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2020-04-20
Domino Sound Records closed during COVID-19 stay-at-home order.
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2020-03-25
Normally, this street is very busy and consistently filled with traffic. However, it is not in this nearly minute long sample. Unheard of.
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2020-04-20
Domino Sound Records closed during COVID-19 stay-at-home order. Sign on the front door reads: "Hello record lover this here store will be closed until who knows. We're looking forward to having the doors wide open, the music pouring out, and records available for much needed music therapy sooner rather than later. Check in by walking by, phone [###-####], or on the website, dominosoundrecords.com. Best to ya, thanks for the support. - Domino Sound"
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2020-04-08
Ivorians fear contraction of COVID 19 due to the testing center in Abidjan
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2020-04-20
My grandma recently moved into an independent living facility and now I am not allowed to go visit her. If she comes to visit me she will not be allowed to go back to the facility or she will be completely quarantined in her room for two weeks.
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2020-04-20
A private home displays homemade signage from its balcony reading "GOD BLESS OUR HOMETOWN HEROS" during the stay-at-home order during the COVID-19 pandemic.
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2020-04-20
My grandma is in an independent living home and normally they all go to the dining hall for their meals. Now all meals are being brought to their rooms by employees in masks.
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2020-04-20
Storefront of Sweet Lorraine's Jazz Club. Closed in the face of the pandemic, Sweet Lorraine's offers free meals to unemployed musicians.
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2020-04-20
Animated signage outside of Sweet Lorraine's Jazz Club tells the public they are closed due to the pandemic and offering a free meal to musicians once a week.
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2020-03-29
This photo was taken on a boat to escape the quarantine. My family and I were going stir crazy so we decided to go out on our boat and take a break from staying inside all day. I took this photo for others to appreciate the beauty of the outdoors. #FlaglerCollege
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2020-04-17
It’s Saturday night, March 21, and my son and I have spent pretty much all day creating an
iMovie Sunday morning worship service for my two congregations. Now we can’t figure out
how to upload it from Aidan’s school-issued computer onto YouTube. This is the first time I’ve
had to do this all online. I call Allysen, a teacher in the school district and a member of one of
my churches. She suggests I try putting it on a flash drive.
It’s 11:55 p.m. My son’s computer is set to turn off at midnight and won’t open up again until 6
a.m. I frantically run downstairs and search for a flash drive in an attempt to transfer the iMovie
of the worship service from his computer to mine. My kitchen drawers are a mess. I can’t find a
flash drive. I can never find anything when I need it in my disaster of a house.
On Facebook Messenger Allysen says, “Just sleep for now and do it in the morning. Your church
goers should be a forgiving lot even if it isn’t ready right at 8:30 a.m.”
I can’t go to sleep. In a world where nothing is going right, where everything has changed, where
this is the first opportunity to prove that I can adapt and lead and be of help to the congregations
I love as we navigate these unchartered waters, I need this to happen.
I realize my iPhone has iMovie on it. It’s 12:10 a.m. when I open a new “project” and begin to
import all the pieces I originally worked with on Aidan’s computer. The video clips of Mom and
Jill singing the hymns; the video of Allysen reading scripture (the video that had taken hours to
download via Google drive); the short little clip of the Smorstad family sharing the peace, sweet
twin boys—age 9 months—giggling and drooling. God, I miss them all.
Aidan had told me it would be too difficult to add the words of the hymns to the screen, but I do
it. At 1 a.m. I figure out how to add photos of the hymns as cutaways to the movie. I discover
this by mistake. I’m pressing buttons without knowing what I’m doing. I swear it feels like the
Spirit has given me the button I need. I forget to give thanks. I’m too busy making a movie that
is somehow also a worship service for two congregations that can no longer meet in person.
Seminary has not prepared me for this.
I have a YouTube channel only because I had used it to share videos of my sister’s senior
trombone recital years before. I had never made an iMovie. Now I’ve made one between the
hours of midnight and 3 a.m.
