Craig County, Virginia

I try to be home for shabbat at Tree of Life here in Morgantown. I also try to get away once a month for two or three days to a different county within three hundred miles of here, any state, in alphabetical order. This hobby has been hampered by more and more responsibilities thrust on me (or taken on voluntarily) as a Morgantown City Councilor. I'm also getting over my fourth illness since Thanksgiving, and we are planning a much-needed and long-delayed trip to California to see friends and family at the end of the month.

 I've managed to see eighty-two counties in the months since we moved here in July 2012, and I'm nothing if not persistent. The eighty-third, scheduled for this month, was Craig County, Virginia, in the mountains near Roanoke and on the border of West Virginia. Usually, I schedule a three-day trip to a place more than two hundred miles from Morgantown. But Craig County has just over five thousand people, and its county seat and largest place, New Castle, has a population of 153. The others live out in the country somewhere.

I felt a need to get away. I love Joe and our cat and our temple and the people who go there, but sometimes I need to be off by myself, to not have to care for or listen to anyone, to not have to worry about the leaky drain in the upstairs sink or what I forgot to buy at the grocery store.

So I left Friday and planned to be back Saturday, taking back roads, increasing the time to New Castle by maybe a half hour, but reducing the mileage to 216, courthouse to courthouse. The only places I could find to stay overnight in Craig County were country rooming houses with a family or a couple who rent rooms or have a spare cabin on their property. I'm trying to get away, not meet new people, and in a county that voted seventy-eight per cent for the current President, I don't want to talk to or stay with strangers who might make me uncomfortable talking about my life.

So I booked the "Usual Chain" near Roanoke Airport, about twenty-one miles out of New Castle. It's an older (1960s?) resort-style place with rooms facing a garden with a swimming pool. I was delighted that there was a sign at the registration desk that they wouldn't rent to anyone who lived within thirty miles. I've been places like this where one person rents a room and invites sixty friends and family to drink by the pool on a Friday night. That didn't happen here.

The back roads yesterday (Friday) took me through Pocahontas County, one of the most rural and beautiful counties in West Virginia. I drove past the famous Green Bank Observatory, saw the sign for Snowshoe Resort, watched the shifting clouds and rain sprinkles, the passing parade of mountains, the new green of the trees and the purple and white wildflowers. I was near the Greenbrier Hotel, owned by our absentee Governor.

I brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple with me for lunch and I had lots of water. I saw a convenience store/restaurant/gas station on the road about noon and thought to get some iced tea. I was about to reach for a Diet Coke, there being only sweet tea in bottles, when I asked the proprietress if they had "unsweet" and she offered to get me a cup  from the fountain drinks, and even asked me if I wanted "Sweet 'n' Low." I declined that, but I was touched by her kindness.

The last stretch of the trip into New Castle is through Jefferson National Forest, over mountains on a slow, twisty road. It was sunny and warm and scenic enough to get me to turn off the CD player and open the windows.

New Castle has basically two streets downtown, each about three blocks long. There is. a grand Courthouse, with the obligatory statue of a Confederate soldier out front, a small community store, and a larger market (not super), two convenience store/gas stations that will make you a pizza, an ancient hotel, now a museum run by the local historical society, some restored log cabins, a new building with a dentist's office and a Subway, a post office, city office building and a library.

