That Bird

Ya gotta love the Flamingos of the Pines.  They're always up for a theme and usually it's for a community cause.  This year, all but one is wearing a mask.  A sign (you can't see it in this photo) advises "Don't Be That Bird!"

Of course I didn't know this when I boarded the ferry for our first, slightly nervous visit since the pandemic. Mostly, I wanted to document the oddity of people on the upper deck wearing masks to cross the Great South Bay.  I asked Varick to take this selfie because he and Thom were sitting in the first row.  Note the man in the red mask coming up the stairs, just to the left of my peace sign.

He took the seat next to me even though the boat was mostly empty.  Thom had waited in line for a couple of hours to make sure we could sit in the first few rows.  I didn't notice he had removed his mask until he began coughing.  The other photo bombers complied with ferry policy.

Yep, Robert Feldman is THAT bird.

"I don't mean to be an asshole, but if you're going to cough, please put your mask back on."

"It's a smoker's cough."

"I don't care,  please put it back on if you're going to sit here."

He refused.

"OK then, I'm going to report you."  

"Do you know who I am?"

I proved I did by identifying him as the attorney who lost what he called a "gay pride trial" in the Bronx.

Probably not the best tactic for de-escalating our conflict but his arrogance really pissed me off.  Downstairs, I complained to the young woman who was shepherding the 50% capacity crowd onto the boat.  She asked where the man was sitting.   I pointed to the bow.

"Was he wearing a red mask?"

"Yes."

"Oh, he's a homeowner."

"You mean he's caused problems before?  

"Not for me personally but we know him.  I'll say something after everyone boards."

By the time I returned to my seat, Feldman had put his mask back on and moved into the row behind me.  If Sayville Ferry acted on my complaint, I didn't see it.

But Feldman continued to lean forward and make hostile, bizarre comments.

"If you know so much about me, you probably know about my porn site."

Varick put an end to his harassment by standing up, all 6'4" of him.

"Move back," he commanded.  "Move away from him." 

Welcome back to the Pines.  Where homeownership, apparently, has its privileges.

Pop Goes The Bubble

Thom and I popped our quarantine bubble with Christine, a fellow snowbird who had returned to DC for unresolved dental issues just before the pandemic hit.  She hosted us in her garden when we dropped off her Mini Cooper.

Pat and Bill invited us to dinner at their freshly repainted home in the People's Republic of Takoma Park.

Social distancing was the order of the day, of course, in the backyard that Pat has beautifully landscaped.

Bill cooked a delicious and colorful dinner:  pork in mole sauce, sweet potato fries, guacamole, a tossed salad, and an out-of-this-world lemon poundcake.

In less than an afternoon's time, Thom and I had three times as many social contacts as we'd had during three months of isolation at the Folly.

Pretty But Stained

Murals like this one can't erase the stain of 2017's white supremacist rally in Charlottesville, which resulted in one woman's death and incontrovertible proof that our racist president can get away with anything.

The city, named for the wife of King George III, has been around longer than America and Virginia's history cannot be separated from our nation's original sin.  James Madison and Thomas Jefferson both owned slaves, and James Monroe proposed sending freed slaves back to Africa.

Even grandiflora magnolia can't camouflage the past or present.

The nearby Sprint Pavilion won't be seeing audiences anytime soon.  Virginia, led by a Democratic governor and physician who somehow managed to hold onto his job after a blackface scandal, is still under pandemic lockdown.

The Paramount theater cracks a pretty good pandemic joke.

Historic buildings, mostly turned into stores, line the downtown mall.

Have you ever seen a smaller carousel?

A public blackboard gives visitors an impotent way to embrace the Black Lives Matter movement.

Will national protests finally bring down this memorial to Robert E. Lee, just a few blocks away?  The city council voted to remove the statue three years ago, but romanticizers of the Confederacy took court action to keep honoring slavery and their Lost Cause.

No wonder some activists want to do more than write the names of murdered African Americans on a wall.

The Haven, founded by an UVA alum and a Hollywood director best known for movies starring Jim Carrey,  provides a day shelter for the homeless.

The McGuffy Art Center sends a positive message.

Let's hope good eatin' and drinkin' returns to this college town soon.  Students, too.

Waterbird sells canned cocktails made with American-grown,  potato vodka.

I asked this man if I could take his picture to add to my collection of bicycle photos.  He nodded, but didn't seem happy about it.

I probably should have just stuck with these.

We took a quick look at the University of Virginia campus.  That's Thomas Jefferson in front of the rotunda.  Covid 19 shut down Monticello so we couldn't tour the home where one of America's Founding Fathers impregnated Sally Hemmings, a woman he owned.

"Where Is Everybody?"

When I drove the Blue Ridge Parkway in 2019, I told Thom only a convertible could have made it better.  He proved me right on a perfect spring day.

Mabry Mill is the parkway's most photographed location.  Despite being in Virginia, the 19th-century structure even appeared on "Greetings from Iowa" postcards! 

Let Thom tell you all about it.

My favorite kind of selfie. It's ageless.

We picnicked on two-day old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  A friendly guy offered to take this photograph.  I would have declined, but Thom said yes and then chided ME for giving him my phone.  "Bad pandemic hygiene," he sniffed.  I nearly pushed him off the mountain.

Heavy rains earlier in the week had closed the parkway near Roanoke.  It took more than two hours and asking directions from three different people to find an accessible entrance. Driving separate vehicles didn't help.  Reminder to self:  maps and GPS are useless on the BPR.  By the way:  the directions on the sign below took us to ANOTHER closed entrance. Under its current leadership, the federal government fucks up EVERYTHING.

Finding our way back on proved almost as scenic, if not as fragrant:  lots of hay bales, white fences and rolling hills.  And more than a few "Farmers for Trump."  Yeeeesh.

Here's the view of Arnold Valley from 3700 feet.

Daylight lasts so long that we had our final meal of the day (Thom tossed fusilli with pesto and chicken) at Irish Creek.  "Where is everybody?" he asked.  "Either dying or protesting," I quipped.  It really did feel like we were still in our bubble, more than 900 miles northwest of Lake Worth.

Curfew Violation

Thom and I made great time on I 95 after leaving the Folly early on Monday.  We pulled off the freeway to eat homemade pork loin sandwiches near Brunswick, Georgia.  That's where a trio of white racists recently hunted down and murdered Ahmaud Arbery.  May they burn in Hell.

We averaged 70 mph all the way to Columbia, SC despite taking several scenic detours.  Our hotel wasn't far from the Riverfront Park and Canal.  We saw otters swimming in the canal, and a sign indicated the area was inhabited by mink as well.

The towpath offers a great space for locals to exercise in the evenings.

Carolinians built the canal early in the 19th century so that boats could avoid the rapids of the Congaree and Broad Rivers.  The Confederacy used it to generate funds for the Civil War.  Freeway signs also promote the nearby Confederate Relic Museum.  Read the description and weep.  The defeated past is always very much the proud present in Dixie.

No sooner had we begun trying to get in our 10,000 steps after a long day of driving than did the emergency alert on my phone blare.  Curfew had gone into effect at 7:45 p.m. for the downtown area where our Holiday Inn Express was located.

Nobody else in the very mixed crowd of park goers paid any attention so neither did we.  A gas station cashier told us the next morning that "outsiders" had burned a city government car and looted a jewelry store over the weekend.

For some reason, Spanish moss always reminds me of Hush Hush, Sweet Charlotte.

On our way back to the nearly deserted hotel (the pandemic had closed two entire floors), we passed the Memorial Garden & Pathway to Remembrance at Riverfront Park.  It honors South Carolina crime victims.  Just try to find out who they might be.