Floyd County, Kentucky and Gallia County, Ohio

 July is heavily booked, with a wedding, a bar mitzvah and a trip to California, and I wanted to get to another two-county trip, so I did my July trip  in June, from the 28th - 30th. I left after lunch on the 28th, because I was having my eyes checked in the morning. For insurance purposes, I needed to go in June, and my regular guy wasn't available until mid-August, so instead of the homey, single practitioner guy in downtown Morgantown, I went to the multi-doctor, factory-like place just outside city limits, not far from home. 

It's 271 miles from Morgantown To Prestonsburg, Kentucky, mostly freeway, ending on US 52, a four-lane unbusy highway. I looked around a little bit in town, then checked into the motel, from The Usual Chain, just outside Prestonsburg. I asked the clerk, a young man with those horrible rings in his ears that make your  lobes bigger and tattoos, where to eat, not McDonald's, but not fancy. He laughed and said "There isn't anything fancy here", and suggested a place I had seen downtown. Just east of the motel, before the US 52 bypass, I found a little shopping center. There was a sign for a Chinese buffet, my favorite kind of place to eat on the road. The buffet was open, the first I've seen since the pandemic. I ate my fill. The center also had an independent bookstore, closed by that time.  Prestonsburg is in the heart of Eastern Kentucky's Appalachian area, and I had no expectation there would be anything there, so I was already impressed. Back at the room, I plotted the next day's exploration of Floyd County, a 114 mile, two hour drive to Gallia County, Ohio, along the Ohio River, and an exploration there. My plan was ambitious. 

I started with Middle Creek Battle Field, a National Historic Landmark west of the motel outside of Prestonsburg. There was a battle in 1862 between Confederate forces and Union troops under James A. Garfield, who pushed the Confederates back to Virginia. His competence as a commander led to Garfield's presidential campaign in later years.

Archer Park is on the edge of town, with a paved trail leading to the historic bridge, a symbol of the town, from West Flemingsburg, where the trail ends, over Levisa Fork of Big Sandy River into downtown Flemingsburg. I walked it. The bridge is fenced off (although someone broke the fencing) and out of use. It was starting to warm up.

I had a list of historic places in Prestonsburg. I couldn't find most of them. I think the owners didn't want them to be found and changed the addresses on Wikipedia. I can't prove that. I asked in the (modern, nice) library where the clerk had no idea, but suggested that the print shop next door had old pictures on the wall. The clerk there also knew nothing, but I learned from the pictures of a terrible flood in the 1930s, and a school bus that plunged into an icy river in 1958, killing the driver and twenty-six children. I headed out of town to a dam and reservoir built by the Army Corps of Engineers. I came back into town to try to find a few more places and a branch community college. At 11:30, I stopped at a Taco Bell, because I needed to pee. The restroom was locked, but the kind young man at the cash register unlocked it for me. I looked in the mirror and decided to get lunch right there. I was a sweaty, exhausted mess. It was 92 F. outside and I had been walking around under the southern sun for a few hours. I never eat at Taco Bell, but I got a chicken "power" bowl. It didn't look that big, but it was plenty, with chicken, rice, black beans, dollops of guacamole and sour cream, lettuce and tomato. I washed it down with mango lemonade from the fountain. 

Thus fortified, I found the community college, the modern court house (too bad about the Victorian one I saw a picture of in the print office), and the 1817 Samuel Mays House. Mays' wife was born in Morgantown. He was a prominent guy who went to California during the Gold Rush and died there.

Marker at Middle Creek Battlefield

Statue of Lincoln at Middle Creek

West Prestonsburg Bridge

The trail between Archer Park and West Prestonsburg

Archer Park

First United Methodist Church, 1917

Front Street Historic District, Prestonsburg

Former Harkins Law Office, 1914

B.F. Combs House,, 1922

Marker in memory of Confederate soldiers from Kentucky, downtown Prestonsburg

Former Post office, now a salon, 1931

Floyd County Court House, 1965

Downtown Prestonsburg theater, not open

Old house, downtown Prestonsburg

May-Fitzpatrick House, 1905

Dewey Lake, north of Prestonsburg

Big Sandy Community and Technical College

Samuel May House, now a museum, 1817

It was 1:30 when I left Prestonsburg, drove back up U.S. 52 to I-64 to Huntington, West Virginia, then crossed into Ohio and drove up OH-7, which follows the river. It's a beautiful drive, except for the detour in southern Gallia County that took me well out-of-the way on back roads through the hilly countryside. I drove through Gallipolis, a pretty old town, one of the oldest in Ohio. The motel is north of town, past a seemingly endless row of fast-food places. The temperature was up to 97 F. when I got to the motel around four. I had a "suite" and the clerk warned me that the couch wasn't real good. I napped for about an hour, then showered and changed At the desk, they told me that I could eat at the motel restaurant, but I decided to head back into town. The temperature had gone down to 92.  I saw a sports bar- restaurant, but on looking around the corner, I found "Zack and Scotty's," which I thought sounded gayish. The decor was all military stuff with plaques from all of the wars. I ordered a pizza sub on homemade bread. It was just cheese and tomato sauce on a slightly sweet, crunchy roll with a salad on the side. I ate three-quarters of it before giving up. The workers there were friendly and kind, a high school girl, and a woman who looked at me taking pills with my meal, and said " I do that too." 