I visited the library, small and crammed with books and DVDs. There is a sign outside that says "Visitor Information" so I came in. The librarian gave me a street map of the county. I asked about the Appalachian Trail, which passes through the county. It's far and off bad roads from New Castle, but she pointed out a parking lot along 311, the main road from I-64 to New Castle and then to Roanoke. That part of the trail is in Roanoke County, just over the line, so I was doubtful. I noted that the librarian had a pack of Marlboro Golds on her desk. I bought a VHS tape of "Midnight Cowboy, " which Joe has never seen, and a paperback copy of John Irving's The Hotel New Hampshire from their "Library Friends" sale. It was 4 P.M. and 84 F., so I thought I would check into the hotel, sleep for an hour, and maybe come back to town for pizza or a sub for dinner, then hike a bit when it was cooler. I had trouble following the directions to the hotel and wandered through Salem, ending up sleeping from 5;45-6:30, once I located the hotel. There were expensive restaurants nearby, which didn't interest me, and a place called "Country Cookin'." I decided to go there. You order a meat dish and a side, then they have a salad bar with other sides and dessert. Too many desserts. I was good at first. I had a piece of salmon with a dry baked potato, and just a little macaroni and cheese and a lot of salad. Then I went overboard on the desserts. Feeling like I should exercise, I checked the time of sunset (8:18) and decided to head out to the part of the Appalachian Trail just inside Roanoke County. It was farther than I remembered and I pulled into the parking lot just at eight. A board at the trailhead warned about how steep the trail is, the need for water and good shoes, how easy it is to get lost. I only had a few minutes before dark, so I went ahead without all that. There were two groups of campers out in the park; one had a fire. Mountain laurel was blooming. I panted up a not-too-steep incline, crossed a bridge, and came to a stream. From there, the trail switched back and up a steep hill. That's where I turned back.

I got lost again driving back to the hotel. Luckily, I have a smartphone and Google maps. I watched a bit of "Meet The Fockers" a silly movie that I saw when it came out because Barbra Streisand and Dustin Hoffman play a married couple. I turned it off after a half-hour. Normally I would have checked emails or Facebook, but it was Shabbat, and lately, social media has become just another responsibility, so I didn't look at anything.

Google Maps said it was 267 miles from the hotel home. Going back to New Castle would cut the mileage to 250, and add very little to the time. It was 74 F. when I left Roanoke, but it soon started to rain, and things cooled off into the 50s as the rain came down and the elevation went up. I stopped for gas in New Castle  (cheaper than in West Virginia) and I was surprised that I didn't have to pay before pumping. I asked the woman inside at the convenience store and she said "I know just about everyone around here, and I know their car, so no one can get away with anything." While I was there, two men came in together, one pushing a stroller with a baby in it. I'm not going to speculate about that.

I left the motel just before nine, and I was home by three this afternoon. I went on I-64, US 19 and I-79, faster, a little longer, but less time than the way I came yesterday. Less interesting, too. The weather was much cooler, mostly in the 50s, with periods of severe rainstorms. I was in our newer Honda, a pleasure to drive.

I was glad to get away, and I don't mind driving. I need to make more time for myself, to not devote so much effort to social media. Like everyone else, I fret about climate change, and worry that I'm not doing enough, especially as much as I drive. I take a reusable water bottle with me, I don't use plastic straws, our car runs relatively clean and gets over 40 mpg on the road. That's what I can do. I'm an American, and I like road trips and Diet Coke. That's just who I am.

I plan to write three more blog posts: one about our friend Art, who died the night before Passover, about the disturbing Morgantown City Council election, which I won by a hefty margin, and one about my April trip to Coshocton County, Ohio. Hopefully, I'll find time to get them done.

Craig County Courthouse, with the obligatory Confederate statue.

Inscription on the statue. "His Race"?

Old Hotel, now a museum and headquarters of the Craig County Historical Society

Me on the Appalachian Trail. The camera corrected for how dark it actually was.

Overlook on Highway 311 on the way in to New Castle, Friday

Victorian House in New Castle, Saturday morning

Main St., New Castle

Log cabins, restored, Court St., New Castle

Craig County Library. The librarian told me she's hoping for a new building

Protest signs against Mountain Valley pipeline, proposed by Dominion Energy

Central Conference of American Rabbis Conference, 2019, Cincinnati

I've been to several of these conferences with Rabbi Joe, my husband. We were in Long Beach, California in 2012, Chicago in 2013, Philadelphia in 2014 and Israel in 2015. We missed 2016 in Atlanta, and we were in Florida for my nephew's wedding at the time of last year's conference in Irvine, California. Joe wanted to go, and wanted me to go with him. Most of the rabbis don't bring their spouses, but we could drive to Cincinnati, about 300 miles, and I was happy to travel with him, since I'm usually alone when I travel.

