Christmas means different things to different people, obviously.

As for me, I can’t help but notice that it/sales start earlier every year. And yet…it’s over before it’s over. The parties and gifts: All happen before Christmas Day. The big church services and family events: Mostly on Christmas Eve. The day that most people are ready to “tear down” Christmas décor: The day after.

So it’s only fitting to be late, if only to be contrary. Anyway, for me, the colorful décor and twinkly lights help make Minnesota’s dark and dreary winters a little less…dark and dreary.

And so we might be on time (early) this time: Happy New Year!

See those angels on my piano? I hardly ever see them—because they are hidden inside the upright and only show up when the piano tuner opens up the instrument. It’s always a pleasure. But this time, I learned they’re not. Not angels. They’re flowers! Hand-painted inside this artisanal beauty. Imagine my disappointment—and during the holiday season, even!

Christmas takes a lot of knocks, deservedly so, since commercialism has taken over and drowned out the more celestial messages. So I listen instead to the music, since great Christmas music is abundant and timeless—whether from long-gone composers, Americana crooners, or contemporary creations.

I also enjoy playing Christmas music (especially when no one is listening). Few diversions offer such a complete, if temporary, BreakAway vibe.

One of my musical toys is this here Schimmel piano, hand-made in Faribault, MN. A German maker dating back to 1885, mine was crafted circa 1893, when the Schimmel family expanded to America for a short while and made only about 3,000 instruments. I am lucky to own one. And my Schimmel is lucky to have me—since old pianos often can’t find compassionate caretakers these days.

Got music? Play it. You’ll feel better, and fill your surroundings with angelic sounds.

Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and may the peace be with you.

No, I didn’t climb it. In fact, I had to snap this pic from a moving boat. But you can’t help but stare at the oh-so Baroque Church of Our Savior in Copenhagen. Built in 1617—when the city had already been thriving for some 500 years—the church also boasts one of the loudest carillons in Europe that plays 8 times daily, on the hour.

Alternative living community—busy in winter. “Slab” used to be a navy base; now it’s a seasonal “home” for a counter-culture tribe of nomads and artists. Artful, edgy, fun to photograph. Recommended for intrepid travelers only.

Like my camera-carrying daughter!

Breakaway has already reported on the growing trend of offering sabbaticals as a marketing ploy. But have did you know that 280,000 people applied for airbnb’s sabbatical in Italy? Their mission for the free adventure? “Breathe new life” into the fading hilltown of Grottole—home to 300 residents. AND 600 empty homes!

It’s funny: Pastoral life in ailing Italy sounds like paradise to frazzled people everywhere. Yet in Italy, they seem to be abandoning the old ways and places to race into modernity. Such are the ways of…progress.

I’ve not visited Grottole, but I do love Barga, the Tuscan valley town that’s today’s FOTOFRIDAY pic. Barga is thriving, actually. But it’s surrounded by no less than 9 hilltowns in varying stages of abandonment and decay. Still, like 280,000 kindred spirits, I’d gladly BreakAway to volunteer for three months to help keep old Italy from dying.

Which is it? One rarely knows at first glimpse (of a photo). And frankly, most of us can tire of looking at other people’s sunrise/set pics, right? So you need not look—or read—for long. It’s just that this is what I saw when I reluctantly got out of bed and faced the first snow on the water today. Winter’s battle of restful versus dreadful has begun.

The ice and lake water will also battle like this for, oh, weeks, maybe a month, maybe more. The beauty can almost—almost!—compete with a lush summer day. That opposing season’s warmth and light will return, or so we’re told.

Meanwhile, we’re now officially on thin ice. So be careful. And try to enjoy.

This Friday’s photo comes from a lovely tiny hill town an hour from the Rome airport, making the village the ideal stopover before getting up early and driving to catch a plane. (Remember to return your rental car.) This fall evening was the last night in Italy as part of a four-month RTW trip in 2000/2001.

That fall, Europe was getting POUNDED with terrible weather. The day of this pic, I had driven several hours from Tuscany—hydroplaning and dodging trucks the whole way. So even though I got drenched to capture this picture, I was giddy just to arrive alive.

Here and now, we’ve had record-breaking precip in MN this year. And I’ve sat through many a rain-soaked soccer game to cheer my daughter on—making this 19-year-old image oddly familiar again. Daylight Saving Time has come and gone. And we’ve entered The Dark Daze. But back to our pic: Yes, these guys are warming up to play a soccer game. And yes, they played. The show—the game—must go on!

This shot just popped up on my desktop. That’s me, in a reflective mood, absorbed by the familiar Italian phrase that means (approximately) the sweetness of doing nothing. What’s more interesting: I don’t recall where I was. Which brings up the topic of photography, as nowadays most everyone is a photographer, yet hardly anyone uses a camera.

Instead, they use phones which, of course, can do anything—including take pictures. The benefits are obvious, from convenience to concealment to insta-SM-ing if you wish. Phone photos also tell you when and where you took the image, if not what you had for lunch.

This shot came from a real, hefty, cumbersome Nikon. Hence, the incomplete info. My SLR camera tells the DATE, but not the PLACE, which now strikes me as strange. Which can only mean one thing: I need to take more real pictures. Drag my Nikon around more often. The quality is decidedly superior, even if the metadata is, shall we say, unplugged.

The summer daze disappears fast when school starts. Then fall hits hard with its books, sports, and chilly breezes. Good news: Most schools meet (at most) only about 180 days a year. And the first big break happens right about now.

In Minnesota, we call it MEA weekend, which really stretches to nearly 5 days for students, and 4 for teachers. Oh yes, people get away. The airport gets slammed. Families seek one last road trip, cabin closure, or—in the case of this picture—campus visits to potential places of future higher education.

That’s where I’ll be. Touring grand old schools with my daughter, while spending rare time with my son who just last spring graduated from a fine university and now makes his home in Chicago working for Bears. Like family, travel and education go hand in hand.