SHOOTING SNAPSHOTS: TERRORISTIC ACTIVITY?

     I want to thank George F. Will. A recent newspaper column he authored, A snapshot of our times*, has me concerned.

     Will cites examples of photographers questioned about their terroristic tendencies due to the subjects included in their photographs. One was photographing controversial new turn styles in the Los Angeles subway. Another was photographing industrial scenery at night.

     Still another was taking photographs to accompany a news article. The issue about his photographs was the presence of a courthouse in the background.

     Why do these examples raise a concern?

When the Los Angeles Police Department developed a Suspicious Activity Report program, the federal government encouraged local law enforcement agencies to adopt its guidelines for gathering information “that could indicate activity or intentions related to” terrorism…From the fact that terrorists might take pictures of potential infrastructure targets (“pre-operational surveillance”), it is a short slide down a slippery slope to the judgment that photography is a potential indicator of terrorism and hence photographers are suspect when taking pictures “with no apparent aesthetic value” (words from the suspicious-activity guidelines).* (bold print mine)

     Deputies detained and searched the turn style photographer, and asked him if he was planning to sell the photos to al-Qaeda. When the photographer claimed his right to remain silent the deputy said You know, I’ll just submit your name to TLO (the Terrorism Liason Officer program). Every time your driver’s license gets scanned, every time you take a plane, any time you go on any type of public transit system where they look at your identification, you’re going to be stopped. You will be detained. You’ll be searched. You will be on the FBI’s hit list.*

     The industrial scenery photographer finds aestheticism and occasional monetary value in depicting nighttime industrial scenes on film. One night, however, while on a public sidewalk photographing an oil refinery with a large camera on a tripod, deputies ordered him to stop taking pictures, lest they put his name on a troublesome FBI list.*

     A journalist, writing a story on drivers distracted by texting and use of hand-held phones, was taking illustrative pictures at an intersection. A courthouse was in the background. Deputies called the courthouse a “critical facility” and labeled his picture-taking as “suspicious activity,” gave him a pat-down search, and demanded to see the pictures he had taken.

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     In the decade since Sept. 11, 2001, the United States has comprehensively reduced civil liberties in the name of an expanded security state. The most recent of this was the National Defense Authorization Act, signed Dec. 31**. (not the subject of this post, but worth exploring for a future post)

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     So why should I be concerned?

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     When my husband and I traveled to Munich, Germany, I heard one piece of advice: obvious and continual use of a camera would label me as a tourist.

     I pondered that while preparing to travel.

     While living in one community I stopped in the local diner for my morning coffee break. When I arrived I was chastised for being incompletely dressed: for some reason, I didn’t have my camera around my neck.

     My camera was, is, a part of how people define me. As a journalist, I provide my own artwork. I also record people, places, and events with my camera. Between the five or so years that I purchased my first quality camera and my digital camera I accumulated forty shoeboxes of photographs.

     I ignored the advice not to carry a camera around in Munich, preferring to behave as I do in my home country.

     My camera records many things. This past mid-January weekend I photographed the interesting structure of the Church gym where my grandsons were playing basketball.

     I photograph many structures in the manner I photograph many things: wide lens for an overall view down to the fine carving on wood structures and statues.

     One structure I enjoy shooting is my county courthouse.

     The land for the courthouse was purchased—in the 1770s—by a committee of five. One was my ancestor. Another was the ancestor of a good friend. The land was purchased from the ancestor of my good friend’s wife. Thus the court house offers this New Englander an unexpected connection to my retirement community in Southwestern Pennsylvania. As such, I tend to photograph the structure from many angles and sites.

     The courthouse celebrated its hundredth anniversary with an open house, during which the walkway under and around the dome was opened. I photographed the surrounding community from this high point, as well as the architectural structure of the top of the courthouse. I knew this opportunity wouldn’t occur again at any time in the near future, perhaps never again in my lifetime.

     I also photographed the architecture throughout the courthouse interior from the high dome to the basement jail (I even had someone take a picture of me behind bars).

     I photographed it as I would photograph any other structure: thoroughly. Some of my pictures clearly have aesthetic value. Others were taken to record details in the architecture or signs that explain the structure.

     I’ve also had the opportunity to photograph the almost complete installation of a gas fracking machine in my home area, and details of bridges both locally and in New England. All were photographed from many angles. Many of these infrastructure or scene photographs have no redeeming aesthetic value.

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     Again, why should I be concerned?

     Apparently, in the Los Angeles area, my photography style would make me vulnerable to being stopped by a deputy, vulnerable to having to defend myself as merely a photographer—or a photojournalist (which I am, still occasionally writing for a newspaper writing)—and not a terrorist.

     And what about the phrase aesthetic value? At the risk of quoting an overused phrase, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Ergo, one man’s ugly is another man’s aestheticism. It’s all in the eyes of the photographer

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     Awareness of the situation in Los Angeles made me conscious of how my actions might be interpreted by a deputy who observes me photographing the infrastructure of the church, which I did last weekend. . Could he interpret my actions as activity or intentions related to” terrorism? Could he determine that the pictures of the structure have no aesthetic value?

     Fortunately, I don’t live in the Los Angeles area.

     It’s beginning in California. How long before it travels east to my part of the world?