They put us up at Hilton's Netherland Plaza, a skyscraper right downtown with a shopping mall attached. It's a beautiful Art Deco/ Moderne building, a National Historic Landmark. The room was cramped, but everything worked.  It was the tenth anniversary of Joe's ordination, and many of his classmates were there. I was with Joe the last three and a half years of his time at school, so I knew all of these other rabbis, and was close to a few. It was good for both of us to see old friends, and especially for Joe to compare career paths with his classmates. Some have changed jobs a few times, some are political activists, some are happy with where they live, but not happy with the congregation, some love their congregation, just not the city they are in. A few are completely comfortable with their job and city.

One highlight of the trip was a weekday morning service at Plum Street synagogue, from 1866, and an early Reform synagogue with an organ, prohibited in more traditional synagogues. Two rabbi/cantors, a man and a woman, led the service with singing and guitars. I knew the man decades ago in Los Angeles. He had been a cantor and went back to school to become a rabbi and now leads a congregation in Bel Air in Los Angeles. Sometimes it's hard for a singer to get people to sing along, but there were six hundred people at the service, almost all rabbis, and everyone belted out the melodies. It was just beautiful. There was another morning service at the hotel, where an Israeli couple introduced their own melodies to the traditional text. They travel frequently, and I would love to get them to come to Morgantown.

We had dinner out with friends, mostly Joe's classmates. Everyone was able to relax bit, and I enjoyed the company and being in a big city. One night with just the two of us, we walked across a bridge to Covington, Kentucky, then to Newport, which I had visited before. We ate at a nice Italian restaurant and took a shuttle bus back to downtown, where we joined others for yummy ice cream at Graeter's, a famous place in Cincinnati with excellent ice cream.

We both attended a workshop for rabbis at small congregations. A woman I knew from L.A. ( I had tutored her kids for their bar and bat mitzvah) is now a rabbi in Davenport, Iowa. Another woman is in Alexandria, Louisiana. The problems people talked about were low pay, lack of a social life, and how the reform movement "glorifies" rabbis in big important congregations in major cities. One woman pointed out that rabbis in small congregations are really doing "God's work." I also noted that these rabbis tended to be second-career rabbis, LGBT people and women. Although the Reform movement makes congregations swear they won't discriminate by age, gender or sexual orientation, they do. Still, most of the rabbis expressed satisfaction with their work. What Joe does here in North Central West Virginia is important to the community, and he and the other rabbis in that workshop understand that. I suggested that maybe the Reform movement could subsidize these smaller congregations. It's up to the rabbis to push for that.

We also visited the home campus of Hebrew Union College, uphill from downtown, in what was the suburbs a hundred years ago. We had box lunches in a tent, then split up for workshops. The one I went to was too academic for my taste, so I left before I got roped into a second one, and walked back to the hotel through the neighborhood just north of downtown called "OTR" or Over-The Rhine.

The last full day, we had signed up for a workshop in Over-The Rhine, at one time half-abandoned and in need of repair. It is gradually being gentrified. We had two tour guides for an hour each. One told us about the tremendous progress being made in the neighborhood, and the other, more of an activist, complained that poor people were being shut out, that boutique stores were being built for rich suburbanites, and parking garages, where they needed low-income housing. Morgantown is not much like Cincinnati, but there is a danger of a "Disney-fied" High Street here, a place for rich people to come down and buy stuff they don't need, or for the more adventurous, "moderate-income" housing for people in the top ten percent.

Two other interesting workshops were held the last night. One was about hate crimes and hate groups, with the shocking information that hate crimes against Jews, and anti-Jewish propaganda were increasing in the United States. Lastly, we met with Jim Obergefell, who won the case in the Supreme Court for marriage equality. With him were the two Jewish women who were his attorneys.

I hadn't been in Cincinnati before, but my travels have taken me to many of the surrounding counties. We traveled there via US 50 from Clarksburg and SR 32 in Ohio, and came back on Interstates 71 and 70. We had lunch in Athens, Ohio, where I typically go for lunch when I'm in that area, and at a Chinese buffet in Zanesville on the way back. I've learned where the good places are three hours out from home.

I was a little out of place in a rabbi convention, but I did work as a cantor for seven years, and after all my years with Joe, I at least know what they are talking about, and people were friendly. My only shock was how much younger so many of these rabbis are. Most of Joe's classmates are forty or close to it, and they are now considered the "old-timers."

