Northern Lights in a Time of COVID

After 26 years, 9 months and 13 days in the Washington, DC, metro area, the Phantom announced he was moving to New Hampshire, leaving his friends and neighbors bewildered and aghast. "Why would you move to New Hampshire? It has a primary every four years, but what happens up there in between?"

Portsmouth, NH

Which says something of the mindset of those suffering from Potomac fever, where important jobs, impressive offices and titles are the raison d'etre. 

And it was true, the Phantom had not ever lived in Northern New England. The closest he came was six years in Rhode Island and two in Connecticut, but that was enough to convince him that New England is where the real people live. Not the enclaves in university towns, but the townies themselves, who he remembered as irreverent, grounded and fundamentally decent.

And there were the mountains, the lakes and, in the case of Hampton, the seacoast.

Exploration of Portsmouth was edifying: dodging into the Portsmouth Brewery on a snowy evening, already dark at 4 PM, the first thing the Phantom saw, mounted on a brick wall across from the bar was that iconic Shepard Fairey poster of Obama, unexpected, boldly displayed, and this was January, 2008, before anyone thought Obama could win New Hampshire. 

"Oh, that?" the waitress said, "I think someone from the Leftist Marching Band gave it to the owner and he liked it, so there it is on the wall. Wasn't easy mounting that thing on brick."

Yes, Portsmouth, New Hampshire does have a Leftist Marching Band. 

And, it turned out, the Phantom's inklings about the people he might live among were underestimates. 

North Hampton, NH 

Consider his underground soul mate, with whom he canvases Hampton neighborhoods, searching out voters to cajole, trying to convince them to vote Blue.

Recently, she and her daughter got fever, chills, headache, cough, headache and their strep and  influenza swabs were negative, so the smart money is on COVID, although the tests are still incubating. Awaiting the results, she has been thrown into solitary confinement in one bedroom, her daughter in another and her husband slides food trays in front of the doors and collect the remains in classic prison style.

Exeter Road, Hampton, NH

The Phantom, consolingly, suggested she consider writing a Solzhenitsyn inspired novel, not "Cancer Ward," but "COVID Ward" to occupy herself during the long week of her discombobulation. 

Her response:

A novel, what a great idea....."COVID Ward"--"the harrowing tale of one woman's descent into madness after being locked away in her room with nothing but paper and scissors and a growing need to cut out chains of paper dolls... and name them.." ...So what do you think darling, are we talking a best seller?

Now, I ask you, drooling reader, where else but New Hampshire are you going to find a woman like that?