Winter Solstice 2020

 The official time of the solstice is 5:03 A.M. EST Monday, December 21, between Chanukkah and Christmas, normally joyous times that have been tamped down by the coronavirus and the government's reaction, or lack thereof. We had snow this week in Morgantown, then temperatures just barely above freezing. It was pretty for a few days, but now it's getting slushy. And there's hardly been any sun for days. It feels like twilight just about all day.

Lots of people I know are posting on Facebook about how depressed they are. In the US  Senate, they have been arguing about sending people $600 in relief money (it just passed today, Sunday), while big corporations and rich people rake in billions. Our Governor here in West Virginia is sitting on CARES Act money while people are at risk of being evicted or having the lights shut off. Some money is going out to high school athletic teams and a possibly shady real estate deal here in Morgantown that the city is being asked to contribute to. 

A few posts ago, I said I might not run for City Council again next month. I thought if I could find a good progressive person in this ward, I would support them. If not, I would run again. I'm past that now. A well-meaning activist of my acquaintance called me Tuesday and asked if I was running. He  and others would support me, otherwise they needed to find someone at a "West Virginia Can't Wait" meeting that night. That group encourages people with no experience or connection to government to run; they often get slaughtered. I didn't know much before I ran for Council, but I at least got on the Library Commission and attended some Council meetings. I even spoke once or twice. It's harder to do that now, but people can come to meetings online and speak; they don't. I wish my friend had begged me to run again. I wish I still had a constituency that supported and encouraged me, but I don't. So no, I won't run again.

It's hard to give up a part of one's identity, but I've killed off part of myself and been reborn several times. I thought I might give up teaching at OLLI as well, but now I think only one change at a time. 

So I guess I have my own  issues. We have food and our health (so far). I stay away from anywhere where an armed militia might show up. I fear for my country in the next month. Our Congressperson didn't sign on to the Texas lawsuit to invalidate the election. The other two in West Virginia and our Governor, Secretary of State and Attorney General did. It's unbearable that these people run West Virginia. It's hard for me to even be here.

It will get colder here in West Virginia next month, but the light will come back, and hopefully, despite everything, there will be a vaccine, and a new and better administration for our country. I hope that I and so many of the people I know find a way out of depression. As they and I know, it's not pretty.

How We Are Doing

I have algoritms.
Groceries on Sunday and Thursday.
Laundry Tuesday and Friday.

Tuna for lunch; fake burgers and corn for dinner Monday.
Carry out Saturday night (pizza, Thai, Chinese, Japanese, Indian).

Cleaning woman alternate Wednesdays, so

We go out for burritos or wraps

I run in the morning, walk a half-hour before sunset.

Same route, except different direction to walk on odd and even days.

Garbage and recycling out Thursday.

City Council three Tuesdays each month.

Four breakfasts in order:

1) toaster waffles

2) oatmeal and cream of wheat alternating

3) egg whites and toast with spinach, onions and mushrooms

and cream cheese.

4) Cereal: rice or corn Chex Mom's Whole Wheat 

All but #4 with yogurt (nonfat, plain) and fruit

Services online Friday night

I light candles and chant Kiddush

Taught six weeks of Music from the Brill Building

Six weeks of The Great Hits And Albums Of 1969,

Working on 1970 for spring

Rabbi Joe has lots to do with temple

See his blog for info (he doesn't have a blog)

Sleep late morning and/or afternoon.

Read Morgantown Dominion-Post and Charleston Gazette-Mail daily

Washington Post and New York Times Sunday edition

I read books, listen to records and CDs (tape player broken)

Waiting for the inauguration of President Biden to:

Get the kitchen sink fixed

Buy more CDs (new McCartney, Taylor Swift0

New running shoes

New portable cassette player

After the current unpleasantness, I want to

visit more counties near here 

(92 down, 28 to go by June 2022).

Plotting my escape to somewhere more friendly, less Republican,

Warmer, cheaper. Probably won't do it.

How are you coping?