At Hebrew Union College

Isaac Mayer Wise, or Plum Street Synagogue

Netherland Hotel

Bridge across the Ohio River to Covington, Kentucky

Fountain Plaza, where there is a branch of Graeter's Ice Cream

On tour in Over-The Rhine

Dinner with friends

With Jim Obergefell

Purim 5779

I've been rereading this blog. I guess I'm my favorite writer. I noticed that my non-travel posts are about being depressed by the weather and the political scene here in West Virginia. When I saw a therapist at Kaiser-Permanente in Los Angeles about fifteen years ago, I glanced at the diagnosis sheet and it said "Depression-Chronic, Moderate." On the one hand, I don't have a lot to complain about, compared to people I know here whose parents beat them or were drug addicts, or they had no clothes or shoes for school. I didn't have any of that, and I live comfortably now, with love from my husband and my cat.

We are in spring now, but in Morgantown it's not really warm. Temperatures dropped below freezing last night and there was a snow shower as we left temple last night after services.

Wednesday night and Thursday, March 20 and 21 was the Jewish holiday of Purim, a time to celebrate the deliverance of the Jews of Persia. It's a Mardi Gras-like holiday, with costumes and alcohol. There are plays based on the Book of Esther, the Jewish queen of Persia. Esther becomes queen after winning a beauty contest held when the former queen, Vashti, refuses to dance for the drunken king and his friends. The story has changed since I was a child. Vashti used to be considered a bad person, but she's become a feminist hero now. Rabbi Joe, my husband and the rabbi at Tree of Life Congregation here in Morgantown, writes a parody of a Broadway musical every year for Purim. This year, it was "Man of LaMancha" reimagined as "Man of LaShushan," Shushan being the city where "Esther" takes place. In Vashti's song, the king "Looks like a pig and smells of beer."  Esther, who wins the beauty contest to become queen, the character all the little girls used to want to be, is reimagined in Joe's play. She sings (to the tune of "Aldonza") :

"Won't you look at me, look at me,
God, won't you look at me!
Hardly the nice Jewish girl you suppose!
Shrinking from lust
And in fear of starvation,
A child in a temptress's clothes!

If you feel that you see me not quite at my holiday best,
Read the part I don't mention, your scripture reveals all the rest!"

I'm sure this flew right past all the kids, and most of the adults. Definitely not the traditional interpretation of Esther's state of mind, but there is enough hatred and fear in the story to scare anyone. That's why it's usually read in Hebrew, so people won't understand it.

It didn't help that our Purim party at Tree of Life, the Saturday night before the actual holiday, was the day after the shootings at the two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand. I didn't feel like celebrating a story where people are murdered. Or maybe it was a chance to see a modern version of the kind of hatred expressed in Esther, and to find a way to triumph over it.

I was touched by the response to the shooting in New Zealand. I saw videos of school kids performing  haka, a traditional Maori dance. I've learned that it's performed at rugby games, but all the kids know it, and stood by their Muslim friends and neighbors in solidarity. The Prime Minister, Jacinda Arderen, announced an immediate ban on the types of weapons used in the shooting, with apparently little or no political opposition.  I wish we could have a government like that here.

Purim is the yahrzeit, the anniversary, of my mother's death on the Jewish calendar. At Tree of Life, I say Kaddish, the memorial prayer, for her on the Friday before the holiday. I also like to go to Chabad, the Orthodox group in town, where they have a service on the holiday, and I can say the prayer. This year, however, the Muslim Students Association at West Virginia University held a vigil for Christchurch outdoors at the school on the evening of Purim, starting with a Muslim prayer service at sunset. A half dozen or so students spoke, all beautifully, as well as a couple from Tree of Life in Pittsburgh, expressing solidarity with the frightened Muslim students, and Imam Kip and Rabbi Joe. Two of us City Councilors and two State Delegates spoke briefly. The point that I tried to make when I spoke is that everyone in Morgantown is part of the city, whether one is from here or not, planning to stay, or leaving after graduation. We are one city. My inspiration was from the students in New Zealand.

