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Year - 365 or 366 days as we measure time in our slightly skewed non-linear way of looking at things in our flawed calendar system. We ARE going in circles as we speed through the universe toward a destination.
Yeara - the same as poison oak (not related to this post, but a fine opportunity the next time you are stuck playing Scrabble)
Yearbook - a book published every year to give statistics and data of the preceding year - an annual, but not of the plant world, which lasts a season, not a year
Yearlong - lasting a full year
Yearling - a being a year old, as in what Tanner Sharpe will be later in 2010
Yearn - to be desirous, to be eager, to be deeply moved, to curdle or coagulate. Maybe that is why yearning hurts.
Yearnful - mournful or longing
We are about to pass through the year of 2009 and into 2010. That is going to be fun for calligraphers and other artists and designers.
The origin of the 2 is a pair of horizontal lines and the single digit is a single vertical digit. Then there are the zeroes - a concept that some temporarily successful but now faded civilizations did not grasp.
To enumerate in Roman numerals, we are entering the year MMC.
The Chinese mark this as the year of the Tiger.
My wisdom for the year is to pay attention to what I said last year in my posts about your photography and letters and then to do the bulk of your shopping outside the aisles of the grocery stores, avoiding their prepared foods. Don't drink many calories. Be kind to your body and your mind - that will help heal your liver and heart and make your skin prettier.
Try to look into the faces and hearts of people who are trying to communicate with you and don't hesitate to give of yourself when you see a need. Some people don't know what the source of their pain is and they don't have the vocabulary to express it.
Speak your own heart. People are better at listening than you think.
They can reject your gifts and reject you. Don't worry. Just like lightning, the power that reaches out will connect to a ground and the connection will bring light and power ... your peace and joy will come in the giving and being.
Let your motivation be pure. Our best example is that of Christ Jesus. He gave purely and completely, even as the people He died for were mocking and hurting Him. All was and will be resolved as the hearts of all humanity are being revealed in the purity of the emerging LIGHT of TRUTH.
Speaking of light, look for the paths. There are traces and trails and worn pavement that you may not have yet traversed. Listen, look and find riches in the old, proven ways.
Also, break off the old paths and take the trails less traveled. Some heavily-traveled roads are dangerous because of the company and the destination. You may be alone sometimes but your own mind and gifts can be fine company. Sometimes the quiet, newly-broken path you make hides the most splendid treasures. Then you can share them or keep them as a grand secret.
Make sure your inclinations are true and pure and build on them. Intentions are terrific, but 2010 is a grand time to ACT.
There is no greater wisdom than that in the Books Of Wisdom. One of the greatest is the Book Of Ecclesiastes, or simply put, "readings to the people who will hear". This is for hearing with your ears, brain, heart and reacting with your life. Mine too.
There is a time for everything,
And a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to harvest,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear things apart and a time to repair things,
a time to cry and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to embrace and a time to sit in solace,
a time to search a a time to let light come to you,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
Later that same chapter continues, "God will bring to judgment both the wicked and the righteous for there will be time for every activity."
Opportunity and accountability will come - but not limitless time. 2010 might mark the finale of lifelong visions and pursuits and might mark the final resting places of those who want such things. For me, if there is ever a thing marked with my name, I request such a place say, Tim Johnson ... I am not here.
The light and limitless love and grace of God in Christ knows no mark of clock or calendar or mark of geography - just surrender and faith.
Amen to the continually old - Hallelujah to the constantly NEW!
If I cannot hand you a new 2010 business card that will help you keep up with your important dates, I will be happy to mail you a couple.
© tim www.timjohnsonphoto.com
In case you think your eyes might be playing tricks on you, that is a casket spray and there are dried plants from the South Carolina woods, camouflage ribbon and deer antlers adorning it - it rested on top of my brother's casket.
For the last 9 days I have been absent from my keyboard (so much for Christmas) and have been in the bosom of the comfort of my two surviving brothers, Clark and Jimmy, as we mourned the death of our beloved brother Barry.
Barry's death was untimely, unnecessary and wrong.
Untimely, since he was three years my junior and that is just not the natural order of things.
Unnecessary, because the instrument of his death was alcohol, the same damned chemical that brought ruination to our childhood home and which is no more than a legalized drug licensed for sale by state and local governments - which ought to stand to their shame.
Wrong, because Barry, the one of the four of us, saw life with the most wide-open eyes and heart and whose hands were open and ready to help anyone in need, even if it was just one of many stories.
Jimmy was with Barry when he died and Jimmy kept repeating that he was loved and not alone. It is sad that that burden fell to Jimmy. The irony is that Barry had helped deliver Jimmy into the world back in the Virginia mountains.
