Day 39 of 365

Late night ticket counter

I went to pick up Casey at Newark Airport late Sunday night, when the normally hectic airport was eerily quiet. That's not a new revelation, but I'd forgotten just how much things slow down in the late-night hours, when the only flights are those coming in -- either scheduled to arrive late, or delayed in their departures en route to New Jersey.

As I walked in from the parking garage, she called to tell me they had landed and were on their way to the gate. Yet when I checked the monitors inside to find out exactly which gate, they still listed the flight as "landing." As I wandered the airport trying to guess which of the two checkpoints she'd emerge from, I ended up on the deserted check-in level, where the long banks of kiosks stood alone, awaiting the early-morning hours when departures would resume and passengers would arrive, ready to travel once again.

Day 25 of 365

Peering into the well

There are plenty of Chelsea Market photos I've taken in the three years I've worked in the building, but there will always be more. Tonight, as I headed to the Manhattan Fruit Exchange, I snapped a couple of shots, including this curious fellow at the well.

"Impaired technology," Lincoln Tunnel, December 2008

In your dreams, GPS

I tend to prefer a well-composed photo for my daily challenges, but in this case, I went with the more amusing -- if not artistically appealing -- image of a GPS system gone awry.

In this case, I have a better sense of direction than this impaired technology -- or at least I have the ability to think outside the box and know to avoid Times Square on a December Saturday.

"Athlete in action," New Jersey, February 2006

Copeland in motion

College football ended last week and baseball doesn't pick up again for another month. My outdoor runs are sporadic at best right now because of temperatures that dip into the 20s, so any athletic thoughts I have right now involve college basketball.

Only 32 days until pitchers and catchers report...

"City Lights Books," California, September 2005

City Lights Books

Among my resolutions for 2009: Read more books. It's not that I don't read, it's just that I read mostly magazines and newspapers and websites and not nearly enough books. I think I started two books in 2008 and finished zero (though I have three days and only a few pages in one book to at least get to 50 percent of that small sample). The problem is that I continue to buy and ask for new books, so each new acquisition just gets added to the shelf.

In 2009, I'll take them down and see what they have to say.

"These subtle stars," New Jersey, December 2008

Subtle stars

They're actually planets, of course. You're not going to see too many stars over the New Jersey Turnpike in Secaucus. The bright one at the top, near the center, is Venus. And as far as I can tell, at about 5 o'clock from that point is Jupiter, with Mercury at about 4 o'clock from Jupiter.

I'm not too concerned about how well it fits the "subtle" theme, but that phrase just stuck in my head as I was posting this photo. So that's what I called it, and that's my entry.

[*Later chosen as a favorite.*]

"The patient pine," Wyoming, May 2006

The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone

How could the patient pine have known
The morning breeze would come,
Or humble flowers anticipate
The insect's noonday hum,-

from "The Inward Morning," Henry David Thoreau

"Lighthouse over the rubble, Alcatraz," September 2005

Lighthouse over the rubble, Alcatraz

I take a lot of photos of things that are old and decrepit, but when I saw that challenge, Alcatraz is what came to mind first. It must have to do with the islands sordid past, its history as a prison and its remote location subject to the elements in harsh San Francisco Bay. Of all the things I've photographed that I've qualified as ruins, things like the Goddard Mansion in Maine and the Kruger Mansion at High Point, New Jersey, are parks and settings that soften their decrepitude. There were other Alcatraz photos I thought about but then passed over simply because they also had flowers or a view of San Francisco in the background that softened the image.

"Vengeance, thy color is orange," Indiana, November 2008

Orange tops

My wife loves orange. It's hands-down her favorite color. She owns every type of clothing in one hue or another -- tops, pants, socks, jackets, underwear. Our kitchen is painted orange, as are appliances and other implements. I have no problem with the color, particularly because it's one of two that signifies my favorite baseball team, the Mets.

But seeing it like this, on the helmets of the Syracuse football team, now has me vengeful after the Orange ruined an otherwise perfect winter-like Saturday in northern Indiana.

Had I not been so disgusted, I'm sure I could've gotten some stunning celebration shots after the game, but I was making a hasty retreat from the stands. The shame.

"NYC Marathon, 1st Avenue," November 2006

NYC Marathon series, 1st Avenue

I went back into the archives to find an image that represents this week's theme of "Yes we can!" because I love the phrase and enjoyed the task of finding a picture to represent it. I didn't want to simply go with an American flag or the sign I put up in the front yard during this year's election season. So I think this shot, from the 2006 New York City Marathon, covers it well.

[P.S. -- Thanks for the love!]