Joe and I have talked about leaving here. His contract is up July 1, as is my City Council term. I wanted to run again. Our Council has done good work this last two years, and we finally have an all-progressive group of Delegates to the State Legislature. Many bad things happened in the Legislature this year, so much hatred expressed. Everyone says "This isn't who we are", but hateful people keep getting reelected, only, thankfully, not in Morgantown. Maybe that hatred is exactly representative of people in other parts of our state.

At the synagogue, many of the people who did the work of keeping things going have moved away for careers or just to a bigger city. The older people, not much older than I am, don't always have the energy to get things done. Many of them travel frequently or leave town for the winter months. I don't know how long this congregation can keep going, but they have supported Joe and me the last seven years. It's Joe they want to see from their hospital bed, Joe they want to do a funeral or a wedding for a family member.

Ryan Wallace, one of the Councilors I am closest to, announced last night that he and his wife Christine are moving to her hometown of Toronto this summer. This is a blow to me personally, because I have been close to them, but also to Morgantown generally. They are fitness buffs, and are responsible for our Health and Wellness Commission, started late last year.

It's common for West Virginia people to say "Should I stay or should I go?" I don't blame Ryan and Christine for leaving. They are young and have children, and Christine has parents in Toronto.We have made our community here, and I hope we will be able to stay.

At The vigil at WVU 3/20/19

Columbiana County, Ohio

I had planned this county (my 81st) as a day trip. From the Monongalia County Court House in Morgantown to the Columbiana County Court House in Lisbon, is 106 miles. If it's over 100 miles, I think about staying over one night, but this was a county that voted 68% for the current president in 2016, and one of the bigger cities (Lisbon is designated a village) is closer to home. Columbiana County is the closest county to us in Ohio that has a larger population than our county, with more than 107,000 people. Just something I know.

My plan was to go Sunday, because Joe was busy most of the day, and I didn't have any place I had to be. I checked the weather, and snow was forecast all day Sunday (that happened) with temperatures into the week starting in the single digits. So, no, it had to be Saturday.

I left about 9:40 in our newer car. Google Maps takes one on the Interstate to Washington, PA, then off on PA-18, a two lane road through some small towns to U.S. 30, back into West Virginia's northern panhandle, then across the Ohio River. I visited two of the three cities in Columbiana, East Liverpool and Salem. It's 87 miles from our house to the bridge over the Ohio River from Chester, West Virginia's northernmost city, to East Liverpool, Ohio. It took me about two hours, with traffic backed up on PA-18 by a funeral going to a church and large trucks with strange-looking machinery used in fracking.

East Liverpool is a beautiful small historic city, situated on a bluff above the river. It was cloudy and windy, as it was most of the trip, with temperatures near Morgantown around 40, five degrees cooler at my destination. Not much was happening in East Liverpool. There were antique malls, where people sell off the relics of the twentieth century to try to make ends meet. I saw people going in to those. I had picked ten places in the county (of 42) to find from the National Register. Half of them were in East Liverpool, including a beautiful Carnegie Library, two historic districts, the former city hall, The Elks Club and Odd Fellows Hall. I walked to all of them. The Union for Reform Judaism showed a synagogue in town, with nine member families. I found the building, next to a hospital in what was once a swanky residential area. The building is empty and for sale.

I usually look for a mall, but found only two shopping centers, one near Salem and one outside East Liverpool. It was 1 P.M and I was hungry, so I visited the latter. I knew there was a Wal-Mart and a Penney's, so I figured there would be something to eat. There were a few other stores, selling shoes and jewelry and women's clothes, and three or four free-standing chain restaurants, but I ate at Subway, inside Wal-Mart. The store is huge, has a complete food section and everything you would want to buy, heavily discounted. I believe everyone in eastern Columbiana County was there. It's easy to blame the demise of small towns on Wal-Mart and other big box stores, but maybe the small-town downtown is not a feasible model today. Maybe they were drying up anyway, leaving an opening for big-box stores.