Pandemic Thanksgiving

At Robin's

 Typically, I go with Joe to visit his family in Memphis at Thanksgiving. His aunt and uncle host Thanksgiving dinner. Joe's sister lives in Memphis, and his brother comes up from Louisiana. He has a cousin with a husband and kidskin Memphis, and her sister, also with a husband and two kids comes from Austin. Other cousins sometimes show up from Buffalo, Portland, Boston and Eureka. We drive to Pittsburgh, catch a plane, change at Atlanta or Charlotte, stop for lunch, and land in Memphis where we rent a car and drive to a hotel. We spend time with family, brunch at his cousin's, we go to a bar part-owned by Joe's sister and we try out several restaurants.

This year, the CDC said not to go anywhere because of a spike in novel coronavirus cases all over the country. My sister Robin invited us to visit in Greenbelt, Maryland, a bit more than two hundred miles from Morgantown. I had my doubts, but Joe was anxious to get out, and my sister, after she had invited us, suffered a back injury and needed our help. 

So we went. Instead of stopping at a restaurant for lunch, we packed sandwiches and fruit, and ate lunch in the car at a rest stop. We stopped at three rest stops on the way.

Greenbelt is a progressive city in Prince George's County, outside Washington, D.C. The rules there are that you can't be out of the house without a mask. I went out to run in the morning and Joe and I walked in the evening. People approaching us moved into the street to maintain six feet of distance from us.

Robin had picked out our menu, which, of course, included turkey. I have not eaten any meat since late March, when there were coronavirus cases at meat-packing plants, and the companies (and the United States government) seemed to think it was good that people were dying, because at least we had meat on the table. I could have lived on the plentiful side dishes, but I went for the turkey just these few days. 

We did go out Friday with a shopping list for the Co-Op, a locally owned grocery, a check to cash at the bank, and we stopped to have the tires checked on the car, since the tire light had gone on as we neared Greenbelt Wednesday. We had them change the oil as well. We were out for about two hours, not near anyone. Robin and Joe played scrabble and we watched "Jeopardy" together. We did housework for Robin also, and helped prepare meals with her. I read a book and kept up with social media. Robin put up pictures of us, usually eating. On Friday night, Joe's online Shabbat service was from Robin's dining room table, and he ran Saturday morning Torah service from Robin's little office. 

We packed up and left Sunday, with sandwiches, fruit and a cookie in a bag for lunch. I thought Robin was trying to delay us. She said over and over how much she appreciated our being there, and how her back was felling better.

I was nervous about traveling at all, but the traffic was light, and we didn't hang out with lots pf people. In fact, Greenbelt is safer than Morgantown because people are all masked and socially distanced. People take the coronavirus restrictions seriously. I don't always get that impression in Morgantown. I resented my sister's bossiness at first, but I found my compassion after a while. She needed help, and she is the only one who knows what it was like growing up in my parents' house.

We got back yesterday afternoon. We unpacked, I took a short nap while Joe made dinner, and I went out for groceries, where I had to complain about an unmasked employee and tell a few people that the mask has to be over your nose. Today (Monday) I'm overtired, but still managed to run this morning. One day, I'm going to have to take it easy, as befits my advanced age. I don't think I was exposed to coronavirus this trip. 

I'm glad we went, and I understand why people chafed under the recommendation to stay home. We didn't take a big risk, and it was great just to be away for a time.

The Election - So Far

 Joe Biden won the election. Joe Biden won the election. Joe Biden won the election. Keep repeating until all the Republicans get it. The current President is doing everything he can to overturn the result. He's not dealing with the pandemic, the failing economy, or how to roll out a vaccine as soon as next month. He's sulking, tweeting, filing lawsuits and playing golf. It's horrible. And most Republicans won't say this is a waste of time and money, undermining democracy and destroying the reputation of the Republican Party. I hope they all get their comeuppance.

I live in West Virginia, where the current President won 68.6% of the vote, according to Politico. That's down .1% from his percentage in 2016. Monongalia County, where I live, is the only county in our state that did not give the current  President a majority, but only 49.4% to Biden's 48.2%. That's down .7% from the 50.1% he won in 2016. 

I know lots of Democratic activists in our county. We have a robust party that worked hard to sign up new voters and get out the vote. The results are disappointing. I thought it would be clear that the choice was between a grifter, a liar, a person with no morals, and a guy who may not set the world on fire, but will bring some sanity to the White House. All of that work barely made a dent. I don't pretend to understand.