"Manhattan from Sandy Hook," Sept. 2, 2001

I don't get to the beach nearly as much as I used to these days. It used to be a regular summer ritual, considering I grew up about five miles from the nearest one, in Sea Bright, and a mere 15 minutes from one of the most beautiful, Sandy Hook. So into the archives I go for this shot, and deep "into the vault," as the DJs used to say on WNEW, back when it was a classic rock station with Scott Muni and some of New York's best throwback jockeys. I've only begun scanning in the negatives from 13 years of photographs I took with my film SLR and I haven't uploaded any of them to Flickr yet, figuring I'll wait until I can do them in chunks, either by year or month or something. It's a time-sucking project to be sure, just one of several I have lined up these days. It may have to wait for winter and conditions more suitable to spending an entire day in front of the computer.

So this shot was taken on my birthday, Sept. 2, 2001, just nine days before those towers in the background fell down. It's the last picture I have of the World Trade Center as we knew it. My sister, my friend Mia and I were out at Sandy Hook enjoying a summer-like day on Labor Day Weekend before attending that night's Lakewood BlueClaws game and stopping by a bar in Belmar on the way home. Despite the apparent haze, it was actually a clear day by comparison to what we might normally get when we look toward Manhattan from the Jersey Shore. If I recall correctly, I left my camera in the car -- a somewhat arduous trek across the hot sand and the parking lot, at least a good 5-10 minutes -- and went back to get it once I saw just how clear the view was and how close the Twin Towers appeared.

I'm glad I did.

Made in Maine, May '08: Streaking past Portland

Streaking past Portland

I want to marry a lighthouse keeper
And keep him company.
I want to marry a lighthouse keeper
And live by the side of the sea.
I'll polish his lamp by the light of day
So ships at night can find their way.
I want to marry a lighthouse keeper
Won't that be okay!
We'll take walks along the moonlight bay
Maybe find a treasure too.
I'd love living in a lighthouse,
HOW 'BOUT YOU?
The dream of living in a lighthouse baby, every single day.
The dream of living in a lighthouse,
the white one by the bay.
So if you want to make my dreams come true,
You'll be a lighthouse keeper too.
We could live in a lighthouse
The white one by the bay, hey hey.
Won't that be okay.
Yada tada ta ta ta.

"I Wanna Marry a Lighthouse Keeper," by Erika Eigen

So maybe the shining sun got to me on a bright day on Cape Elizabeth. The following, though, isn't mine ...

"Springsteen," New York January 2006

Strumming

I had just bought my new digital SLR after the New Year and was itching to use it. The cold, gray winter days didn't provide much inspiration, but I did stop at a park overlooking the Hudson River during my lunch break on one sunny day. I took pictures of the George Washington Bridge, the New York skyline, Yonkers, and even leaves on the ground and cracks in the sidewalk -- anything to try out the camera.

But then I saw that the New York Guitar Festival was going to open with a tribute to Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska, a bare-bones solo acoustic album he put out in 1982 but recorded on a four-track recorder in his bedroom in 1981 (thus the "25th anniversary" arc for the festival's staging of the songs). They brought together a collection of artists to interpret each track as they wished, so we decided to go, for free, to hear a great album played live. And I figured I'd get to really try out my new camera.

I also had a slight suspicion that Springsteen himself might drop in.

At one point, I left my wife standing off to the side where it was less crowded and there was a wall to lean on or sit against and moved into the crowd to get a clearer shot of the artist on stage, Laura Cantrell, who was signing "Used Cars." As I lowered my camera after taking this picture, my cell phone rings. I see it's Casey, who is no more than 50 feet away. I'm already heading back to her, so I don't answer it.

"He's here!" she says to me. I turn around to see that I'd just passed him. I retreat and approach him, brushing him on the arm to get his attention. (It may have been a bit of a "grab," but I don't think it was that extreme.) He stops and turns, we shake hands and I simply say I love what he does and thank him for doing it. He responds, though I have no idea what he says. It may have been along the lines of, "Thank you. I appreciate it," as his wife, Patti, smiles and says hello.

I then leave them alone and take a few pictures of their silhouettes in the darkness of the Winter Garden at the World Financial Center in Lower Manhattan. Though he was recognized, maybe only one or two other people approach him. Had I not reached him while he was still walking in, I doubt I would have, either, choosing instead to let them enjoy watching other artists interpret his work from nearly a generation ago.

As the album nears its end -- the artists came out to perform them in the order they appear on the album -- Bruce and Patti make their way to the side of the stage, where he goes over some lyrics with the festival's founder. Then he gets on stage to sing Woody Guthrie's "Oklahoma Hills" with the full roster of musicians.

It put the perfect cap on a magical musical night.

"Monochromatic sky in the Pennsylvania hills," December 2007

Monochromatic deck view

It was one of those overcast winter days when the landscape seems colorless. The sky, the trees, the hills all wore the same sheen of a muted, dull gray or a washed-out green. The trees looked black against the sky and as we walked away from the house to the edge of the hill at Kentuck Knob, it was only then that color came back into the world when we looked down the hill at the farmhouse in the distance.