It’s done and I’m proud of it. I’ve gone from waking up at 7 a.m. on Friday morning with the
idea of including multiple parishioners in the making of the movie—to being ready to upload it
to YouTube at 3 a.m. on Sunday morning. In the future, I’ll allow more time. But it won’t make
it any easier. For each piece that becomes routine and knowable, another piece becomes a
challenge. How to convert files that aren’t allowed by iMovie? Google it. Pay $6 for an app that
will do the conversion. Problem solved. How to create hymn files when your mom refuses to
keep singing for these worship services? Sister to the rescue. She discovers openhymnal.org. I
play the midi file of the hymn through old, donated speakers attached to my work computer,
place my iPhone at the perfect distance from the speakers (too close and it’s fuzzy; too far away
and it’s too soft—this I learned through much trial and error), hit the voice memo record button
on my phone and try my best to have some sort of decent breath support as I sing the public
domain hymns that I can include without worrying about copyright infringement.
It would help if I could breathe. It would help if I could sleep. It would help if I wasn’t trying to
do this, basically, all alone. It would help if I could turn over the movie production to some high
school student who loves such things and who could do it all easily and maybe even enjoy it.
But now I feel like it’s my job.
I think I should be spending more time calling my people, but I can’t seem to manage much
calling. Each conversation leaves me absolutely spent. I sob after each goodbye. I miss these
people. I don’t want to make phone calls or iMovies. I want to give hugs. I want to talk face to
face, leaning in to listen well, holding hands as we pray for hope and healing.
The night before Easter I can’t sleep. Awake at 2 a.m., I watch the worship service created by my
good friend, a volunteer music director in a neighboring town. The service is beautiful. I love my
friend. And I miss her.
At 3 a.m. I watch another worship service created by another dear friend, a pastor in my corner
of Iowa, skipping ahead to get to her sermon. I’ve already read it, as she asked me two days
before for input, but now I get to hear it. Receive it. It’s beautiful. Needed.
At 4 a.m. I click on YouTube news and lay in bed listening to death counts. It’s Easter morning.
At 5 a.m. I get out of bed and go to church. I’m supposed to join an invitation-only zoom
gathering by 5:40 a.m. My computer is sluggish and won’t load the meeting. I hate technology. I
hate being so damn dependent on it.
Christ can rise from the dead but can’t make this computer do what it’s supposed to do.
I finally use my iPhone to connect to the meeting. It’s a gathering of women from around the
world, an informal worship service of sorts that grew out of a single Tweet. “How to faithfully
celebrate Easter this year: Only women on the Zoom call. Call is scheduled before dawn. We
speak only of impossible things that would topple the empire.”
It turns out to be the most meaningful Easter worship service I’ve ever experienced. As each
woman is called by name—just as Jesus called Mary Magdalene by name in the garden outside
the empty tomb—we give our testimony. We talk about where we’ve seen the Lord. I think I’m
going to say something about the church in which I grew up. How they used the Bible to tell me
women couldn’t pastor—I couldn’t preach—but God said yes!
But instead, a song I’ve written comes to mind. And my testimony is this: I know that death is
real but it will never be the end. I know the song goes on and dancing feet are powerful.
I worship later with my family, watching myself lead worship on the television screen in our
living room. I smile at my on-screen self. I can’t help it. I want to dance.
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2020-04-20
A T-shirt for sale during the coronacation
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2020-04-20
This item shows the resentment to stay at home orders in the US. This t-shirt was created by an unnamed company out of California. This shirt is being sold in order to resist the Stay at home orders.
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2020-04-21
21420
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2020-04-10
COVID-19 has been particularly hard for Chicago’s homeless. My auntie and I tried to help out on the West Side, by making turkey and Italian beef and serving them. We also provided kits to individuals, so they could use them to feed their families. #DePaulHST391
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2020-04-14
Since the COVID-19 pandemic many businesses and housing facilities have closed common areas to promote social distancing. Since March many residents have not followed through with the warnings and now landlords and managers have taken measures to keep people from gathering such as at One North Apartments, a University of Illinois at Urbana Champaign student housing facility where they have taken the hoops off the basketball rims #DePaulHST391.
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2020-04-06
This work is an attempt to visualize my desire to escape quarantine. Using an entirely fabricated soundscape and footage from the French Riviera from exactly a year prior, I created an alternative space that is neither entirely real nor entirely fiction.