     And what about this young photographer is older? What will limit his rights to do photography? Will the rights I took for granted before reading Will’s opinion column be severely limited for him?

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ADDITIONAL READING:

BRAMBLES (Brief RAMBLES) 1-6 July 1, 2008

BRAMBLES (Brief RAMBLES) 1-7 July 15, 2008

 Two Photographers Named Cornell

http://carolyncholland2011.wordpress.com/category/photography-2/

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SOURCES

*http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/opinion/columnists/s_776869.html

**‘Land of the Free’? Think again, Jonathan Turley, Greensburg Tribune-Review, January 22, 2012, pp. D5

IS YOUR TABLE BIG ENOUGH?

If not, add a leaf…

     Are you seeking persons to whom you can demonstrate God’s love?

     STOP! You don’t have to seek. In fact, if you are seeking you might just miss the persons that God intends you to give love to.

     Unless you are a hermit living in a cave, isolated from communication with any other human being, a multitude of opportunities to express God’s love crosses your path each day. You don’t have to seek them…they are ever present: the grumpy waitress, the mother maneuvering two young children and multiple shopping bags, the bored face in the doctor’s waiting room, the person in a wheel chair who is unable to reach the item on the shelf, the isolated and the lonely, the overworked and overstressed…

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     Recently, I was in Cleveland Heights “window” shopping at an upscale mall. I wandered into a store to be greeted by a clerk asking if I needed help.

     “No,” I said. “I’m just passing through.”

     Then I hesitated.

     “You know, there is one thing I’m looking for. I don’t know it you have it, but I’ve looked everywhere for it, and just cannot find it.”

     “Well, perhaps I can help,” she said. “What is it?”

     I paused before answering: “Sanity.”

     Suddenly her store-clerk face lit up and she burst out laughing.

     “You did that very well,” she commented.

     Then she told me about the dour-faced customers she usually waits on and said I was a breath of fresh air. I offered her a hug which she graciously accepted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     On January 15, 2012, I was privileged to hear a Martin Luther King, Jr. presentation given by a retired United Methodist Church bishop, Violet Fisher. The message, delivered at the First United Methodist Church of Murrysville, Pennsylvania, was based on Micah 6:8 and Luke 14:15-24, the story of the wedding banquet:

• Micah 6:8  The Lord God has told us what is right and what he demands; “See that justice is done, let mercy be your first concern, and humbly obey your God.”
• Luke 14:8 When you are invited to a wedding feast, don’t sit in the best place. Someone more important may have been invited.
• Luke 14:12  Jesus said to the man who had invited him, when you give a dinner or a banquet don’t invite your friends and family and relatives and rich neighbors. If you do, they will invite you in return, and you will be paid back. When you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. They cannot pay you back. But God will bless you and reward you when his people rise from death.

(Scripture from the Contemporary English Bible)

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     Bishop Fisher began her message saying I want to talk about the table: when you set your table who do you invite? Who is a part of the loved community? 

     Is your table big enough—big enough to invite your neighbor, big enough to include a seat for your neighbor? If not, put another leaf in…

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     Bishop Fisher said she grew up in Delaware, the second child in a family with five children. When her older brother left for college, it was her turn to sit at the adult table (in her tradition, the oldest child sat at the adult table).

     About this time her parents decided to purchase a brand new dining room table. As the oldest child, she accompanied them to a store in Dover, Delaware. The salesman showed her mother tables made of varying woods. Her mother wasn’t impressed. When her mother found the table she liked, one just big enough for her family, her biggest concern was whether it had an extra leaf, because she wanted the space for the unexpected, uninvited, guest.

     At one dinner the doorbell rang and Bishop Fisher answered door. Later she asked her parents Why does she (this woman) always have to come to dinner?

     Her father replied I want you to know this table will always be big enough for those who come…

     Was the example set by Bishop Fisher’s parents an example of spreading God’s love? I believe it was.

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     Jesus instructed us to love our neighbor.

     But who is my neighbor?

     The answer to this question brings me to my personal philosophy: whoever crosses my path is my neighbor.

     Whoever.

     After listening to Bishop Fisher’s message I might add: and wherever I am is my table.

     Wherever.

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     Whoever and wherever includes the store clerk in the upscale mall, the person sitting next to me at the subway station in Philadelphia, the woman I share table with in a Chicago eatery, the waitress at a Buffalo restaurant, a cab driver in Bangor (Maine)…as well as the person living in the house next door to mine in Laurel Mountain Borough, Pennsylvania. Whoever and wherever includes the homeless woman who knocked on our door, seeking a meal and a night’s lodging; the domestic violence victim needing a safe place to stay for a few days; the three sisters needing a place to escape from their parent’s violence.

     Was my interaction with the store clerk an example of spreading God’s love? I believe it was. Did the clerk see it this way? I don’t know. What I do know is that in my journey through this life she crossed my path, sharing it momentarily, and I acknowledged her personhood, her value as a child of God.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Bishop Fisher completed her message with the following story:

     As a brother walked out of the flagship church a man asked him if the message was good. The brother answered: The preacher preached and didn’t tell us to do anything so the message wasn’t great…

     Today, she said, we had a good sermon, but it didn’t tell us to do anything.

