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.