Of all the people that gathered to honor his too-short life, I was the first to ever know him.
As boys, the woods we lived in were wild and full of every sort of fun. I know we ate, but only to gather fuel for the day's action. There were chores. We had chickens, two cows, a mule, rabbits, frazzling sheep, precious pigs and always a litter or two of beagles. We had three guard animals: a grand collie named Lady and two giant geese.
The garden needed a touch of tending and then we were OFF!
32 acres and fence-free borders meant that we shared trails with native Americans, frontiersmen, early settlers and the neighbors that lived within 2-3 miles. The official global coordinates are 37"22'10"N and 80"47'25.03W. The satellite image was taken 40 years after we roamed those quiet hills and development has taken its toll. Subtract most of the buildings and all but two houses on that road and you are back to the few trails and traces that we knew.
Dad disappeared every day in his Rambler or Willy's Jeep (a coming story) to work at the plant. He had a steel lunch bucket and there were sandwiches, an apple and coffee in it when he left. Toward evening he would reappear - and we would not know how hard he had worked or how bone-tired he was as he finished the chores around the farm before and after sunset. On occasion he would play ball or wrestle with us. God only knows what all was wearing on his mind.
Dad's work-life was augmented by his fast-pitch softball team. He pitched and played first base. All the games were played in Narrows or Pearisburg. The Redi-Kilo-Watt logo was striking and that was our Dad on the mound pitching side-arm or underarm. He was so long and lanky that the delivery was dangerous. He was a WWII hero and a much-respected outdoorsman.
The idyllic life was utterly destroyed when Dad invented the Happy Meal (years before Ray Kroc invented McDonalds) lunch of two baloney sandwiches and 4-6 beers. Even his best friends fell away from him and life on the farm fell apart and then there was the move to town.
Beer was replaced by liquor and by the early 60s even the big brick home that signaled success was the tomb of sadness.
In 1966 I felt that by striking out on my own, the family would be free of their biggest burden.
Barry would always be there. He would be Dad's companion, hunting partner and fishing-buddy and even follow in his trade. He would also serve as the buffer between Dad's rage and Mom's sense of failure. The younger brothers, Clark, the best baby and boy ever born and Jimmy, the youngest and the child born of renewed faith and final hope, could only watch in horror and fear.
The family moved from Virginia to South Carolina and in a matter of a few years Dad had destroyed himself with alcohol. Mom, faced with raising the 3 brothers, renewed her faith, and with help made good choices and became the sweet, wonderful woman that she was until her death just 8 years ago.
Barry had had an early morning cup of coffee with Mom for over 30 years. He, unlike me, was never much of a breakfast person. Coffee and Mom's company got him through. For a time he went to church with Mom and even sang in the choir. Anyone that knew my Mother knew that she was one of the most talented pianists ever to strike the 88s. She could play by note and by ear. She could play a proper hymn, and even rag out the Moonlight Sonata. She was amazing, but she was shy. I envied and coveted her ease with the instrument and took lessons from the town's only piano teacher. I think that if he had not struck my knuckles with every error I made I may have at least learned the technical disciplines of the piano.
Barry took up the violin and was a natural - but shy. Imagine. That little violin is now passed into the hands of his grandson - play it or just look at it, little man - but in any case, just enjoy it.
There was not a friend of Barry's that did not plead with him to lay off the liquor. Brother Clark will tell you as will I that Barry said to us straight out, "I like drinking and I will". That was that.
There is a point when a person has a drink and a point when the drink has the person.
Through it all Barry had three precious children. Robert, Barry's oldest carries his image and spirit. Robert has become his own, fine man. Tammy, his daughter, is pretty, bright and sweet. Matthew, the youngest, has Barry's potential, his demons and has some hard and immediate choices to make.
At the age of 12, Barry confessed Christ. Last weekend he was ushered into Glory and his ruined body was laid to rest next to Mom's. I'm sure their reunion was sweet.
Barry was born in 1951 in Narrows, Virginia and had lived in Jackson, South Carolina since 1966. He had worked for 32 years at the same job. His friends were true to him and he was true to them. They stayed close even past the very end. At the visitation and the funeral and the graveside service there were tears, there was singing straight from nights at the Snake Pit, there was laughter and there were lots of people that knew Barry Johnson stories that no one else knew.
I just knew mine first. © tim www.timjohnsonphoto.com
When most memories have faded the senses of smell and taste linger. Here are four classics, for me, that can be imitated, but never duplicated. They are part of the earliest recollection I have of the holidays in the mountains of Southwest Virginia when Christmas was spent in the winters of the Popping Pines. Those are the nights that are so cold that the water in the pines where we lived would freeze and explode, sounding like a running gun battle among the long-dead native Americans or the still-warring Yankees and Southern defenders whose spirits were a lively part of our imaginations.