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2020-04-18
I woke up this morning and decided to write. Why today? What’s different
about today than yesterday, or the day before?
I have no answers to these questions. It’s Day 25 of the quarantine. The sky
is dull gray and it’s raining, my windows streaked with wet wavy lines that make
them look like etched glass. Today is not so different from yesterday, except
yesterday it wasn’t raining.
And yesterday we went to the supermarket. That place fills me with terror.
The aisles are not wide enough to keep the required six feet social distance. In the
produce section it’s inevitable that two or more people will end up inspecting the
bananas or the lettuce at the same time. When that happens we move apart as far as
we can but we don’t walk away, as if the lettuce or the bananas or whatever are a
territory we refuse to surrender. We do avert our eyes, ashamed to look our
adversaries in the face.
Upstairs in my bedroom I hear the rain against the roof, a soft, steady patter.
The marsh is enveloped in a fine mist with ochre and green grasses and a few trees
yielding small mauve flowers. I’m waiting for phone calls from the dead: my father,
who passed away nineteen years ago and my mother, who passed away three years
ago.
Why do we want what we cannot have? Or is this the nature of grief, that
after the sharp stabbing pains of loss a knot of slow sadness begins to form and
2
wind itself around our hearts, once in a while tugging so hard we’re reminded
sharply once again of those who are gone?
Maybe that’s what writing is for: not the documentation of what we have but
the recovery of what we’ve lost.
I’m reading a book by Lydia Davis called The End of the Story. It’s a novel
about a woman writing a novel about a brief but intense love affair that ended
thirteen years earlier. She can’t finish the novel because she can’t find the right way
to end it, or so she says. But we know she can’t finish the novel because finishing it
will end her connection to her lost lover, and she doesn’t want to experience such
pain and grief all over again.
The rain has stopped and the sky has shifted to a softer gray. The yellow and
dark greens of the leaves are startling and bright in the thin light.
Lydia Davis is a descriptive writer. She paints vivid pictures of the natural
world: sound of ocean waves, piquant scent of eucalyptus, aggressive jade plants.
But in her obsessions and delusions and isolation from friends she is not the best
companion for me right now.
**
Day 26. I am a witness to the pandemic. Everyone is a witness. But I’m not
risking my life like the nurses and doctors and other workers on the front lines. I
feel like a coward.
3
Today is sunny, with a cloudless sky of soft, washed blue. When you are
quarantined weather becomes very important, like a prophecy or a sign of progress,
or stagnation.
On fine days I could go outside for a walk but usually I don’t want to. On the
days I’ve gone for walks there’s an unspoken tug-of-war on the sidewalk when
others approach: who will be first to step out of the way. My husband and I are
always first to move. We agree we tend to give a wide berth earlier than necessary.
Still, each time we veer into the street so walkers can pass I feel we’ve offered a
consideration that was not reciprocated. This gives me a feeling of victimization
that makes me even more irritable than I already am.
On a recent walk I couldn’t help noticing that everything in my neighborhood
reminded me of the virus. Small shrubs with crimson buds. A mask in the middle of
the asphalt, awaiting asphyxiation. Street signs that say Dead End. I never realized
there were so many dead ends where I live.
When I’m overcome with anxiousness I prepare a meal. Before the time of
corona I was a reluctant cook, and we often ate dinners at the local trattoria. But of
course that’s no longer possible.
I don’t have the patience or creativity to be a decent home cook. But now I
find comfort in assembling a dish or two. I experience a sense of accomplishment in
completing what feels like a meaningful activity. Food is no longer readily or easily
available. If I’m missing an ingredient I won’t run to the supermarket wearing with
my mask and disposable gloves. With every trip to the market comes the risk of
4
additional exposure. Grocery shopping demands enormous amounts of energy. So I
try to plan ahead, which isn’t easy when you’re anxious all the time.
Today’s side dish is quinoa tabbouleh with scallions, tomatoes, feta, and fresh
lemon. Even writing the word “fresh” refreshes my depleted spirits.