I walked out to the square, open on one side to the Ohio River, walked around the historic part of town, snapping pictures. It was still hot, but the sun was less intense. Although the town is up on a bluff, there was a stele with a flood level marked about ten feet above ground level. They also had a plaque about Welsh settlers who came to Baltimore, then went overland to Pittsburgh and by boat to Gallipolis. Another plaque talked about a ship from Pittsburgh where the crew was infected with yellow fever, which spread through the town. Every place has its tragedies. 

On the way back to the motel, I stopped at a Dairy Queen, drive-through only, and got a "Blizzard" with M&Ms and ate that back in the room. It's the most sugar I've had in month. 

At breakfast, they served you in the motel, a choice of three items. I had pancakes, yoghurt and a fruit cup. I left early, had an uneventful trip back up Route 7 to US 50 through Parkersburg and Clarksburg to I-79. I noted two coal-fired power plants north of Gallipolis in Gallia County. I was home for lunch Wednesday. It was quite a lot for two and a half days. I wouldn't have minded spending an extra day in Gallia County.

I wanted to get home because my sister was planning to visit on Thursday for the July 4 holiday. There were storms predicted all day and an accident on the Capital Beltway that would have delayed her several hours, so she didn't come. We'll see her again soon, I hope.

Second Avenue (OH-7) from City Park, Gallipolis

House facing City Park, Gallipolis Historic District

Our House Tavern, 1819, First Street, Gallipolis

Looking across the Ohio River to West Virginia from City Park

2nd St., with two theaters, one restored. Is the mid-century modern building old enough to be in 

the historic district?

Gallia County Court House

Fleming and Elliott Counties, Kentucky

 Sadder but wiser after last month, I set out for Kentucky, Tuesday June eighth and came back on  Thursday the tenth. I left Tuesday after lunch, because I had to wait for the plumber to fix a clogged toilet and Joe had a funeral in the afternoon. It's 291 miles from Morgantown to Flemingsburg, almost my limit of 300 miles. I drove to the motel from the usual chain, in Morehead, a bigger town with a university, and a little closer to home.  It's not a bad drive, all interstate, and I arrived about five, checked in and napped. The motel is one exit past the center of Morehead, and  there isn't much at the exit. I drove back into town for dinner, and found a steak and beer place that was open to diners. Many places were not. I'm one of those "fully vaccinated" people who has permission from the Centers For Disease Control not to wear a mask. No one in this restaurant wore one. I ordered chicken teriyaki, probably wrong for the place, but I rarely eat beef and chicken and rice is my go-to. The "teriyaki sauce" was more like maple syrup. I came back to the room, plotted my route for Wednesday, and went to sleep by ten. It was light until after nine. All of Kentucky should technically be on Central time, but the eastern part of the state is on Eastern. 

It's 51 miles along Route 32 between Flemingsburg, the county seat of Fleming County and Sandy Hook, the county seat of Elliott County. Fleming was this month's scheduled county; Elliott should have been last July, but one couldn't get out. Morehead is between them on Route 32.

I headed out after breakfast to Fleming County, known for its three covered bridges. There are only just over 14,000 people in the county; about 2600 in Flemingsburg. I located all of the bridges, in rolling countryside, with a few mountains, and lots of cows. I visited Elizaville, a rural crossroads that looks almost totally abandoned. The town of Flemingsburg looks like it could be further east. It's old and pretty. There isn't much going on. The court house is from the 1950s, but in a "colonial" style. It rained most of the day. I looked around the town and found some historic sites. There was almost nothing open in town. I got back in the car and looked for historic places in the county to the north and west of town. It took me some time, what with missed turns, vague directions and a likely desire of people who live in historic homes from the 1790s to make sure people don't find their house. It took more time than I had allotted. I think I found some of the houses on roads where one could not pull off to take a picture, or down a long driveway. Route 32 bypasses Flemingsburg, and there are some fast food places along the bypass. I thought I would stop at McDonald's, but it was drive-thru only, and I needed a bathroom, so I ended up at the convenience store/ Subway across the street. I had stopped at a Subway on my last trip, but I couldn't bring myself to order anything. I used to eat there all the time, but it looked unappetizing. This time I was okay with it, and I got a chicken sandwich with mustard and tomatoes. Usually I get spinach with it, but I didn't see any. There was no iced tea, so I tried Diet Coke, but that was running clear, so I ended up with Coke Zero, which I think is not as good. I told the clerk after lunch, and he offered me a bottle of Diet Coke. I declined it, although I appreciated the gesture. Having to drink Coke Zero instead of Diet Coke is very low on the scale of human suffering.

It was already close to two P.M., and I had only that day to explore. I was exhausted from being out so long and walking around in the rain. I went back to the motel and slept from 3-4.