We knew that Christmas was a part of our Dad's thinking when the cedar tree was pushed and shoved into our little country home. Dad was a pretty smart guy - you could have asked him that anytime, but he had a very poor sense of proportion. Maybe the issue was that Christmas was a BIG deal to him. ANYHOW the tree was always cedar and the tree filled house with its size and aroma. Since the tree was cut from the 32 acres of our farm, it had to have a crooked base. Our farm had an average slant of about 34 degrees from vertical. The mule, cows, chickens, pigs and geese pretty much developed two legs shorter than the others as they made their way around the hills and the Christmas trees were lopsided from growing into the hillside. No matter. After whacking and trimming the tree there was a magical suspension of lights and colored glass and tinsel. In a few days, Santa's elves helped deliver things from his district warehouse (Sears) in Greensboro, NC, a long way from the mountains of Virginia. He could not have spotted our little home so tucked into the mountains on a place called Possum Hollow Road anyhow. I would think it odd years later that when other kids left Santa cookies and milk, that we would leave him a baloney sandwich, fruit cake and eggnog. I know he got tired of cookies and I will never forget the fresh cedar.
Another distinct smell of the season was the frontal assault on the senses at Aunt Mae's tiny home. She was the surviving matriarch and grandest cook of all. She had known hardship most of her days, but had remained the sweetest of all of God's children. Her kitchen was her domain and in it everyone else was a servant to her commands or gestures. The result was the smell of cakes, pies and nogs. Some had been baptized with a bit of brandy and bourbon and some were pristine. Coconut was hammered, milked and grated into about everything, especially the coconut cake and eggnog. Output from our cows was Aunt Mae's for about 2 weeks prior to the Christmas gathering. So were the eggs. We had picked the apples and hung the slices to dry in late summer - now they were pies. Some of last year's ham and sausage that Dad had cured was part of the meal. There were lots of Mason jars to wash and box after the meal, but what a feast. I'm sure I have cholesterol from Aunt Mae's cooking still hanging on my artery walls, but I treasure that more than a Rembrandt. Yes, the smell of a family feast at Aunt Mae's lingers on and on.
Christmas breakfast at Nannie's and Papaw's was another delight for the senses and a young child's tummy. The overwhelming smell was biscuits and butter. There was ham and bacon and sometimes pork chops to balance out the eggs and gravy. Coffee was around and cider too. My grandmother's biscuits had a reputation because they tasted like heaven. She told me that her mother, a first-generation German immigrant, had taught her how to make them and that there was only one way to do it right. She was that way about many things - but who could fault the Queen Of Biscuits? Add butter, add bacon, add one to your mouth and imagine a loving God feeding this to the Israelites in the wilderness. Surely God gave my great-grandmother and my Nanny this recipe from His manna cookbook.
The final smell was the smell of God's gift of twin daughters under their first Christmas tree. They had been born in Kentucky in August and now we were in Raleigh. They had not learned the fine art of sleeping all night and Santa had more help than he wanted with the scene at our home. The nice thing was that there was no rush on this day and the girls were clean and rested and there was some little Peace on Earth - or at least in our little home. They were dressed in silly little peppermint stick PJ's and had little elf caps and looked like decorations themselves. They, for me, were the gift and the miracle that year. Since then, they have brought their own offspring and begun their own traditions and I hope begun to dazzle their little ones with lights and smells and JOY.
One of the most curious things about all the treats for the senses - there are so few surviving images from any of the first three places. I can only guess that people were too busy eating to mess with pictures.
I can describe to you every trail I used to walk and take you to every spring. I can show you where I caught my fish and downed my one buck, for which I daily repent.
Fifty years later I have the strongest notion of the rooms, the faces and the feelings of the holidays. The triggers come when I brush a cedar, smell a warm biscuit (no matter the quality, it is a try and in my book you do get A's for effort) and see my grandchildren or some other people smiling and giggling about a plan or a dream that might be met during the holidays.
I pray that they and YOU get your nose and heart filled with all the Joy and Love there is to get and give. Tim © www.timjohnsonphoto.com
Many holiday photographs are taken with the greatest anticipation.
However, if you hang out at the pickup counters at processing labs, you might think that the Grinch and his siblings were doing all the processing and printing and deliberately adding red-eye, green-eye, blur, and chopping off the heads of beloved family members and precious pets.
They are.