     So I am telling you: Put another leaf in the table in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

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     Stop seeking persons to whom you can demonstrate God’s love. Instead, try paying attention to those persons who cross your path.

NOTE: Bishop Fisher was speaking of the barriers of racism, but at one point alluded to other barriers such as  the elderly, which she stated was not the message of the day, but for another day. My writing speaks of the broader sense of barriers—racism, elderly, the physically handicapped, the mentally handicapped, etc.

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PHOTOGRAPHS of the January 12^TH Martin Luther King event can be viewed at this link: http://www.wpaumc.org/galleries/detail/159

ADDITIONAL READING:

One way I share God’s love with a neighbor is to encourage them to smile. Between now and March 1 my husband Monte and I are practicing ways to make people smile, and sharing the results. Below are two posts on smiling:

Warning: Do Not “Smile Someone” Today!

Smiles Wanted!

LUNG CANCER IN NON-SMOKERS

     Aah, the crisp autumn weather, the warmth of a fire created by the autumnal festival of burning the formerly colorful but now deathly-brown leaves and debris that fell in plentiful amounts off the oak, maple, and apple trees.

     Aah, the homey smell of the cigar smoke as my grandfather read the evening newspaper.

     Aah, the feeling of being grown up as I trooped to the corner store to pick up cigarettes for my mother.

     The not-so-aah smell of cigarette smoke while riding in a car with one or more smoking adults, windows closed against the cold air.

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     These were typical experiences in my life as a child in the late 1940s and early 1950s. I’m certain I was not alone in having these experiences of existing in extreme circumstances of air pollution.

     People who have never smoked, but who live in areas with higher air pollution levels, are roughly 20 percent more likely to die from lung cancer than people who live with cleaner air, researchers conclude in a new study…published in the American Journal of Respiratory and Critical Care Medicine.*

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     I tried smoking during the two months I worked as a babysitter for a young girl with two working parents. They had a cottage on Lake Erie in Canada, and they too smoked. It was the trend of the day.

     During the summer I stole (I admit that I was a thief in this instance) cigarettes from them. However, I couldn’t understand what the attraction of the cigarettes was. I concluded very quickly that smoking was a behavior that simply stole money from people, and that smoking was akin to taking your paper money and setting a match to it.

      That was the extent of my smoking life. With that exception, I have never smoked. I’m not certain that the little experimentation I did would ever put me in the category of being a smoker.

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      Though smoking is the number one cause of lung cancer, about one in 10 people who develop lung cancer have never smoked.*

     No, I don’t have lung cancer. I do have mild asthsma—which I attribute to both maternal and paternal hereditary. However, I wonder sometimes if it was aggravated by the leaf-burning smoke, cigar smoke, and/or the cigarette smoke I was exposed to as a child.

     In mid-November the son of former Penn State football coach Joe Paterno was diagnosed with lung cancer.

     “What a shame. He never even smoked,” said John Skorupan of Cranberry, a former Penn State All-American linebacker in the early 1970s who played for the Buffalo Bills and the New York Giants.*

     It has been estimated that 14 to 21 out of every 100,000 women and five to 14 out of every 100,000 men who are non-smokers get lung cancer.

Lung cancer in ‘never smokers’ is an important cancer. It’s the sixth leading cause of cancer in United States…Fine particles in air pollution can irritate the lungs and cause inflammation. This is thought to be a risk factor for lung cancer, but researchers needed to teased apart their impact from that of smoking.

     The research team took into account other cancer risk factors, such as second-hand smoke and radon exposure, and concluded that for every ten extra units of air pollution exposure, a person’s risk of lung cancer rose by fifteen to twenty-seven percent.

     Although the study team didn’t prove that the pollution caused the cancer cases, but there is  plentiful evidence that exposure to fine particles increases cardiopulmonary mortality…fine air pollution particles can injure the lungs through inflammation and damage to DNA, Previous research has suggested similar conclusions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     How much damage was done to my lungs as I breathed in the smoke from burning leaves, cigars, and cigarettes? What, if any, long-term effects occurred?

     So far I know of no effects. Has anyone researched the effects of smoke on the occurance of sinus infections?  Just wondering…

SOURCE

http://www.reuters.com/article/2011/10/28/us-pollution-cancer-idUSTRE79R6AY20111028

* http://pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/news/specialreports/pennstate/s_768194.html

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ADDITIONAL READING:

FROM A FIRST DATE TO A 42nd ANNIVERSARY

YOU MEAN THIS NEW ENGLANDER IS A WESTSYLVANIAN?

WISDOM FROM A CHILD TO A GRANDPARENT

A KUDZU COVERED VEHICLE GRAVEYARD

Kudzu in Pennsylvania? OH, NO!

SUCH BALMY JANUARY 2012 WEATHER

—ENJOYABLE AND FRUSTRATING

     January 15^th, 2012…is the first month of the year almost history? Like the twelve months in 2011, 2012 is zipping past almost without notice. Until January 11^th the weather was wonderfully temperate here in Southwestern Pennsylvania. Then it dipped down to ten degrees. On Friday we woke to snow—you might know, that day I had to travel to Latrobe, Pennsylvania, where I facilitate the Beanery Writers Group. I didn’t want to cancel since we hadn’t met since December 9^th—we cancel the second meeting in December due to Christmas celebrations.