Elliott County has about 7,800 people, so about half as many as Fleming County; Sandy Hook, the county seat, has fewer than 700 people. I headed back out on I-64 to KY 32, then south following Google's directions to Sandy Hook. I thought the directions were wrong because I was on a one-lane, twisty road with 10 mph curves and stone cliffs over the road. It was enchanting and different from the terrain in Fleming County, just mountains, and rock outcroppings, no rolling hills or cows. Just as I thought this was another wrong turn, I saw a stop sign and I was in the middle of Sandy Hook, Kentucky. I parked on the main street, and walked two blocks in either direction. That's about all there is to the town. The sidewalks have steps because the street is so steep. It's a pretty town, nothing particularly historic about it, but there's a park and a school and some social service agencies. Wikipedia says it was once the most Democratic county in Kentucky, but in the 2020 election, it went 75% for the incumbent. I didn't see anyone to ask "why?" I thought I would get dinner at a pizza place, but a sign on the door said "Carry-out only" and it appeared to be closed. There was also a McDonald's, but I didn't want to eat there. I snapped a few pictures and headed back to Morehead.

For the third time that day, I missed a turn and ended up in Grayson, Carter County, which I visited in 2017. I was way east of where I intended to be. I did see a park with a lake, the same one I saw from the other side when I visited Carter County. 

I found a fast-food Italian restaurant in Morehead, and stopped there. Cars were lined up at the drive-through, but it was open for indoor eating. I had a salad and a gigantic bowl of spaghetti with marinara sauce. There were tables outside, it had stopped raining and the chairs were dry, so I ate outside. It turned out to be a pretty night. I stopped at the convenience store/ gas station next to the motel on the way back, and got an ice cream sandwich made with two chocolate chip cookies, probably as many calories as the bowl of pasta, but you know, I was on vacation.

I left fairly early Thursday, and although I thought about an alternate route home, there wasn't anything that wouldn't add at least two hours to my trip. I had lunch at the Chinese buffet at Flatwoods, near the middle of West Virginia, only there was no buffet, and I was home by three.

Ringo's Mill covered bridge, South of Flemingsburg

Hillsboro-Grange City Covered Bridge, south of Flemingsburg

Goddard Covered Bridge, restored and in use, Goddard

Elizaville Presbyterian Church, 1861, doesn't appear to be in use

Fleming County Courthouse, 1950s

Flemingsburg Historic District The building on the right 
was a dry goods store owned by a Mr. Fried, an immigrant from Lithuania 
in the late 1800s. The store closed in  the 1970s.

Thomas W. Fleming House, about  1819

First Presbyterian Church,  Flemingsburg, 1819

Park in Sandy Hook

Elliott County Library. I thought I would go in, but it closed at 4:30 and I was 10 minutes late.

Main Street, Sandy Hook

Mural, Sandy Hook

Grayson Lake on the Elliott County side

Fayette County, West Virginia and Floyd County, Virginia

 I've been visiting one county per month since we moved to Morgantown in July, 2012, with an interruption from March 2020 until now. I was behind even then, so I need to hit twenty-eight counties in the next fourteen months. I know this sounds obsessive, but bear with me. I figured if I did the county that was due this month (I have a list through June 2022) and the county closest to it, I could be everywhere by next June. 

I left Wednesday, the 26th and came back Friday, spending Wednesday night in Fayetteville, West Virginia and Thursday night in Floyd, Virginia. I took masks with me, but generally didn't wear them. 

It's 147 miles south from Morgantown to Fayetteville, and another 138 miles southeast to Floyd, Virginia.

I'm imagining the Universe was sending me a message, as usual, mixed. I enjoyed being off on my own, exploring new places,. Neither town is that big a deal, but there is plentiful gorgeous scenery nearby. New River Gorge in Fayette County is now a National Park, and Blue Ridge Parkway runs through Floyd County. So maybe the Universe said "Get back on the road." 

But coming back, I was not feeling so hot digestively, and I missed the turnoff north of Beckley to U.S. 19, leaving me on the West Virginia Turnpike ($12 in tolls) through Charleston, adding a half-hour to my trip and  about thirty miles. Not a big deal, except for the accident south of Charleston that blocked traffic for an hour and a half. My plan was to get home by four, nap for an hour, cook dinner and go with Joe to services at 7:30. Instead, I got home at six, exhausted and bedraggled, having only eaten a cereal bar at 4 P.M. for lunch, with bottled iced tea, which I hoped would remove my headache. It helped. Joe suggested I should have used the machine we have that tells you where to turn. There was construction on the Turnpike, and while the exits were open, the signs telling you where the exit led were down. Also it poured down rain all the way through West Virginia. 

I felt good Saturday, but Sunday, I had a low fever and no energy. Mister Worst-Case Scenario, as Joe calls me, imagines I caught COVID, despite my fully vaccinated status, because the unmasked people in these rural counties, including children, could have passed me a variant. Or perhaps, hiking in the woods along Blue Ridge Parkway in shorts and a polo shirt, a tick bit me and now I'll have Lyme disease. The Universe says "watch out." 

I met some fun people in Fayetteville, "The Coolest Little Town" and I ate at Tudor's Biscuit World, a staple of West Virginia chain restaurants, for the first time. Late afternoon Wednesday, I visited New River Gorge National Park, newly designated. I walked the 128 steps to the place where you can see the bridge best. Three young people joined me, a talkative girl, who said she was a WVU student here in Morgantown, and two taciturn men with her, both smoking cigarettes, despite "No Smoking" signs posted all over the park. 