I am a City Councilor in Morgantown. We have a liberal group of seven on Council; not as liberal as some would want. I don't have statistics by precinct, but I know that in Morgantown city, the home of West Virginia University, we did not vote for the current President in 2016, and I'm sure we didn't in 2020, since the race was close, and the city is the most liberal part of the county. 

Our Council election season starts in January, with the vote at the end of April. The last election, two years ago, my opponent, put up by a real estate developer, was convicted of fraud. Another man, a Republican Party operative, signed on as a write-in a month before the election. This time, I don' t know if I have enough energy to do this again. I'm the queer Jew on the Council, and I've lately been attacked by some queer people and non-observant Jews on the left. I'm not certain I have any constituency at this point, and at seventy-one, I might be just as happy being really retired. My husband, Rabbi Joe, has three and a half years on his contract with his congregation. He loves his work, and the congregation has been good to us both, but if he wants  to retire at that point, I would be happy to go elsewhere. 

I predict that with Republicans winning all statewide offices and a supermajority in the state House of Delegates and Senate, that five or six thousand young, educated people in this state will leave in the next year. 

71

 It's Saturday morning and Joe is about to start Torah study from home on Zoom with people from our temple. This is the week of Breishit, "In the beginning," as the annual cycle of reading the five Books of Moses begins anew. My birthday on the Jewish calendar was yesterday, as it was on Friday, October 26, 1962, the day before my bar mitzvah. That was after  my "regular" calendar birthday; this year, it's before. 

There was an article last Sunday in TheWashington Post, a review of a book about the times we were close to a nuclear war. The review started "October 27, 1962, was the most dangerous day in history." I remember reading about the Cuban missile crisis, which was happening that week. It was my first "bargaining with God" moment, where I asked God to put off the nuclear war until after my bar  mitzvah. My wish was granted, or maybe the diplomats worked everything out- it's hard to say. 

Once again, life on Earth is at a turning point. There is an election in a short space of time, and there is a lot riding on it. The current President won't commit to stepping down if he loses. He has been infected with the coronavirus (as his current wife and youngest son have been) yet he continues to hold big rallies, appearing maskless, despite the best public health advice. He and his toadies are pushing through a Supreme Court nominee who might vote with others to invalidate the election, cut off healthcare for millions of Americans, ban legal abortions or attempt to invalidate my twelve-year marriage. As I've pointed out, my marriage was with clergy in our denomination, a vow made in front of family, friends and God, so it can't really be invalidated. No court has that power.

In West Virginia, the pandemic is getting worse. And today, October 17, 2020, West Virginia University's football team  is playing Kansas University at home, with the stadium at  twenty-five percent capacity and the bars in town open. Our City Council has retained the ban on large house parties in student-centric neighborhoods, with my approval, but  there is still lots that could go wrong. Joe said, and I agree, that even if we don't contract  this virus, we may not survive the pandemic.

I finished my project to find a new city, with sixty-eight possibilities. I now fully realize that it's completely a fantasy. I don't see Joe and I going anywhere, even as many of our friends in Morgantown go south for the winter. I don't see us splitting up, although renting an apartment for myself for a month in the winter in Los Angeles or Fort Lauderdale is tempting. At least this year, I'm still on City Council, so I guess not. 

Effective Wednesday, I will no longer be seventy, but past seventy. As Werner Erhard said "THIS is  how your life  worked out." 

The New (Jewish) Year

 Last night before we fell asleep, Joe asked me what was good about 5780, the year on the  Jewish  calendar that ends tonight. I said "Our trip to New York in December." New York feels like home to me, even if I  never lived  there. We saw my relatives and Joe's, and friends Joe knows from high school and college. We got around  on busses and subways, and walked quite a bit. Although it was  December, the temperature never went below 40 F. We left December 30, just  before the madness of New Year's Eve, as our motel was filling up with  people from all over the world. In January, back home, I had many of the symptoms of COVID-19: sore throat, headaches, coughing, fever, and a sinus infection. It  was before anyone thought of COVID-19; no precautions were taken by the doctors who saw me. I had an antigen test in the spring. It said that's not what I had, but I hear the tests are not accurate, and that the antigens don't stay with you anyway. Just today, I got the results back from a new COVID-19 test, and I'm still negative. 