     That said, the temperate climate somewhat irritated me. I know—I should have enjoyed it—and so I did. However, my annual January goals are to rest and recuperate from the onslaught of three successive holidays, and to clear up loose ends in preparation for serious writing I schedule to start January 15^th. Usually I count on hibernating away from foot-high snow and below freezing temperatures. This year the temperatures were in the forties and sometimes the low fifties.

     We lived in Atlanta, Georgia, for three years. My biggest adjustment was not having an excuse to hibernate in January. The weather was too nice.

     Don’t get me wrong—I loved the nice weather. But I seriously missed the hibernation, the grounding, the preparation for a new year with its new and renewed goals.

     I pretty much had a list of things to do during my 2012 hibernation. Among them was to map out the Lamoine area of Hancock County in three time eras, reactivate the search for the burial site of Charles F. Walker (a Civil War veteran), complete my Christmas letters (especially the international ones that weren’t done), attempt to get a copy of a birth certificate of my Lithuanian great grandmother (available in Minersville, Pennsylvania), complete a set of newspaper articles…well, the list goes on.

     Instead, I found myself removing the Christmas decorations from the outside trees, cleaning in the garage, and taking walks for exercise. All very needed tasks—but mistimed. I didn’t expect to untrim the trees until spring. Cleaning the garage is an good-weather job which I also expected to tackle come spring. And walks—an occasional one in the crisp cold after or during a fresh snowfall.

     I’ve pushed back my writing time by a week. It will now begin on January 21^st, not January 15^th.  However—we are now planning a trip to Cleveland on the 21^st. It’s my son’s fortieth birthday this week!

     Thus, the writing date has become February 1^st.  Not good.

     Not that I want the cold and supersnows to come. What I do want is the excuse to hibernate that winter weather provides. Thus, as I clean the garage and take walks, enjoying this blessing of good weather, I also regret not hibernating and sticking to my designated January tasks.

     When all is said and done, I am accomplished much during the first two weeks of 2012. I’ve taken a large bite out of sorting my photographs stored on computer—the remaining large bites will be chewed slowly throughout the year—and organizing my slides, which I scanned to the computer last January. The baubles are off the trees, except for those candy-mimicking ones on the apple tree, the icicle trims on an azalea bush, and a few miscellaneous red bows appropriate to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

     And I must say—after a summer of procrastinating on sorting through my hoard in the garage, I’ve bitten off a large chunk of the work.

     I’ve also purchased and wrapped some Christmas gifts for December, and figured much of my annual Christmas ornament for the end-of-the-year holiday.

     All this work is work no longer postponed. When the nice weather hits I can sit on my patio writing because this work is done.

     I have managed to do some writing. Not much, but some. I just need to get into the groove.  I’ve written several posts and a short-short story in an unusual genre for me. It’s a paranormal story that encompasses a child sexual abuse subtheme.

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     The cold, wintry weather is now here. The ground is covered with a thin white blanket, the driveway is developing a thin sheet of ice, the wind is gusting, and I am happy to be indoors. It’s time to prepare for my February 1^st writing date.

     Please forgive my whining for the day. I promise I will avoid this in the future—that is, unless I continue to lose control of my schedule!

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ADDITIONAL READING:

Warning: Do Not “Smile Someone” Today!

Smiles Wanted!

“Smile Someone” Today

January Catalogues Lead to June Gardens

The fickleness of life and weather

Only Space Aliens Look Forward to Winter

JANUARY DAYS OF CELEBRATION: Part 1

SMILES WANTED!

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

SMILES WANTED!

You don’t have one? I’ll give you one of mine.

You seem so sad.

Just smile.

SMILE!

PRACTICE SMILING!

SHARE A SMILE DAY IS COMING

ON MARCH 1st IT WILL BE HERE!

Every day you spend without a smile, is a lost day.  ~Author Unknown***

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     March first is six weeks away, which provides significant training time to get your smiles in not great but fantastic shape.

     Of course, it’s seems slightly incongrous to me that Share a Smile Day shares March 1 with Pig Day and Peanut Butter Lover’s Day.

     Thus, the first order of business is to get you to smile. : – )

     With that in mind, I offer you a quiz with seven questions about pigs and three about peanut butter (the answers are at the end of this post)*,**,***:

1. What do you call a pig that does karate?
2. What do you call a pig that won the logger?
3. What do you get when you cross a pig with a dinosaur?
4. What happened to the pig who lost its voice?
5. What happened when the pig pen broke?
6. What is the difference between swine flu and bird flu?
7. Why did the pig take a bath?
8. Why did the fisherman put peanut butter into the sea?
9. What kind of fish goes with a peanut butter sandwich?
10. What do you get when you cross elephants with peanut butter?

     Now that your smiles are aroused, how else can you encourage your cheek muscles to pull the corners of your lips up into a smile? Let me know the ways.

     Only six weeks to Share a Smile Day. It’s a day that everyone can easily participate in. No monetary investment is required.

     How can Share a Smile Day be celebrated?