Oak Hill is the larger town in Fayette County, so I cruised through there in the evening, while it was still light. Parts of it are pretty suburban/country, but the main part of town looks like it has seen better days. I found the "mall" on U.S. 19, a long strip of stores, half of them closed, including the Shoney's, where I thought I might get dinner. I went into a Kroger store and bought a small yogurt, a single serving of Cheerios and an orange, and had those for dinner back in the room. 

I had breakfast in the motel Thursday, and took off for Floyd, Virginia, over the mountains, about forty miles south of Roanoke. I arrived close to noon and ate a chicken sandwich, my first chicken since Passover, in a pharmacy/lunchroom on the main drag, U.S. 221. I walked around a bit, checking out the obligatory monument to Confederate soldiers in front of the court house. The cross street, State Road 8, hosts some tourist shops, including a record and CD shop, much to my surprise. The owner stocks country, bluegrass and hillbilly music, much of it from that area and going back to historic recordings of the 1920s.  I was determined to find something, and bought a Bela Fleck album, where he worked with African musicians, and an acoustic Jerry Garcia album. I stopped in the tourist place, where the woman working there piled me up with brochures. I picked out a hiking spot she suggested on the Blue Ridge Parkway. There were one, three and ten mile marked hikes from there. I started on the three-mile hike, but soon realized one mile might be enough. It was. I was exhausted, and crawled back to Hotel Floyd, where there was a 4:00 check-in time. It was just after four. I napped for at least an hour.

It seemed most of the town was closed down until the weekend, when there were music venues opening up and a tourist scene, some of it, I gathered, for the first time since the pandemic began. There is a walkway from the back of the hotel to the main part of Route 8. A small farmers' market was going on, and I bought a cinnamon roll and took it back to the room for later. Starting out again, I saw a little shopping center with a storefront Democratic Party office. Floyd County votes nearly two-thirds Republican, so I wanted to see what a Democratic Party person would have to say.  I encountered 87 year old Jane Griffith, reading a thousand page biography of Robert Moses by Robert Caro from 1974. We talked for nearly an hour. She spent most of her adult life in Port Townsend, Washington. Joe has a cousin who lives there, but we have not been. Her husband was an Episcopal priest. When he died, her son, who runs a gallery in Floyd, asked her to move there. She had high hopes for Tara Orlando, who is running for Delegate in the Democratic primary. 

I left her at seven for Dogtown, a bar/ restaurant serving mostly pizza and beer. It was mobbed, but I waited patiently at the counter, and ordered a salad, a pizza and a Diet Coke. I sat outside in the beautiful evening weather, not too hot nor too humid. There were groups of young hipsters out, drinking beer, all of them smoking. There were some children out, too, with parents and dogs. The balcony where I sat overlooks a city park. The salad had grapes and goat cheese. It was enough for dinner, but I ate half the pizza and took the rest to my room where there was a refrigerator. In the room I ate the delicious, but disgustingly fat and sugary cinnamon bun from earlier. I got to sleep about 10:30.

I had fun. I loved being in a different place from home, different scenery, different people. I don't mind driving, and I had CDs I brought with me and the two new ones. Even the trip back, for all the grief I had, was a route I had not taken before. I guess the message from the Universe is to continue traveling, just remember your age, eat better, and take it easy.

Here are the pics:

Fayetteville Historic District

Fayette County Courthouse

Altamont Hotel, 1898, looks abandoned

E.B. Hawkins House, 1908

New River Gorge Bridge, n. of Fayetteville

New River Gorge, now in a National Park

Selfie at New River Gorge

The steps to the viewing platform for the bridge. The sign at the top says "You have a choice to go down , but no choice to walk up."

Former Esso station, now a restaurant

Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Building 

 

 

 

Former Oak Hill High School, now a community center

Floyd County Courthouse, with the obligatory Confederate monument

Inscription on the Confederate monument

Floyd Presbyterian Church, 1850

Downtown Floyd Historic District

View from Blue Ridge Parkway in Floyd County

Unusual growth from a tree 

Blooming tree near Blue Ridge Parkway

The Pandemic Is Over ! (Maybe)/ "The Great Hits And Albums of 1970"

 We visited my sister Robin in Maryland for Passover, leaving here March 26, stopping in Kingwood, where my under-65 husband was able to get vaccinated against COVID-19 before he was eligible in our county. Kingwood is the seat of the county just to the east of us, on the border of Maryland, not far mileage-wise, but accessible only on narrow two-lane roads. We stopped for lunch near Hagerstown, more than halfway to my sister's place in Greenbelt, Prince George's County, expecting to eat at the noodle place in the parking lot of the mall. It was closed, so we ate Japanese food at a stand in the mall. I skipped my usual chicken. I've been off meat for most of the pandemic, because of news reports about executives at a chicken company taking bets on how many of their workers would get sick. I don't eat beef more than two or three times a year and have been off pork for several decades.

In Greenbelt, people were much more fastidious about masking and distancing than anywhere in West Virginia. The rule in the town is that you have to wear a mask anywhere out of your own house. Most people complied.

Joe ran Tree of Life's community seder from Robin's dining room, online . It went well, and people from all over were able to watch.  I ate chicken and some beef  at Robin's. Passover is a feast, and one should eat what one can, within the holiday guidelines.