I'm less worried about what I'm missing than I might be. I used to go away every month for a few days to explore a new town, and I like going to the movies and the mall. I need new shoes for running, but I haven't been to the store. I'm not sick or broke, I have health insurance and a partner with whom I get along, even though  we're both  home all the time. That doesn't mean I don't dread going to the grocery store, or that I don't rage at fans of the current President who refuse to mask or even acknowledge  that we  have a big problem. 

I understand people who want to drop everything and run away, I've  been looking at other places to live  in one of my long, complicated studies. I'm teaching about pop music  in 1969 at OLLI this fall, and that may be my last class, at least for awhile. I can run again for Morgantown City Council in January, but maybe not. My mother's parents at seventy got rid of almost everything they owned, sold their townhouse in New  York City (like ours in Morgantown, but a little  larger) and moved into a one bedroom apartment in South Florida. It's tempting to do that somewhere. I already  lived in Miami, so maybe not Florida, but somewhere. It would be  a lot easier to stay here and let someone else figure out what to do with my stuff when I'm gone. 

It's 2 P.M. and I'm super tired and just rambling incoherently. A friend made us a round challah bread for the holiday and we have apples and honey, signifying a sweet new year. I guess we'll watch ourselves on YouTube tonight and tomorrow and then go down to the Monongahela River and toss  our sins into the water in the afternoon. It could be worse.

Labor Day Weekend

 In my last post, I talked about visiting my sister at the end of August, and going to the cemetery in Owings Mills, northwest of Baltimore, to visit my parents' grave.  We did that  and a few other  things, like having  lunch at Lenny's, which I guess is where people go for Jewish-style deli food, now that  Suburban House in Pikesville is  gone. I last visited my sister in December, before our trip to New York. Someone at  temple died  when  I was there, and I came back to  Morgantown  for the funeral, instead of going  on to Harrisburg, Dauphin  County, Pennsylvania, which was my ninetieth county to visit. 

Summer  has dragged and until today has been too hot. I don't see anyone other than Joe, and  I don't feel close to people here in Morgantown. City Council has been trying, with a string of executives leaving, the pandemic, what to do about the bars in town, about WVU students gathering in parties, sure that they won't get sick, and the homeless encampment. Nothing has been easy, and I've snapped at people (usually in writing) rather than being  diplomatic. 

Today was the Gay Pride picnic, online. I was able to see part of it, but not participate without setting up  a new identity and password. It said I could use Facebook, but that didn't work. I know that my friend Ash and others tried to make a go of this, and I'm grateful for that, but it didn't seem to work for me. Tomorrow, we're recording the service for Yom Kippur day. We've completed Rosh Hashana and the Yom Kippur evening service. It was like being on a movie set: mostly boring, getting things set up, a few retakes (not many) and a lot of time. I'm not good spending a lot of time on things. Joe has written a prayer book on his own, and done most of the singing. I love his hard work and dedication.

Nobody knows what will  happen this fall and winter. It's possible that  the current President will win the Electoral College again, by hook or crook. I'm one of those who thinks that would be the end of  our  country, at least  as a democracy with any claim to morality. And I read today that some are predicting that the number of deaths through the winter will be twice as many as have died so far from the pandemic. 

I have it good, and I'm depressed. Times must be much worse for everyone else. Part of me wants to run away from home, but there's no place to go. Another part of me thinks we all need (men of that persuasion) a giant jerk off party, online, of course, to lift our spirits. At seventy, I wouldn't be invited, anyway, and I'm married to clergy and an elected official. The second quarter of my life would like  that.

Chanie Cohen Kirschner, the sister of my friend Benyamin Cohen, puts up a description of the Torah reading for the week. This week's is blessings and curses in Deuteronomy 26-29. When I tutored bar mitzvah kids, the twelve year olds wanted to read the curses, but Mrs. Kirschener suggests we all look for blessings, like noticing the parts of our bodies that work every morning, getting out in nature, and being grateful for our families. If I were  a better person, I would stop complaining and be grateful for what I have, but  that's unlikely to happen.