I liked seeing the footage of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle talking about Mr. Holmes, as I had not realized that moving pictures of him existed. I thought about a gingerbread man not eaten. I walked at noon in Breckinridge Park, where an Eastern Phoebe caught my attention. I thought about the New Year, the old year, the world's dysfunctions and Dr. D.A. Henderson, the man who died in 2016 who helped eradicate the spread of smallpox. I learned of Dr. Viktor Mikhailovich Zhdanov, the Soviet scientist who convinced the World Health Assembly to undertake the first world-wide effort to eradicate smallpox. I read of John Glenn, the astronaut who died in 2016.
On-line, I see a lot of odd literalism about the various internet folk observations about the musicians and actors who died in 2016. I think that folks lose sight of how we are story-telling animals, and ascribe to other folks exaggerated beliefs in literal, anthropomorphic conduct by a monolithic 2016 that nobody actually believes. Sometimes I think that a few people do not fully understand metaphor and story, and that unfortunately that population is quite vocal on social media.
I plan to find more overlooked 19th C. novels on gutenberg.org.