We came back after a few days, and two weeks from the day we left Morgantown, we visited Morgantown Mall, in the city of Westover, south on U.S. 19 and across the Monongahela River. Joe headed for the last traditional department store (there were once four) to buy some clothes. I had  a list of CDs to  buy at the media store, but it was gone. I did buy new athletic shoes. We headed out to University Town Center, just north on I-79, in Granville, and stopped at a TV and media store where we had bought our computers. The young clerk scoffed when I said I needed a new portable cassette player and asked about buying CDs. The  "We millennials buy vinyl. We've found that vinyl sounds better," he said to the man who has been buying vinyl since 1955, probably before his grandfather was born. I knew that long ago, but it's hard to take vinyl in the car, and I  don't subscribe to streaming services. Our last stop was Target, where I found a cheap tape player, and a CD version of "McCartney III," the latest from Paul McCartney (I have a vinyl copy of the original "McCartney" from 1970, and "McCartney II," from 1980. I know this is a lot of blather, but it was our first "outing" in over a year.

We were invited to an outdoor lunch with a neighborhood gay couple and another friend of theirs, a widowed man who lives down the street from us. The weather was warm and we sat outside, maskless. That was in April.

Just this week, the weather turned warm, after a much cooler than expected early May, and the CDC announced that people who were "fully vaccinated" could be indoors or outdoors without masks. Many people were surprised and unsure that we could really do this. Cases are up in parts of the United States, roaring out of control in India, and in West Virginia, vaccinations have slowed due to reluctance on the part of many citizens. Our county's statistics are good, but variants have shown up among college students, who could only get vaccinated in the last few weeks. They are just starting to vaccinate people in the 12-16 age range.

Joe and I were doing Shabbat services from home for a year. I sang the candle blessing at the beginning and the wine blessing at the end, and a song if there was a new Jewish month coming up. A few weeks ago, the synagogue leaders decided we could do the service alone, without a congregation, at the synagogue building. A family asked to have a bar mitzvah at the temple, and asked me to be a guest. Most people were not masked, and at the reception at a hotel, where the rule was to wear masks unless eating, the rule was not followed, except by the staff and a few of us guest. I was a little put off, although I genuinely like this family, and I guess no one was hurt after all.

Friday, May 21, we opened the synagogue for services. It was still broadcast over the internet. Thirteen of us came. Others have said they were not ready. There were no refreshments after. The idea was to not have people stand around chit-chatting, but they did anyway, and, as the night was warm, people hung out later on the steps. I enjoyed seeing people face-to-face, even masked. Everyone was glad to get out. Friday afternoon, I had confronted a maskless shopper at our local supermarket, but the manager came over to our argument to tell me that the market's national office had told them that starting that day, they would not tell people to wear masks. I was upset that the supermarket chain did not care that the City of Morgantown, where I am on Council, had not rescinded its ordinance mandating masks. At home, I emailed the Mayor, Council and Manager to ask if there was a change. Apparently, I didn't get the memo (there was no memo) that the rules we set up expired Friday night. So I was right technically that people should have been masked Friday afternoon. I didn't need to get into an argument with someone over it, and today, Monday, I wrote to the manager and apologized for my behavior.

We were invited to dinner at the home of congregants Saturday and Sunday; unmasked and inside, three couples Saturday  evening, and four couples on a screened porch Sunday late afternoon. We also attended a memorial to people who had died of COVID-19 at a church near our house. We were all happy to see each other in person, almost shocked and gleeful.

So things seem to be  open, and masks are optional for those of us who are more than two weeks from our second shot. It's liberating and joyous, and a little scary. Are we really immune? What about variants? Will this immunity last? And I feel some guilt about American "privilege" when I see what's happening in India and other  places in the world. 

I just finished teaching an online class for Osher Life-Long Learning called "The Great Hits And Albums of 1970."  I put up at least twenty videos on YouTube each week to play in class. They are still there, if you want to look under my name. At first, I just went chronologically through a list of charted albums, from a book I have. We saw the breakup of The Beatles, with their last albums, and the first solo albums from  each of The Fab Four. I played one cut from each album. We spent time with Creedence  Clearwater Revival, the Jackson Five, Three Dog Night, old-timers like Engelbert Humperdinck and Tom Jones (not so old then) and comedy from David Frye ("I Am The President"). We had second albums from Crosby, Stills, Nash (and Young),  solo albums from Stills and Young and Santana. We saw The Supremes without Diana Ross, and Diana Ross without The Supremes. I played tunes from British groups Traffic, Jethro Tull, King Crimson and The Moody Blues. We heard from Grand Funk Railroad and Quicksilver Messenger Service. I spent a lot of time researching the bands and the music. It was exhausting.

On the other hand, this is exactly the kind of interpretive cultural history that I trained for, but never used in real life. People in the class, who are all over fifty, and mostly over sixty-five were, for the most part, enthralled, with memories of their young days and some new things to learn. It was perfect.