I moved on to Salem, way in the north end of the county, twenty-five miles from both Youngstown and Warren. Most of the route is on OH-11, what we Californians would call a "freeway," in much better shape than any road in West Virginia. State Street is the main commercial district in Salem, and on the National Register. It seems livelier than East Liverpool, with a larger, more occupied downtown. I also found the home of John Street, a leader of the abolitionists, and Waterworth Memorial Park, an urban park with a lake and a theater.

I wanted to be sure to see Lisbon, the county seat. Wikipedia says it was platted in 1803, only the second (European-American) city in Ohio. At 2800 or so people, it is much smaller than Salem or East Liverpool. It is on Little Beaver Creek, which flows into the Ohio River north of East Liverpool, in Pennsylvania. The center of Lisbon is a historic district. Many of the buildings look to be from early in the 19th century. I also found the Hanna-Kenty home, from 1838, remodeled in 1907, and apparently again more recently. Marcus Hanna was a U.S. Senator at the turn of the last century. I  headed out to the west from Lisbon, where I found Guilford Lake State Park and the 1832 Hostetter Inn.

I had planned to leave from Lisbon at 4:30 to be home by 6:35. I stayed a bit later. I was cold and suddenly hungry. I ducked into a Subway in a historic building in Lisbon, and treated myself to milk and cookies.

Coming home along PA-18 in Washington County, I was low on gas and also needed to pee. Two gas stations along the way had signs on the door of the attached convenience store saying "no public restroom." My car said I had enough gas to get home (but not much more). I relieved myself on the side of the road somewhere, then drove to Waynesburg, one county north of us in Pennsylvania, to get gas at Sheetz, a Pennsylvania-based chain that has gas, food, and (usually) clean restrooms. I arrived home close to 7. Joe and I had dinner out and were home by 8:30.

Patterson Memorial Building, 1924, now used by Kent State University's Liverpool Branch

Carnegie Library, East Liverpool, 1902

Alumni Tower on the site of the former East Liverpool High, overlooking the Ohio River. West Virginia is on the hill across the river

5th Street Historic district, East Liverpool

Downrown Historic District, East Liverpool

Elks Hall, East Liverpool, 1916

Synagogue, East Liverpool. The building is for sale.

The old bridge across the Ohio River to East Liverpool

Historic Houses, East Liverpool

Former City Hall, now the Health Department, East Liverpool, 1934

Odd Fellows Building, East Liverpool, now apartments, 1907

vacant commercial buildings, Market and 6th, East Liverpool

State St., Salem

South Broadway, Salem Historic District, now used by a church

John Street House,1838, Salem. Street was a Quaker and an abolitionist, the son of one of the founders of Salem
This was a stop on the Underground Railroad

Waterworth Park, Salem. 

Hostetter Inn, 1832, west of Lisbon

Guilford Lake State Park, west of Lisbon

Lisbon Historic District

Columbiana County Court House, Lisbon

Hanna-Kenty House, originally 1838, Lisbon

February Blues

The weather here in February is hard. It may not be as cold as January, but it rains and snows, and there are few sunny days. It's chilly. Both of us have been reading books that make us nostalgic for something else. Joe's is Less, by Andrew Sean Greer, about a San Francisco gay man turning fifty, an author regretting his lost youth, who takes a literary trip around the world to avoid going to his ex-boyfriend's wedding to another man. I'm reading Gary Shteyngart's Lake Success, another picaresque novel about a guy named Barry, his wife Seema (Seema was the name of my first and last serious girlfriend in high school and the beginning of college). Barry in the book leaves his wife and three-year old autistic child in New York to go look for his college girlfriend across the country. Seema visits her parents in Cleveland. Of course, both Arthur Less, from Less, and Barry Cohen from Lake Success have lessons that must be learned to find some sort of redemption.

Last week, a committee in the West Virginia House of Delegates  proposed a rule to annul laws made in several cities, including Morgantown, to add LGBT protection to the anti-discrimination laws. The amendment to the original bill (which would have prohibited cities from changing labor laws, like minimum wage) failed, but 10 Republican men on the committee voted for it, and one went on a rant calling LGBT people "terrorists" and a lot worse. This state does not have a reputation for being gay-friendly, something Morgantown City Council has tried to change.  There is a plan afoot to have a "gay picnic" here in April, and I went to the first planning meeting Saturday, where I was the oldest queer person (including all LGBT people) by several decades. It's been lonely for us, and, with the crappy February weather, the hostility in the House of Delegates, and our literary friends, we've had our doubts.