• Greet everyone you know with a smile. Of course, you’ve been practicing for several weeks now so this should be an easy exercise. It’s also a gift to the receiver of your smile, a gift that might just possibly encourage that person to smile back, regifting your gift. Furthermore, your smile could be the encouragement the receiver needs to pull out of the doldrums and have a more cheerful day.
• Let someone know you’re thinking about them. Write them a letter or leave a comment on their web page (whatever form it might be) and, if you know how to, insert a smiley face icon.
• Call an old friend, write someone a letter or even leave a nice comment on somebody’s Facebook page. It doesn’t take much to give a smile. Just let someone you care about know you’re thinking about them
• Send electronic cards—especially ones that feature the Smiley Face—it doesn’t cost anything monetarily, and it’s kind of fun to browse through greeting card sites.
• Send or post on your site pictures of you or your family/friends smiling.
• Arrange a walkathon in your community or tea party at a local diner—with the requirement that no downer conversation welcome—only happy smiles.
• Design simple business-size cards, with or without your name, using a smiley face icon or a computer design : – ) . Perhaps you could add a quote about smiles (several listed below) or a joke (what about the quiz questions?). Pass it out to people who cross your path on Share a Smile Day. Don’t forget to accompany the card with a smile!
• Wear an clothing accent with a smiley face icon pattern.

     Below are several smile quotes: A smile is something you can’t give away; it always comes back to you.

• A smile is a curve that sets everything straight.  —Phyllis Diller
• A smile is the universal welcome. —Max Eastman
•  A smile is something you can’t give away; it always comes back to you.  ~Author Unknown
• Smiling is my favorite exercise.  ~Author Unknown
• Peace begins with a smile.  ~Mother Teresa
• Before you put on a frown, make absolutely sure there are no smiles available.  ~Jim Beggs
• A smile is something you can’t give away; it always comes back to you.  ~Author Unknown
• Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy. —Thich Nhat Hanh
• A smile is the light in your window that tells others that there is a caring, sharing person inside. —Denis Waitley
• If you don’t have a smile, I’ll give you one of mine.  ~Author Unknown

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ADDITIONAL READING:

Warning: Do Not “Smile Someone” Today!

“Smile Someone” Today

January Catalogues Lead to June Gardens

The fickleness of life and weather

Only Space Aliens Look Forward to Winter

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QUIZ ANSWERS:

1. Porkchop
2.  Filthy rich.
3. Porkasaurus rex.
4. It became disgruntled.
5. The pigs had to use a pencil.
6. For swine flu you need oinkment, and for bird flu you need tweetment.
7. He heard the farmer yell “Hogwash!”
8. To go with the jellyfish.
9. A jellyfish.
10. Elephants that stick to the roof of your mouth or elephants that spread easily.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

SOURCES

*http://www.sekoj.com/animaljokes/pigjokes.html

** http://www.top10-best.com/p/top_10_best_pig_jokes.html   

*** http://jens.mooseyard.com/2009/09/the-top-131-elephant-jokes/

***http://www.quotegarden.com/smiles.html

http://voices.yahoo.com/share-smile-day-activities-home-work-school-2618335.html

WARNING: DO NOT “SMILE SOMEONE” TODAY!

Wipe that smile off your face…!

Replace it with a frown!

     I realize that this command is counterintuitive, the opposite being told SMILE! After all, we smile out of happiness, and we frown out of sadness. And who wants to be sad?

     However, there are other reasons, besides sadness, to frown.

     Experiments show that the simple act of frowning makes you more skeptical and analytical in your thinking…* Therefore, one must conclude that frowning makes you smarter. And we all seek ways to increase our intelligence.

     Since smiling is the opposite of frowning, another logical conclusion is that smiling makes you dumber. And who wants to be dumber?

     An additional benefit to frowning is that it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. Ergo, frowning makes for more muscles. Happiness, it seems, is a lazy person’s emotion.**** And you do not want to be consider lazy, do you?

     I realize that some of you don’t know how to frown. One lesson advises you to observe something that makes you angry, then pull the tips of your mouth downward. Use the same cheek muscles you use to smile.***

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     The above advice is the opposite of what is usually given under the assumption that everyone wants to be happy.

     For example, One of the keys to a longer, healthier life just might be your smile. In a recent study of more than 6,000 adults over 50, scientists found that those with sunny dispositions had a significantly reduced risk of stroke. Optimistic people tend to make healthier choices about diet and exercise, researchers speculate; some findings also suggests positive thinking has a direct influence on how well your body works…(so) Let yourself laugh. You’ll feel less stressed, even during difficult times. And that may help protect against heart attacks, research suggests.**

      People from cultures that emphasize feeling good enjoy life more than do those from cultures that put a premium on other values, such as achievement.

     Smiles are so promoted that freelance artist Harvey Ball created the yellow Smiley Face icon that was first used in a State Mutual Life Assurance Company advertising campaign in 1963. The image exploded in popularity when Bernard and Murray Spain used it on a collection of novelty products in the 1970s (to read more click on “Smile Someone” Today).

     Its uncomplicated image sent the clear message, to busy people, that life is precious and they should enjoy every minute of every day.*  :-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     You cannot smile and frown at the same time. You have to decide…the choice is between intelligence and stronger cheek muscles, and a healthier, happier life.

Will you…

• turn that smile upside down or
• turn that frown upside down?

Which do you choose?

