I sent my e-mail Christmas cards today with a brief note.

"Wishing you the best, hoping your Christmas and the year-end holidays
are cheerful. Be kind and remember these plastic penguins which now
decorate the home of a thief who stole them from our neighborhood
Christmas tree sales lot."

The thieves left a trail of tree limbs, crushed lights, candy canes and heavily damaged Christmas spirit.

If you’re not on my newsletter mail list you can signup here. It is sent at irregular intervals, usually when my muse speaks. The latest version is here.

I’m
continuing my Christmas holiday with fewer assignments taking the time to enjoy a few other interests and spend more time reading the backlog of books I’ve collected in the last several months.

However, I still need gasoline for the car where I discovered this fellow proudly sporting a festive hat decorated as a Christmas present. I never got a chance to speak with him so I don’t know the reason for his celebration at a Speedway. I pulled to 80-220 from the trunk as soon as I stopped at the pump, stood at the open trunk for six quick frames and returned the camera to its holding spot. I turned to see him getting into his car, closing the door and driving away.

I don’t know his story but can assume it from the tag on the hat. "Don’t wait for December 25."

Merry Christmas!

One of the highlights of my previous life was the annual display of the Ohio Department of Natural Resource’s Duck Stamp.The Ohio Wetlands Habitat Stamp raises money for wetland preservation in the United States and Canada. Ohio water fowl hunters are required to purchase the stamp in addition to their regular hunting permit.

It was noted by a friend, who was the first to see this photo of ducks on Hoover Reservoir, that it should have been my entry in the latest competition.

An angel wipes the tired from his eyes while waiting in line for the Christmas pageant processional to begin. I’ve photographed these annual expressions of faith long enough that it is now my  grandchildren standing in the third row on the far left adding their voices to the cherubic choir.

Of course, digital photography has changed the pageant. Now parents stand during the show, obstructing others with digital video and still cameras. The center aisle is crowded at its apex, digital camera stacked upon digital camera peering over the staggered and shaking lcd screens in front. Other cameras sit on radius and ulna tottering on a fleshy monopod periscoped above the crowd. Few are anchored with tripod or gripped well enough to prevent camera shake. Not that it matters.

Many of these photos and videos will rarely be seen past the holidays. The photos, if they are printed, will end up in a photo album on the closet shelf or the bottom drawer in a chest in the basement. The videos, lacking an index or catalog of events, will begin to deteriorate is the same place.

The significance of the event is participation in a 2,000-year-old tradition of celebration by another generation of faithful. [ More Photos ]

I’m not sure how many times I’ve photographed these two trees. They sit above the eroded shoreline of Hoover Reservoir near a boat landing just north of the main bridge that bisects the lake. It’s a popular place for fishermen with a small cove wrapping to the rear and a rocky bottom along the crooked shoreline. There are four or five more concrete picnic tables beneath the other trees near the cove and a shelter with tables bolted to its concrete floor.

I’m not sure why I continue to return to these trees. They are not unusual in shape or great in stature. One lacks symmetry while the others fractal pattern is almost perfect. They appear about the same age standing the same height like fraternal twins each attempting to express itself in a distinct way.

They have changed in small ways the last several years. One tree is slowly rotting at its base from an open wound. The other is at the edge of the man-made lake as erosion pulls soil from underneath its roots. Nearby are older trees that have fallen as nature pulls high ground to sea level moving the shoreline further inland. The lake has broken into gravel a flooded asphalt road washing its small debris into the lake’s sandy bottom.

One of the seats on the picnic table between them was recently replaced, its surface still bright before sunlight and moisture dulls the finish to a patina matching  its companion on the other side. The rutted troughs beneath the table puddle with rain on a wet mid-December afternoon.

I suppose I return to these trees out of respect. They stand through the seasons offering themselves for our pleasure. Perfect subjects with no demands or expectations, no complaints and no requirements. Two trees from an uncountable number that sit on the edge of an eroding lake always there when needed, lasting long enough to provide a continuing photographic dialogue as testimony to change.

There were only a few choices I had to shoot a politician whose career had been inspired by his father’s public service work. The house was bright, light coming into the large kitchen-dining-family room from an open expanse of windows facing north on a sunny day. It was great northern light favored by artists for generations but of little use for the photo I wanted.

I chose to pose the two men in different light and at different angles. The father was lit with a white umbrella from the left, the son with a silver umbrella from the right. The stronger, more contrasty silver umbrella highlighted the son bringing out his strong jaw line. The softer light on his father de-emphasized his prominence in the photo.

This certainly was a risky setup differing greatly that what is typically expected by newspaper photo editors. I did shoot the expected, father sitting in an chair, son sitting on the arm leaning over his father. That’s what the newspaper used. So much for taking risks.

(I admit, i should have only sent one, this one.)

Sometimes you just have to wonder who writes the rules. An editorial shoot at a police auction for seized items and leftovers from the city inventory was my only real work for the day. It was a cold crisp day with a shoot near noon.

"Strobe on a stick" solved the harsh lighting problem even when the auctioneer sold a set of lock picks removed from a burglar.

I haven’t read the full text of Ohio Revised Code on possession of burglar tools but I believe carrying a set of lock picks in your car places you in jeopardy of being charged with a crime.

Who’s more foolish, the people who bought well used computer monitors without cables or the police who sold burglar tools? The law is specific. If a seized item is not claimed or used as evidence it is placed on the auction block. I wonder if the person who bought it is the same who had it seized?

There is a new flock of penguins in the neighborhood, sitting at the base of a Christmas tree decorated with peppermint candy canes. The local tree lot is back in business with the same prices as the last several years, a flat rate per tree including taxes, a fresh bottom cut,  and plastic wrap and string for a secure ride home atop the family sedan.

The lot on the edge of a small strip shopping center stays busy until just a few days before Christmas when the leftovers are carried away for recycling into mulch and the penguins are stored away in a dark room until next year.