I was at our local grocery store today, and while I knew few people there, I did run into three friends, which was good. I also saw people who looked familiar: a woman who I thought for a second was Janet the Dentist, who came to Israeli dancing at BCC, the synagogue for gay people, thirty-some years ago, pregnant. She talked about her "partner" with whom she was having the baby. When pressed, she admitted the partner was a very traditional Jewish man, and that they were in fact married. She didn't want to seem different. I saw her more than ten years ago, and she told me about having breast cancer and surgery. I wonder how she is now. And then I saw the Principal Realtor, a woman I knew from temple in L.A., who was an elementary school principal, then retired and sold real estate. Her partner in later years was a woman I had also met dancing at BCC. The Realtor passed away a few years ago from pancreatic cancer. Suddenly, I feel like people from my past, alive or dead, are showing up for me and making me regret the community I lived in, not Los Angeles so much, but the people there who were my community. Still, I think about a young friend, who grew up in Europe (now 40) who complained to me about the constant sunshine in L.A., how boring it was! I loved that about L.A., and I think about his complaint, and how, like him, I should be more grateful for what I have.

We'll stay here and live with our old-people regrets. Maybe with Joe's new contract, we'll be able to take a month in the winter and go to Palm Springs or Ft. Lauderdale, although I fully intend to win my Council election at the end of April, so maybe not, at least not for the next two years. It was our choice to come to Morgantown, and people depend on both of us here. We've made friends, some our age, some much younger, and when we don't get all maudlin but look at reality, we have it good.

Spring is here early in March, at least in the afternoons, so we are almost there. Regrets are real, as is Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Columbia County, Pennsylvania

"When the going gets tough, the tough... leave town." That's what I always say, or something like that. The next few weeks in February are booked. This week I only had two meetings I didn't want to go to, both at the same time Thursday, so I would have missed one anyway. All my paperwork to run for City Council again was done. At least I thought so, but the City Clerk told me at Tuesday's Council meeting that I was short thirteen signatures of the seventy-five required from my ward by Monday. I went down there on my way out of town Wednesday morning. There were some errors and I came away owing them seven signatures, not thirteen. This whole process has been hard for me, and for Joe, with past supporters being ill, or moving away, or disappearing January to March to warmer climes, and progressives either tired of me or burnt out after 2016 and the local elections last year, I haven't been helped as much as I was two years ago.

It was my intent always to visit Columbia County, Pennsylvania in February and here I am. I was three counties west of here, in Clinton County, last month during a warm spell, and now I'm back in this part of the world again a month later, during another warm spell. Is there a pattern here? The average temperature for February 7 (today) in Bloomsburg, the county seat and largest town in the county, is a low of 15 F. and a high of 34. Today, the low was 37 and the high was 52. On my journey here, there was precipitation the whole way, but not snow, as one might expect on February 6, but rain. I know it was below zero here and in Morgantown just last week, but in general the weather has been way too warm. It makes it easier for me to travel and explore, yes, but I would hate to see my former town of Miami under water, and my ex-hometown of Los Angeles more burnt than it already is.

I got a suite at The Usual Chain near Bloomsburg, but not in it, in a Town Center-like development with a Lowe's and a Wal-Mart. I have lots of things I plan to do on these trips, but eating in "the best restaurant in town" is not one of them. I had dinner yesterday at the Chinese buffet in this development, and I foolishly thought I could walk to the Panera across the road tonight for a fast supper. Like the Town Center (Towne Centre, usually) in Morgantown, this one is not set up for walking, and I risked my life walking from the motel to the restaurant. I thought I would have lunch in the mall at the food court. The mall here, just across I-80 from the motel, is not well, like most malls in these small towns. Despite the loss of three anchor stores, Morgantown Mall is doing better. There was a branch of that ubiquitous sub place, and I ate there for lunch. Most of the people in the mall seemed to be seniors, getting in their walking.