As for me, I choose the smile, because life is too short to frown.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

ADDITIONAL READING:

“Smile Someone” Today

January Catalogues Lead to June Gardens

The fickleness of life and weather

It’s January: Am I Stressed Out?

Only Space Aliens Look Forward to Winter

JANUARY DAYS OF CELEBRATION: Part 1

JANUARY DAYS OF CELEBRATION: Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~

SOURCES

*Science  v 293 6 July 2001  pp 45

**http://yourlife.usatoday.com/health/story/2011-12-27/Smile-a-lot-it-just-might-save-your-life/52187612/1

*** http://www.wikihow.com/Frown and http://www.wikihow.com/Smile

****http://www.straightdope.com/columns/read/2489/does-it-take-fewer-muscles-to-smile-than-it-does-to-frown

****  “Smile Someone” Today: http://carolyncholland2011.wordpress.com/2011/10/07/%e2%80%9csmile-someone%e2%80%9d-today/

JANUARY 3: A DEATH, A BIRTH, AND A FLAT TIRE

   It is said that the days of yore a person recalls is connected with an event of great impact. And so ‘tis true of my January 3, 1998, recollection.

FLYING INTO AN ICE STORM…

MY MOTHER’S DEATH: JANUARY 3, 1998

   My husband Monte spent much of January 1^st on the phone, purchasing a plane ticket for me to fly to Bangor, Maine. It was the year of the great ice storm that hit across the northern United States and Canada, and I wondered if it was wise to fly. But my mother was in the hospital in Bangor with serious heart problems.

     January 2^nd found me on an airplane, landing in Boston to transfer to a smaller plane to Bangor. I took a taxi, over icy roads, to the hospital, arriving in the evening. My sisters Jane and Cynthia were there, as was their father Hugh (my stepfather).

     During our visit my mother said she felt so loved.

     I managed to visit with my mother alone for a few minutes. She spoke of the 365 page writings I sent her for Christmas, saying they should be published. Then, knowing she needed to rest, I left. I could speak more with her tomorrow.

     I asked Hugh if I could borrow his car to run to the store down the road. He said no, so I went to my room in the hotel attached to the hospital, used for persons who had loved ones in the hospital.

     We arranged that I would be the contact person for the doctor—after all, I was my mother’s oldest daughter—her oldest child—at the hospital.

     I received the call about seven o’clock in the morning on January 3^rd: my mother had had another episode, and she didn’t make it.

     I tried to contact Cynthia and Jane but the calls didn’t go through. However, I figured Jane would also be notified, so I was surprised when I met Hugh in the lobby—he didn’t know. I had to tell him. He yelled “Damn” and shrank into his wheelchair.

     I wasn’t certain what to do next. I asked Cynthia and Jane if they knew about a motel in Presque Isle, Maine, because I thought my mother’s house might be too small to hold everyone. They assured me I was to stay there with them. After all, I was part of the family.

     Soon I was in the back seat of Cynthia’s car zooming down the icy highway between Bangor and Presque Isle. My mother’s house was on a hill, slippery with ice. The world was covered with snow and ice. I felt somewhat uncomfortable being there—after all, the “family” was my mother, my stepfather, and their five children. My older sister and I were mere appendages.

     Cynthia and Jane made me feel comfortable, and the day ended on a positive note. January 4^th would be hectic, as is the case surrounding any family death. I laid my head down and slept soundly.

A NEW LIFE ARRIVES FIFTEEN YEARS LATER: JANUARY 3, 2012

     Mid-afternoon brought more news. My sister Cynthia’s daughter Christine and son-in-law John presented her with a granddaughter, Caylee Isabelle.

      Isabelle was the middle name of the baby’s great grandmother (Cynthia’s mother) and the first name of the Caylee’s great grandmother (Cynthia’s great grandmother).

     According to our sister Nancy Lee, Caylee is beautiful and alert, weighing in at seven pounds nine ounces and measuring nineteen inches.

     Welcome to the world, Caylee. I hope you are prepared for the roller coaster ride of your life!

JANUARY 3^RD‘S  NOT DONE…

I CANNOT NEGLECT THE 2012 FLAT TIRE INCIDENCE

     As usual, my husband Monte left mid-morning to fetch the mail at the local post office. I didn’t notice how long it was taking him. I was preoccupied, or perhaps he had other errands he was doing. Thus, I wasn’t aware that he was away an awfully long time…far more than usual, far more than necessary, even if he was running errands…

     When he arrived home he looked downcast. His hands were quite cold against my warm cheek.

     “I had a flat tire,” he informed me.

     He was traveling from the post office to the bank, and had to pull off the road into a driveway. Fortunately the flat tire was on the right side of the car, removing the danger of his being hit by a passing vehicle. Sometimes the traffic on that road, coming off the mountain, could be dangerous—especially the heavy trucks.

     It was pretty chilly, and the ground had a light snow covering, just enough to make it messy, slushy, and slippery.

     Monte removed three lug nuts, but two were on so tight he couldn’t remove them himself, with his wrench. The gloves he had increased the difficulty of removing the lug nuts, so he wasn’t wearing them. Since he was only traveling to the post office and bank, he hadn’t worn anything but a flannel shirt. He didn’t have a jacket with him.

