For me, The Beatles is where my interest in rock music began. In 1995, the anthology series was released and included recorded music from July 12, 1958 – October 18, 1964; c. 1977, and February–March 1994. Over the next three weeks, I’ll present all three anthology releases.

I have always loved a resolution—New Year’s or otherwise. Something about stating a goal, committing to it, and (hopefully) achieving it is the kind of self-sustaining, self-fulfilling magic that is so fun to know and celebrate, in myself and others. I love hearing that others are reaching their goals, regardless of what they are, because it’s amazing in a world where you can do anything, you choose to do something, and do it! 

For most of us, smell is a quiet companion. It tells us when the coffee is ready, when the bread is golden, when the lilacs are in bloom. But for some, especially after COVID, smell becomes a trickster. Familiar aromas turn sour or metallic. Phantom odors linger for days, even when nothing is there. I know this firsthand. Though I recovered from COVID years ago, only recently did my sense of smell begin to play tricks on me.

There’s a particular quiet that settles over Appalachia in January, over the land like a quilt — soft, slow, and heavy enough to make you listen. The air cools, the fog lingers, and the whole world seems to take one long breath after the rush of the holidays. It’s in this stillness that many of us begin to reckon with faith — not the kind we were handed in childhood, but the kind we’ve grown into. And more and more, people are admitting something that once felt unthinkable: They’re finding God outside the church.

Last week, I found myself in a place most WinCity Voices readers would not expect from someone like me. I was at Central Baptist Church for their Christmastime choir performance. One of the most treasured people in my life, my stepmom Patti, had invited me as she had the previous year. Because this is something very special to her, I agreed to go despite not being a very “Christmasy” kind of person.

I have never played the lottery because I simply don’t like the odds of winning anything, but it’s nice to consider what a huge jackpot could mean and could do. The last I heard, the odds of winning were 292,000,000 to one. A bit too steep for my conservatism. Anyway, here’s how I’d dispense with at least some of the winnings, and these are only the beginning. Assuming that even after dispensing this initial largesse, there would still be a good deal left, I’d revisit the amounts for each recipient and possibly increase them if they requested it.

Voters who want to change their party affiliation for the May 2026 primary election must do so before the end of this calendar year. The deadline for switching parties is Wednesday, Dec. 31, at 11:59 p.m. at www.govote.ky or before 4 p.m. in person at the Clark County Clerk’s Office. Kentucky is an outlier in requiring voters to choose a party in the year before the next primary, and before they know who all the candidates will be for each party’s primary. Candidates have until the end of the day Jan. 9 to file for office, and many of them wait until the last day or close to the last day to see who else is running.

Estill Curtis Pennington Jr., the art historian who more than anyone else insisted that Kentucky’s visual culture be taken seriously — on its own terms and in its own voice — died in Paris on Dec. 16. He was 75 and spent his final months at Bourbon Heights Nursing Home. For decades, Pennington, widely known as “Buck,” stood against a stubborn assumption in American art history: that important work originates only in New York, Boston or Paris (France).

Every turning of the lunar calendar carries the promise of renewal, but few passages feel as spiritually charged as the transition from 2025’s Year of the Snake to 2026’s Year of the Horse. It is a shift from constriction to momentum, from survival to possibility. And in this moment in American history—when democracy itself has been strained, tested, and twisted—the metaphor feels almost painfully perfect.

The Band’s all packed and gone, and this is still my favorite Christmas song. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everybody.

What a year 2025 has been for WinCity Voices! From 2021, when we began as a blog by a handful of writers and artists seeking a creative outlet, we are now a trusted and respected member of the Central Kentucky media ecosystem. Over the past 12 months, we believe we have “grown up.” We opened a downtown office, joined the Winchester-Clark County Chamber of Commerce, and grew our audience exponentially. Our work appeared in other publications, including The Winchester Sun and Forward Kentucky.

Christmas is here, and Reel Classics will look at a Christmas story that has been with us since 1843.  It was a novella by Charles Dickens that was very successful and has continued to entertain audiences through stage, screen, and radio adaptations over the years. A Christmas Carol has been adapted for the screen at least 21 times, making it the most-filmed Dickens story (followed by Oliver Twist, which has had 18 film versions). 

If I had to pick just one favorite Christmas song, it might be a little-known 1991 recording by Jackson Browne and the Irish band The Chieftains. From the album The Bells of Dublin, the song written and sung by Browne, is called "The Rebel Jesus."

If I had to pick just one favorite Christmas song, it might be a little-known 1991 recording by Jackson Browne and the Irish band The Chieftains. From the album The Bells of Dublin, the song written and sung by Browne, is called "The Rebel Jesus."