Sometime around week three, an article appeared in one of the Sunday magazines about the girl in the picture from Kent State, May 4, 1970, with her arms raised and apparently screaming, as she knelt over the body of a student shot dead by the Ohio National Guard. She was a fourteen-year old runaway at the time, and the writer caught up with her, retired in Florida. The horror of that time returned to my consciousness. I was a junior at Johns Hopkins that year, and we shut down  the campus weeks early after that event. President Nixon and many of  his followers felt it was a good thing that college students were murdered. At twenty, I couldn't yet vote, but I'm proud to say I've never voted for a Republican for any public office. I sold ice cream from a Good Humor truck in the summer of 1970, and spent most of  my senior year depressed, trying to figure out what my adult life would be. I had no idea. Those times came back to me this spring.

I was saddened to see what happened to so many of the stars I highlighted: eleven year old Michael Jackson, so brimming with potential, innocent twenty-year old Karen Carpenter, still living at home with her brother and parents when their hit "Close To You" came out. Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix, both gone in 1971, John Lennon murdered in 1980, Duane Allman and Berry Oakley of The Allman Brothers killed in motorcycle accidents, John Ham and Tom Evans of Badfinger who both committed suicide. 

For the last class, May 21, I had fallen far enough behind to have forty-one albums I could have highlighted. Some albums I picked were Led Zeppelin III, Derek and the Dominoes, Jesus Christ Superstar, Idewild South by The Allman Brothers and Judy Collins' Whales and Nightingales, where she sang "Amazing Grace." She said she was hoping that would stop the war in Vietnam. For the last four albums, I picked albums that didn't chart that I like. I had The Beach Boys sing "This Whole World" from Sunflower, The Five Stairsteps sing "O-o-h Child," about things would get easier, Laura Nyro's cover of the 1962 King-Goffin hit for The Drifters, "Up On The Roof" and I ended with the ten-minute Latin jazz piece "Just For You" by Sweetwater, a relatively forgotten group from Los Angeles. Sweetwater sang "See the change in the world, just for you." The world didn't really change for me in 1970, and generally I'm not sure things are much better than they were then. As usual, I can't complain about my own life, despite missteps and hardships along the way. Other than being old, which I should have anticipated, but didn't, I am relatively healthy, financially more solvent than ever and blessed with a mate who got me through these last frightening months. 

This Is Us

 The S.A.G. Awards have been delayed this year because of the pandemic. I've been a member of the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (AFTRA) since 1986, and joined the Screen Actors Guild a year later when I had one line on General Hospital, which made me eligible. Now the unions are merged. Every year, the studios send out DVDS or allow one to stream their movies and television shows, with the hope that they will get votes in the awards program. It's a lot less glitzy and less exclusive than the Academy Awards, but it is actors voting for other actors. 

In Los Angeles, I often saw many of the nominated movies before the awards season. I haven't been in a movie theater since 2019. Joe and I don't watch television. I spend my time now with books, connecting with people online, and with my work on Morgantown's City Council. 

I've watched a few television shows online, and one movie, Minari, about a Korean family living on a farm in Arkansas. I saw an episode of the show about John Brown and about the girl who plays chess. They were good. But the one that's caught me up is This Is Us, one of the few shows from a traditional network (NBC). The shows they sent to stream are from the fourth and fifth season. I've watched some of it in past years, and I've always liked it. The first year it was nominated it took me some time to figure out the premise. It's a family, and the children in one episode are the adults in another episode. The glue is the father, played by the gorgeous (IMHO) Milo Ventimiglia, who is dead. We see him as a young lover, a husband and a Dad to the three children,  a son and daughter, and the Black child born the same day as the son, and raised along with him. 

What's hooked me on this show is the way the past lives on for the adult children, and for the mother. They remember everything, and we see everything, and how it plays out for them. The acting is terrific, and I find the foibles and hang-ups of the three grown children moving.

I'm writing this at 5 A.M. Monday. I've been awake since three. No reason particularly, it's just that after the third time one gets up to go to the bathroom, it can be hard to get back to sleep. When I'm up late, I think about my seventy-one years of life, and the things that have happened. I go over events from ages ago, and sometimes wonder how I got to where I am now. Often I think about friends and family who have died. March is hard for me anyway. My father died March 17, 1991, and my mother died March 18, 2003. So of course, I think about them, just as the grown children on This Is Us remember their father. 

In an episode in Season Four, the mother is diagnosed with a major health issue. She has remarried, and her husband is there for her. My Mom had a boyfriend when she became ill, who stayed with her through her illness, and helped me and my sister through our mourning period. He died a few years ago. 

It's been hard this last year for everyone. Friends have been quarantined because someone in their kid's school tested positive for the coronavirus. Others have juggled full-time jobs and children home from school; an older friend lost his wife, who was in a nursing home. He wasn't allowed to see her for months before she died. Jobs disappeared and people couldn't pay rent or utilities or buy food. I've been home with Joe for a year. We have not lost income, been sick, or had people close to us die. Still, we're dealing with the sadness of not being able to travel, to eat inside a restaurant (we do carry-out) or see people in person. Our closest friends, still, are in California. 

Like the characters in This Is Us, I still live in my childhood, my adolescence and my earlier adulthood, with the great things that happened, the mistakes and missteps, the grief over the loss of friends in the AIDS pandemic in the 1980s and 90s, the relationships I've screwed up and the people I've hurt and those who've hurt me. Facebook has brought back friends from years ago, and at my fiftieth high school reunion, now almost four years ago, everyone was so kind and loving. I'm still comforted by that. 