     “A middle aged man in a pickup truck stopped. He had a thing to use to make an extension on the wrench,” Monte told me. He wore leather work gloves, but Monte was “sure his hands were cold, too.”

     The only information Monte learned about the man was that he was from Jennerstown, a community at the top of Laurel Mountain.

     We have no other way to thank the man in the pickup truck for his help except to say thank you through this writing, and to pass forward a good deed to someone else.

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     Another January 3 is ended. An entire new year lies ahead. I’m looking forward to the adventures and misadventures to come. How about you?

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ADDITIONAL READING:

January Catalogues Lead to June Gardens

The fickleness of life and weather

It’s January: Am I Stressed Out?

Only Space Aliens Look Forward to Winter

JANUARY DAYS OF CELEBRATION: Part 1

JANUARY DAYS OF CELEBRATION: Part 2

MUD, CARROTS, DRAMA:

REMEMBERING TODD JAMES JAY

Todd James Jay 

September 11, 1969 to January 2, 2008

    Four years ago today my nephew, age thirty-eight, left us. Below are three of my favorite stories about him.

MUD PLAY: 1979

     Strip down! I firmly told the two boys in front of me.

     On a hot August afternoon my nine year old son, Nolan, and my eleven year old nephew, Todd, had spent the hot summer afternoon at the bottom of the hill where a pond was being dug. There, Nolan and Toddles (a nickname only I was allowed to call Todd), abandoned themselves so unmercifully to the mud that I barely recognized them. Toddles was the taller one…but where was his blonde hair?

     If we weren’t living so isolated in the country I might have mistaken the mud-covered boys, about nine and eleven years old, for neighborhood children and sent them home where their mothers could deal with the clay-mud clinging to every square inch of their clothing and bodies.

     But there was no mistake. These boys belonged here, at my house. And I had to deal with the situation.

     No way could I let them traipse into my castle, my domain, our newly built home, coated with that muck. There was only one option.

     Strip down! To your underwear!

     I walked around the house and turned the water on. I followed the snaky hose back to where the two stripped-down models of humanity saw me coming. Even though it was one of the reputed dog-days of August they knew the cold spring water exiting the hose would shock their biological systems. Their wide-open eyes sought an escape route.

     “Don’t you dare run off! You look like aliens from outer space. I yield my weapon.”

     I turned the hose nozzle towards them, submitting them to an outdoors cold-water shower lengthy enough that Children and Youth Services would have been justified in intervening with accusations of child abuse.

     However, even this much hosing down left them mud-covered. I sent them in to the showers and turned the hose on their clothes. The mud was one with the fabric. Hosing made little difference.

     Three machine washings later the clothes still were covered with remnants of mud.

     You would expect that the hosing would teach the boys a lesson, but the next afternoon they enthusiastically asked if they could return to the pond.

     “Only if you go in your underwear. I refuse to wash any more mud-covered clothes.”

     My words flew into the empty air as they willingly stripped down and flew down the hill to experience a second day of frolicking in the mud.

CARROTS AND GRANNY GERTIE: 1986

     As I passed by the living room I glanced in the window. Granny Gertie was peacefully sitting on the couch, blanket over her lap, book in her hand.

     Our family—my husband Monte, daughter Sandy, son Nolan, and myself—was off to meet my nephew Todd up at the Greyhound Bus station.

     I asked if anyone had the bag of carrots. Reassured that they were in our possession we climbed into the car and went to the bus stop, located in a neighboring town. In this rural community it wasn’t a bus station: it was a drop-off point.

     We arrived before the bus did. Several persons looked at me oddly as I held the carrots in my arms like a baby. I didn’t feel I had to explain.

     The bus finally arrived. Todd emerged to hugs and welcoming smiles.

     “We brought you something,” I told him.

     He smiled. A gift. Isn’t everyone happy to receive a gift?

     I held the bag of carrots out to him. His face fell.

     “I hate carrots!” he exclaimed so loudly that the other people present looked at us strangely.

     Monte, Sandy, Nolan, and I all snickered. We knew about Todd’s disdain for the orange root vegetable.

     “But they grow hair on your chest,” I intoned.

     Todd tossed the carrots to someone and indignantly walked with us to our car.

     On the fifteen minute drive to the house I began lecturing Todd.

     “We have someone staying with us,” I said. “I must warn you…you will have to be very quiet and subdued. Granny Gertie is old, and cannot tolerate any noise or disruption. I know it will be difficult, but…”

     It would be difficult for most boys, but Todd had an additional burden: ADD/HD. He was highly energetic. He would accomplish a great feat if he could be verbally and physically in control to the extent of accommodating Granny Gertie as much as I was emphasizing he should.

     Since Monte, Sandy, and Nolan were reluctant to challenge Todd I kept reinforcing the message about Grannie Gertie as we entered the driveway to our house. Monte parked the car, we all gathered Todd’s stuff, and we proceeded down the sidewalk to the front door.

     We came to the living room window, through which we saw Grannie Gertie sitting peacefully on the couch, just as she had been when we left her to go to the bus station.

     We entered the house and I began introducing Todd to Grannie Gertie.

     Suddenly Todd’s face cringed with exasperation. Everyone else started laughing.