I started today at a park at the south end of the county, passing through Catawissa, a borough of 1552 people, large for Columbia County, and with some life and architecture. I headed out to Weiser State Forest along Roaring Creek, still somewhat ice-clogged despite warming temperatures. There is an artificial lake created along the creek.

I drove to the far south end of the county to see the borough of Centralia, population 10 as of 2010. I saw many streets with no houses, a municipal building, and a church uphill from what should have been the center of the town. I found out later, from Wikipedia, that Centralia had been a coal-mining town, still functional into the 1990s, but that there was an underground fire, spread from a landfill to an abandoned mine, and the whole borough has been condemned as a result. A few people were allowed to live out their lives there in the five remaining houses.

There are twenty-three covered bridges in the county, six in rural Cleveland township. I thought I could track down the Cleveland bridges, but only found one, and it was blocked off so one could not even walk to it. On the way back to Bloomsburg (and the mall for lunch) I found a park with a covered bridge and two railroad bridges, one abandoned and one in use.

After lunch, I drove to Berwick, east of Bloomsburg, and the second largest place in the county with a population of more than 10,000. I found the Jackson House, now set in a park, from the 1880s, and a former armory, now apparently a gym. This was an iron ore area, and a company manufactured tanks during World War II. Main Street seemed busy, and there is a functioning movie theater and several restaurants along U.S. 11, the main street of both Bloomsburg and Berwick.

By three, I was ready to tackle Bloomsburg, and started with Beth Israel, the small Reform-affiliated synagogue near the center of Bloomsburg. Their website advertises holidays and monthly Shabbat Friday nights. Bloomsburg University anchors the east end of town, and there is a student ghetto of rundown rental houses similar, but on a smaller scale, than what one sees in Morgantown. Bloomsburg is a state school.

I walked down Main Street and stopped into a bookstore/ gift shop. I chatted with the owner, who said her store was in the former Woolworth, the property being previously owned by her grandmother. She tried to interest me in some books, but I didn't see anything I wanted to read. I told her I was going back to the motel to nap, and would probably eat at Panera, near the hotel. She told me I should treat myself to dinner at The Blind Pig downtown.

My last place to see was the city park in Bloomsburg along the mighty Susquehanna River. The weather was cooling off, into the forties, and it seemed awfully dark, but I saw the park and the mighty river, ice chunks bobbing along the surface. I brightened most of the pics in Bloomsburg. It's a pretty town, and an interesting place to visit.

I looked up The Blind Pig after my nap from 5-6, and Yelp agrees that it is the best restaurant in town. I checked out the menu, all unintelligible names of things containing pork and shellfish, what Joe and I call "food porn." I did consider going elsewhere downtown, maybe an Italian place, of which there were many. The reviews bragged of "giant portions" of breaded and fried things with garlic rolls. Even after a nap, I was tired, and having lost maybe eight pounds in 2019 (seven of them from throwing up, but still) I really didn't want to eat a lot, and didn't want to have to drive anywhere.

So Panera it was. I came back to my room and read about the bigots in our West Virginia State Legislature, and the great Delegates from Morgantown and a few other places, who called them out.

It should remain warmish tomorrow for my drive home, although it may rain again. For the weekend, I have to get more signatures to turn in Monday for my campaign.

The former Opera House in Catawissa

Along Roaring Creek Lake in Weiser State Forest

Covered bridge in Cleveland Township, from a distance

Covered bridge near Bloomsburg

present and former railroad bridges next to the covered bridge

Jackson House, 1880s, Berwick with a model of the Statue Of Liberty, donated by Boy Scouts

former armory, 1922, Berwick

Bridge across the Susquehanna in Berwick

upper-floor façades, Main St., Berwick

Beth Israel, Bloomsburg

a residential street in Bloomsburg Historic District

Carver Hall, Bloomsburg University

Main Street , Bloomsburg

former theater, Main St., now a bar/restaurant

Alvina Krause was an acting teacher who retired to Bloomsburg and started a theater company

Columbia County Court House, Main Street, Bloomsburg

Market Square, Market and Main Streets. Statue in memory of Union soldiers in the Civil War, 1908

The Susquehanna at Bloomsburg City Park

The band shell in Bloomsburg City Park