Managing Stimuli

    On the subway, a man covered his ears and closed his eyes. He was tired. It was evening rush hour last Friday. The city was Boston.
    Before zoning out, the man had stared into a smartphone. His mind grew weary from a day’s worth of stimuli.
   While traveling, I minimize exposure to the internet. The same applies to music and the radio. Fewer distractions keeps my mind sharp. Fewer diversions enables me to better observe the nuances of people and settings. Creative ideas are more apt to sprout. Less consumption of media helps me as a writer and as a photographer.
    Once I drove from Worcester, Massachusetts to Cleveland, Ohio. Twelve hours. Not once did I listen to the radio or play music. Just me, the road, and my thoughts.
    That trip was boring.
    There’s a lot of cool and creative stuff online. But at some point it all becomes too much. When we over-expose ourselves to creativity, we become less creative.

Degrees of Friendliness

    While hiking on the Camino de Santiago, I encountered a married couple. They were pilgrims walking across Spain. Attached to the woman’s outfit was a flag of Brittany, a region of France where they lived.
    The Camino attracts pilgrims from all over the world. It’s like hiking in a melting pot. On one occasion, I engaged in a heartfelt conversation with a man from Hungary. On other occasions, I hiked beside people from Japan, Switzerland, and Netherlands, to name just a few.
    Most of the time, however, I hung out with fellow Americans. I found them to be among the most affable. The same friendliness was exhibited by pilgrims from South Africa, Ireland, and Australia.
    By contrast, many French pilgrims were rude and argumentative. People from Quebec, a province of Canada, also seemed aggressive. Englishmen came across as cynical. There were exceptions. That couple from Brittany couldn’t have been nicer.
    My journey across Spain reinforced a notion I’ve formed during other trips. The friendliest travelers in the world hail from South Africa, Ireland, Australia, and the United States.