There’s a strange stillness that settles over the hills after Christmas — the kind that comes when the lights are put away, the gatherings are over, and everyone goes back to their real lives. The kind where the air itself feels like it’s holding its breath. Some people greet the New Year with energy and expectation. Others — especially those who’ve known loss — enter it like stepping barefoot onto cold ground. I’ve lived both.

Happy Holidays? That depends on who you ask. For many of our fellow Kentuckians (and citizens all over the globe), it’s not a festive time. Loss of life and property from natural and man-made disasters, diseases, mass shootings, and wars tends to dampen even the most indomitable spirits among us. If we are fortunate enough to have made it through 2022 relatively unscathed, we might do well to reflect on that old chestnut, “there but for the grace of God go I.”

Clark County is providing $37,000 to support a regional competitiveness plan aimed at attracting industry to the greater Lexington area. This funding includes $10,000 from the Clark County Community Foundation, which sparked local debate over whether such funds should be used for regional marketing rather than strictly charitable or educational purposes. Some officials, like Magistrate Robert Blanton, opposed the allocation due to lack of discussion, formal application, and clarity about the plan. Others, including Magistrate Chris Davis, defended the decision. The plan, coordinated by Commerce Lexington, encourages nine counties to contribute based on population. The initiative aims to market the region collectively to attract businesses and workers, highlighting local assets and workforce.

I took another walk downtown recently, not frequenting the alleys as before but keeping to our newly, almost-completed Main Street. I was interested in seeing firsthand what it felt like to be on a streetscape that had changed so little since my youth.  Until now. I suppose I succumb to nostalgia more than most people since my time here spans more than four score years—at least a few more than most people who are natives of Winchester, and far more than “newcomers” who have only been here “a few decades.”

When I was in high school, I played the violin (quite poorly, to be honest) in the GRC Orchestra. I was always breaking my strings, and my mother would take me to her friend Homer Ledford to get them fixed up. I had no idea that Homer was a world-famous luthier, or maker and inventor of stringed instruments (several of his instruments are even in the Smithsonian). Anyway, Homer invited us to a “Breaking Up” party one year during Christmas break (I think it was at his house, but he was there regardless).

Happy Holidays? That depends on who you ask. For many of our fellow Kentuckians (and citizens all over the globe), it’s not a festive time. Loss of life and property from natural and man-made disasters, diseases, mass shootings, and wars tends to dampen even the most indomitable spirits among us. If we are fortunate enough to have made it through 2022 relatively unscathed, we might do well to reflect on that old chestnut, “there but for the grace of God go I.”

We all grew up hearing some version of the idea that words bounce off and don’t stick. But anyone who’s ever lived in a community knows that isn’t really how it works. Some words do stick. They act more like glue, holding stories together, shaping perception, and reinforcing how we talk about home and about each other. That unfinished sentence—Clark County is home to the beautiful…—reminded me of that.

The crisp December air settled over the quiet, historic Caudill Thacker Cemetery on Saturday as the community of Trapp fulfilled a national pledge: to remember. Gathering for the annual Wreaths Across America initiative, this rural cemetery became one of 5,598 locations across the country to simultaneously honor over 3.1 million fallen veterans. The local ceremony was intensely personal, embodying the program’s mission: Remember, Honor, and Teach. 

Every major holiday has its classic color scheme. Valentine’s Day is red and pink. Easter is pastel colors. Halloween is orange and black. Thanksgiving is Earth tones. And for hundreds of years, red and green have been the traditional colors of Christmas. I don’t personally like the red and green combo. Because I’m red/green colorblind, I see the two differently than the average bear, especially when they are beside each other. But per the color theory, these two shades are naturally complementary. And ubiquitous this time of year, as nothing signifies Christmas like these two hues. And, until now, it never occurred to me to wonder why. So I did a little research. It seems that the history of how red and green came to symbolize Christmas is a lot like the holiday itself: rooted in the wisdom traditions, modernized by commercialism, and carried on because we just really like it.

As December settles in—soft lights glowing in windows, the air carrying that unmistakable bite of winter—I’m reminded that the season of giving was never meant to be loud. It isn’t found in the biggest gifts, the grandest gestures, or the prettiest bows. The heart of Christmas has always lived in the small, steady acts of kindness that thread their way through ordinary days.

Writing for The Atlantic in 2003, Jonathan Rauch of Brookings Institution, who describes himself as an “atheistic, homosexual Jew,” celebrated apatheism, which he defined as not caring one way or the other about religion. He gloated that America’s growing indifference to Christianity was “the product of a determined cultural effort to discipline the religious mindset,” and he predicted it would reduce divisiveness in society.