The Grinch is poor preparation, composition and failure to know your camera.
As people leaf through envelope after envelope of prints they have puzzled and pitiful looks as if someone had eaten their only candy cane or gotten all the good pieces out of the Whitman's Sampler box and left fingerprints in the rest.
Slough off this potential failure and stand strong with your camera, memory card, film, tripod and flash.
There are many earlier posts that will be of help also. There will be fireworks on New Years so read the post on doing that well.
Here is some information and important suggestions that will slap the Grinch out of your images:
1. Batteries, batteries, batteries. Your feature-rich electronica eats battery power and the standard battery that comes with your little or big camera is not much. Get a High Capacity battery (probably from a Batteries Plus or comparable store) and keep the original and new one properly charged. That means reading instructions and following them. I'm a big fan of rechargeable batteries and have 60 AA and 30 AAAs. I also have rechargeable battery packs and a nice charging station. My backup is a big fresh pack of HD consumables. NICAD & L-ION batteries work best when drained and recharged regularly, just like us. Treadmill, rest, eat, treadmill, nap - work it. To whom it may concern.
2. Film, film, film, film. Memory cards, MC, MC. They are cheap so get big, fast ones (150x+). It doesn't take many 10 meg images to fill up a 1 or 2 gig card. You will be shooting RAW or BIG JPGS. Cards fail or maybe get misplaced - it's best to have backups - and download your images frequently. We KNOW people with film cameras that have 4 Christmases, 3 Easters, birthdays and a funeral or two still in their camera and the battery is corroding. Don't blush, rush to the lab right now and save those images! Download and backup your digital images according to my earlier posts. Just do it and don't whine. It will keep the HO in your HOlidays!
3. Flash. Read the manual and learn to adjust the flash output. Cutting back on the flash will reduce the red-eye. You can also increase the ISO. If your subjects are tired, excited or tippling, their pupils are going to be dilated. This causes red-eye. Shoot from an angle. Diffuse the flash and/or have your subjects look at each other. Or, just plan to fix red-eye for a month.
4. Flash ... part 2. Even on bright days, use the flash out of doors. This will put light on pink faces and put light under billed caps.
5. Image stabilization. Great idea. However, when using a tripod, turn it off. If you don't the camera will create motion. Don't confuse the camera.
6. Natural light. Most Christmas lights fall into the tungsten color. If you shoot them at daylight temperature they will look rich and warm and yellow. If you select tungsten in your camera menu, they will look just like your eyes see them. Shoot them both ways and play with the curves in PS. Babies and pets look very holidayish under the yellowish lights. This is the same deal when photographing a fire. It is yellow. If you are photographing tungsten, make sure that light from your kitchen's fluorescent lights don't leak into the image. Nasty. If people have light foundation on and get fluorescent light on that, we are back at Halloween.
7. Outdoor lights. There are some great decorations around. You will need to have an ISO of 200 or so and a fairly high f stop. Your shutter speed needs to be kind of fast. If you have a slow shutter speed the tracing lights will blend and you will get a muddle of an image. If that is what you want, go ahead.
You will probably do BEST with a tripod, but image stabilization is OK too.
8. Automatic. See what your camera thinks you want. This setting was created by a non-photographer engineer in Asia and is an average of everything. You are not average. After you are familiar with your camera, set the saturation, sharpness and everything else to suit YOU. Automatic is the Drive-through #1 on any fast food board in the US. How many times do YOU choose that? I have never said or heard anyone I was with say, "A number one, that's all." That's not why you bought your camera either.
9. People. Get closer, closer and closer. Get Horizontal images for 4 images or more and Vertical for 3 or less. That's not a RULE, since I don't LIKE rules, but break out of the bitty image in the middle of the frame habit.
10. Photograph some little things. Candles, a greeting card, some fruit, some frost-covered plant. A bow and ribbon. A cat with a bow and ribbon. Then photograph some big things. There are some beautiful stained glass windows that tell the Christmas Story. There are also some live Nativity scenes around.
11. Get your camera and yourself into the holiday mix. The city of Raleigh has an ice-skating rink this season. I hope people are using it. There are people going wild with decorations, there is the Capitol and there are commercial decorations. That's in the area of Oakwood and Krispi Kreme. BTW, neon is also in the tungsten color range.
12. Be snappy (take pictures) this holiday season. It is so easy to set imaging aside and not take pictures. Make yourself an assignment with specific images you would like to have.
After the season passes and the ornaments and symbols and things are packed away, you could have a trove of great pictures that could tell a story that could connect you to the joy of this great time of the year. © Tim tim@timjohnsonphoto.com www.timjohnsonphoto.com