     He finally realized the truth about Grannie Gertie, a life-size doll. From a close distance she is easily mistaken for a real, live, person. She sports a wrinkled face, a gray wig, glasses with strong glass lenses, a long dress, and old-lady shoes.

     Todd is just one person who is taken aback in Grannie Gertie’s presence. She often startles me when I am home alone, enter a room, and see someone sitting on the couch or chair.

     The next day, Todd, over being taken by our jokes, began creating ways to have fun with Grannie Gertie.

HELPING LINDA: 1988

     Todd and his friend Dan arrived at our home in February 1988. They joined our other houseguests, Linda and her two children, Emily, five, and Jenny, eighteen months. They were staying with our family (my husband Monte, daughter Sandy, son Nolan and myself) for three month.

     As fate would have it, Linda sprained her ankle one Friday. She was struggling with crutches.

     Sunday arrived. Church day. We lived in the parsonage (yes, my husband was the pastor) across the parking lot from the church. On this Sunday the parking lot was covered with a layer of ice and snow. I wondered how Linda would make it safely across the dangerous terrain.

     “Todd, will you and Dan assist Linda?” I asked, thinking that having strong arms to lean on would help her make it safely.

     But Todd and Dan were creative. I watched in shock as Todd hefted Linda over his shoulders and Dan grabbed the crutches. They walked across the parking lot, Dan waving the crutches through the air like he was a batonist in a parade.

     I left the house giving thanks that they too left the house after most of the church members had settled into the pews. I was the only witness to their act of male chauvinism.

 IT’S A NEW YEAR…WELCOME, 2012

     January: time for trying out the resolutions we made sincerely while 2012 was experiencing its birth pangs. As the month flees by we will discover if the resolutions were sensible for us or not, and we will discover if we have the stamina and wherewithal to follow through on our resolutions.

It’s January: Am I Stressed Out?

    We here in Southwestern Pennsylvania are experiencing a temperate climate—temperatures in the 30s and 40s. Will it continue? Punxsutawney Phil will inform you on February 2.

PUNXSUTAWNEY PHIL, WEATHER PROPHET EXTRAORDINARY

His Highness, Punxsutawney Phil

    Valentine’s Day will soon be here. As you consider who you will “Valentine,” consider shut-ins and veterans.

Preparing for a First Date with Carmena

To Andrea Bocelli: A Valentine

Valentine’s Day: Bah, Humbug

Valentine’s Day

CANDIED VIOLETS: Remembering My Mother on Her Birthday

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      Carolyn Cornell Holland  www.carolyncholland.wordpress.com

PLANNING FOR THE NEW YEAR: 2012

Oops…I goofed…I’m among the many persons who are still typing 2011 instead of 2012…

     Planning for the future…The time to plan for your future is now…

     The title of the article—actually, an advertisement—drew me in: Plan for the future. I’ve always tried to work on a long-term, intermediate-term and short-term plan on whatever projects I’m working on and in whatever stage I am in my life.

     I’ve moved through my childhood stage, early adult life stage, parenting stage, midlife stage and am currently in my late life stage.

     Each stage had its activities. For me

• early life was learning the ways of the world,
• young adult life was preparing for a work future,
• early adult was marriage, children, working for an adoption agency while operating a child care home,
• intermediate adult life starting a three-year craft business and raising two teenagers while moving into domestic violence work,
• later life was working with domestic violence issues, and
• my current life is founded on writing.

     My three-stage plan can be demonstrated by using my novel writing plan:

• Short term goal: write a chapter or a certain number of words in a short time
• Intermediate goal: complete the first segment of the novel
• Long term goal:  complete the final edits on the novel and plan a trip to New England, doing programs for historic and other groups based on the novel

     I have my writing plan down pat (except for its execution, which requires self-discipline). It pretty well fits the question at the beginning of the article: What would you like to be doing in 5, 10, or 20 years from now?

     Oops…did that say 20 years from now? My plan must be a little tighter than that…three months, three months more, and an additional three months. It has to be that way since I am reality-oriented. If I look at 5, 10 or 20 years I become overwhelmed, wondering if I will even be living that long. I’ve already surpassed my grandmother’s age of demise, 60, and am moving rapidly to my mother’s age: 75. That doesn’t give me much time. My plan must be crunched into shorter time spans.

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East Lamoine, Maine: The setting for the second part of my novel...

      And so I begin the second year with the same primary resolution: complete the novel! Last year I was off and running. But life has a way of interfering, even interrupting. Life slung a curve (or two) at me, and in mid-January my major goal changed.

     In 2012 I will begin in earnest work on the novel. Prior to that time I will complete some of 2011’s unfinished threads.

     I look to my family, friends, my writing colleagues, and you, the readers of Carolyn’s Compositions, to keep me focused and to encourage me.

     May you set one primary goal for 2012 that you can focus on and look back on the year with pride that the goal was accomplished.

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*Pittsburgh Magazine  November 2010, pp41

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ADDITIONAL READING:

January Catalogues Lead to June Gardens

The fickleness of life and weather

It’s January: Am I Stressed Out?

Only Space Aliens Look Forward to Winter

JANUARY DAYS OF CELEBRATION: Part 1

JANUARY DAYS OF CELEBRATION: Part 2