I don't want to get all maudlin, like some of the stories on This Is Us, but like those characters, I, and maybe all of us, need to acknowledge and deal with our demons, be better to one another and appreciate the love we have in our life.

The Election So Far Part 2

 We all know what happened last week. I still find it unbelievable that people are so delusional about who Donald Trump really is. I've seen videos of people, who after overrunning the Capitol, are told they won't be able to get on a plane to go home. Then they lose their job. "They called me a terrorist, and they're ruining my life," one said. Well, yeah. You are a terrorist, and you messed up your own life. It's clear now that people thought they could do whatever they wanted because they are White. I'll just put that out there. I don't see any other explanation. 

I'm listening to NPR news, and they said Vice President Pence won't invoke the twenty-fifth amendment. That's not a surprise. He and other Republicans want Trump to go away next week, but with a minimum of drama. That's not how it works. If Congress can get rid of him before January 20, I'm fine with that. 

I've never been a fan of the Republican Party, not since Spiro Agnew in 1968 dissed college students at a rally I attended when I was a college student. There are people who have been kind to me and to Joe who are Republicans, and I haven't "unfriended" them because we have a history, but I will keep a distance from them unless they beg me for forgiveness and agree to change. In Judaism, it's called t'shuva, or repentance. 

In West Virginia, two of the three congresspeople (not mine, amazingly) voted not to certify all the election results. They need to go. And our Governor, a "great friend" of the President, pooh-poohs the whole thing, and isn't worried about reports that people are going to attack all fifty state capitals. Our Attorney General, Patrick Morrisey, signed on to Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton's failed lawsuit to overturn the election. He may also have helped pay for robocalls to Republicans to come to Washington. Today, the state NAACP called for Morrisey's impeachment, because he questioned the election only in cities with large Black communities, notably Philadelphia, Atlanta and Milwaukee. I'm all for it. 

And then, when the terrorists attacked Congress, everyone was herded into a safe room, several hundred people in a small space. Many of the Republicans were not wearing masks, and refused to put on masks when asked. Now, several Democratic lawmakers have become ill with covid-19. Those Republicans should go to jail. 

Maybe I just don't get it. Maybe because I never watched his television show, or because I think macho swagger is phony and unimpressive, I don't understand how anyone can follow this grifter as if he were some kind of god. In Judaism, this is called idolatry, and it's a big sin. 

It doesn't help when big corporations say they won't give money to Republican election campaigns. So why were they donating to these campaigns in the first place? Betsy DeVos, the education secretary, has resigned, saying "This is not who we are." Our Republican Senator, Shelley Moore Capito said the same thing. They have both finally spoken out in the last week of the Trump administration. Despite the nice clothes, immaculate hair and good jewelry, this is who they are. They think being polite and well-dressed separates them from the scruffy people at the Capitol, but no, they are not better or different from those people. 

I wish I could be here in fifty years, to see how history treats this. I hope we still have a democracy then, but I have my doubts. My hope now is that the Republican Party implodes, and that lots of people go to jail. 

2020 Oy!

 It wasn't all bad. I actually did lose about eight pounds, and got rid of three big bags of clutter. I could lose another ten pounds if I set my mind to it, and fill another fifty bags with junk to throw out. I started running last year in January, and at first it took me twenty-two minutes to run the course I chose, and today, in good weather, I did it in just over sixteen. Progress. I'm glad my City Council meetings are online, so I don't have to be downtown until 11 P.M. I read ten books from The New York Times "Best 100 Books of 2019," a lot for me, since reading puts me to sleep. I recommend Lost Children Archive by Valeria Luisella and Pulitzer-winner Colson Whitehead's The Nickel Boys. Both of these books are heartbreaking, but this was the year for that. 

In 2019, I visited eleven counties within three hundred miles of here, one a month, except December, and Joe and I spent a week each in San Francisco and Los Angeles in late spring, Thanksgiving in Memphis, and a week in late December in New York City. We were able to stamp our "bicoastal élite" passports. In December 2019, I visited my sister  in Maryland and planned to go on to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, the ninety-sixth county in my series, when Joe called that a congregant had died. I came home instead for the funeral.

After the New York trip, we returned to Morgantown December 30, and  I proceeded to get sick. I had the headache, coughing and fever that could have been Covid-19, only we didn't know about that. I went to WVU Medicine, and they said it was viral, take Tylenol, drink fluids, and rest. I developed a sinus infection, and went back for antibiotics. 

In February, I made it to Harrisburg for an overnight trip. It's a great city, but I ran myself ragged and was way tired. By the beginning of March, I was feeling strong again. We had services at temple Friday,March sixth, our annual Purim party on Saturday, an interfaith dinner at a church downtown on Sunday,  and Purim on the real date at Chabad on Monday. By then we had heard of coronavirus and had Friday's service socially distanced. Not many people showed up. 

We had a crazy long City Council meeting on Tuesday the tenth, and I figured I would go to Delaware County, Ohio on Wednesday and come back Friday before services. At that point there were no Covid-19 cases in Ohio or West Virginia. Wednesday morning, I read that three cases had turned up in Cleveland, and Governor DeWine was closing Ohio State in Columbus. I decided not to go.

December 29, yesterday, there were more than 1300 new cases in West Virginia. December 7, there were more than 9,000 new cases in Ohio. and as of today, 341,000 Americans have died. People are still arguing about masks. Businesses have closed and people are out of work, out of money, and out of food, yet the United States Senate is still arguing about helping people financially. I am sickened by the thought that this country has reached a dead end.

At least the Democrats won the election. They're not a perfect party, but the Republicans have shown themselves to be deaf, dumb and blind to what is going on. Still, the current President, who is spending this week on vacation in Palm Beach, is fighting the election results, not accepting his loss, and today people in Congress said they will challenge the results. The Vice-President is skiing in Vail. 

I remember in the early days of the AIDS crisis, in 1982, when people said it wasn't a big deal. "I don't know anyone who has it" was a common refrain. I worked for Social Security in the Miami area, and I saw handsome young men come in to apply for disability, and often the case would come back before it was adjudicated because the claimant had died. The rules were changed so that we could approve them in the office if they said they had AIDS. Some wouldn't do that, because of the stigma involved.  I took that seriously, and I'm here to tell the story. People are just now taking this virus more seriously. It was in the news today that a Republican Congressman-elect in Louisiana, who had recently called for opening the economy to avoid "disaster" had died of the virus. 

There were also protests about police brutality after the murder of George Floyd by a police officer in Minneapolis in May. The officer knew he was being recorded on cell phones, but thought this was something he could do. It was as much the brazenness, the idea that there would be no consequences, that see people against the police. The President's response was to blame the protesters, and he gassed people who were peacefully protesting, and sent in unidentified troops to round people up without charge. Here in Morgantown, there were protests, but we are not big city with a large minority population, and while there ae some issues with the police, they are relatively benign, and have done things like saving people from overdoses and jumping into the Monongahela River to save people from drowning. The City Council is discussing civilian oversight of the police, which has caused alarm in some quarters, while others fear we won't go far enough.

I'm in my fourth year on City Council. It's a lot like college: daunting the first year, then more comfortable the next two, then, the last year, just wanting it to be over. Everyone on Council put in a lot of work. We hired a new City Manager, dealt with a homeless encampment on city property in as humane a way as we could, dealt with a faltering budget and the fallout from the pandemic. We made rules to protect public safety following state guidelines, but stricter. We were sniped at from all sides through everything. 

My side project was pop music history at Osher Life-Long Learning at WVU. In the four-week winter term, I taught in person to a small group about Laura Nyro's first five albums. In the spring, I taught online about "The Great Hits and Albums of 1968." Summer brought six weeks called "Music from The Brill Building" about Jewish composers in New York who dominated pop music in the early sixties, writing for The Drifters, Gene Pitney, and girl groups like The Shangri-Las and The Crystals. In the fall I taught mostly albums from 1969, including artists who were new at Woodstock, like Crosby, Stills and Nash and Santana. The reviews were mostly good, but some complained that they were unfamiliar with the music, because I had veered away from Top 40. I'll teach 1970 in the spring, then that might be it. I'm ready for a change.

Joe and I visited Doddridge County, West Virginia, a very small county about sixty miles southwest of Morgantown. The county seat is West Union. In April, when we visited,  there had not been any Covid-19 cases there . We had lunch outside, took some pics and drove out to see a covered bridge. Outside of town, many homes had big banners and flags supporting th current President. We found the same thing traveling only sixteen miles north, to the tiny historic town of Greensboro, Pennsylvania. To me those flags might as well have had swastikas on them. In the summer, we visited our friends Scott and Jan, two gay men, who have a farm near Greensboro. We sat out on their porch and had lunch. Other than that day, we haven't seen friends live and in person. 

I did get to Ridgway, Pennsylvania, a few hours north of us, in the second county south of New York. It's a pretty place, and was still "green" on Pennsylvania' s map in June. It's in Elk County, which was my scheduled county for June. In Ridgway, people were masked, and restaurants were open with limited seating. In the smaller towns to the north, there were more signs out for the President. 

We took the risk of visiting my sister in Greenbelt, Maryland, once in the summer, and again  over Thanksgiving, just over two hundred miles away. We packed lunches and tried not to stop too often. My sister Robin has been cautious about going out, as we have, and we felt safe. A few days after we came back, we got tested and were both negative. 

I'd like to be hopeful about the future. The people in power scare me, and I hope that there is a peaceful transition on January 20th. I hope the vaccine is given to everyone and we are able to stop Covid-19. Our county is the only one in West Virginia that only gave the President a plurality of votes, and not a majority. People worked hard for state-level Democrats, all much better people than the Republicans, but none of them got the votes they needed to win. I truly despair for West Virginia. 

So far, we are well, and we have money, not a lot, but more than we've had in the past. We've been getting carry-out on Saturday nights from our favorite restaurants, and we've taken walks in the local parks and along the riverfront. We are not in danger of losing our house, or our healthcare. Joe's job is secure, at least for another three years. We are blessed in many ways, and I think our job this year is to be more charitable, to live more harmoniously in nature, and to be less materialistic. It's something to strive for.

I wish all of you reading this (averaging about 25) a healthful, prosperous, conscious 2021.