Before preparing the tabbouleh I looked out the window, my gateway, my
connection to the world outside my home. My attention was drawn to a single
orange-breasted robin stepping across the grass. I watched for a while, since now I
have time for such contemplative activity. The robin began to peck at the ground,
circling and wandering, circling and pecking. I had the idea he was searching for
food and not finding any. I turned away.
Things I never noticed before. The whiskered tips on the scallions, like a
man’s white-gray beard. The amount of plastic and paper towels I waste even
though I claim to be pro-environment. I think of my mother growing up during the
Great Depression with barely enough food and not enough money. I have coats in
the closet, sweaters in the drawers, a stocked refrigerator. Was I really so clueless
and ungrateful?
**
Day 27. Be mindful, stay in the present. I am trying to be present but the
news on the morning radio announced 40,000 Americans are dead from the virus.
How is this possible? The future has become our dystopian present.
5
Last night we visited with our kids on Zoom. Such interactions are one of the
challenges of this particular moment, the physical separation from loved ones.
These meetings in cyberspace reinforce the sense of enforced isolation: my adult
children isolated in their homes within an hour or so of mine. I miss them. They
might as well be living on the moon. I’ve heard stories of doctors and nurses
sleeping in their garages so as not expose their families. This is worse than my
experience, much worse, because their lives are in imminent danger. Nonetheless,
their experience does not erase the pain I feel as a mother and new grandmother
who can’t touch or hug my children.
In my home state of New Jersey, 40 percent of more than 4,200 coronavirus
deaths have been linked to long-term care facilities. My mother was a dementia
patient in one such facility for six years. I thank heaven I do not have to worry about
the virus killing my mother in a nursing home.
The past seeps into the present. The present is the future, for the time-being.
I’m reminded of the words of T.S. Eliot: “Time present and time past/ are both
perhaps present in time future/ And time future contained in time past.” Perhaps
our sense of separation between past, present, and future was always illusory.
My brother contracted the virus a few weeks ago and was ill with a fever that
spiked as high as 102.8. Mercifully he is recovering well. Past, present, and future,
they are merged into the nightmare of the virus.
I just read about a 25-year-old woman, a Latino grad student studying
marriage and family therapy, who died of complications from the virus which she
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likely contracted while working at a clinic for Latinos in one of the corona hotspots
in Queens. I am overcome. I can’t write anymore.
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2020-04-21
Notice shows restriction on how much alcohol can be bought in Australia from liquor outlets. The amount had been reduced from previous week.
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2020-04-21
Another image of a closed down business in regional Australia
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2020-04-21
An image of a closed business in my home town during the lockdown.
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2020-04-21
Shows a notice on the front of a closed down business, Ballarat, Australia
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2020-04-21
A picture of a closed business in Ballarat during lockdown.
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2020-04-21
Image of notice on closed business
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2020-04-20
Everything is different now. Who would have imagined? If I or anyone I know was told in the
fall of 2019 that in the start of year 2020 there would be a world pandemic that placed most of
the world on lockdown, we most likely would have laughed or scoffed. We would have thought it
impossible. And yet it happened. And it happened quickly, dawning a new decade with an event
that will most likely damage societies.
What a way to start a decade. Here is to 2020. May the middle and the end be more fortuitous
than it’s destructive beginning.
Everyone is in quarantine within their homes in hopes of preventing the spread of the new corona
virus. A subtle virus that nobody would have expected to cause a worldwide emergency. After
all, there are many diseases and viruses that appear to be worse than Covid-19 such as SARS.
However that’s the danger, it is so subtle and contagious, it spread from China to the United
States of America in a number of weeks. There is an estimated 800,000 confirmed cases of the
virus with the States. Who knows if that number is accurate. It may be larger. It may be smaller.
The world has changed in a matter of weeks. People rarely go out to areas where they are likely
to encounter other people. If they do dare to venture outside, it is often with a face mask,
disposable gloves, and hand sanitizer. Business has never been better for Amazon as people flock
to their website in order to avoid having to go to the grocery store. Netflix is probably being used
more now than anytime before. Schools have shut down and transferred online, many using
Zoom as their platform of communication. Most people are stocking up on supplies. My father
went to the gun store and said he had never seen the place busier. Toilet paper has become a
valuable commodity. There have been more people on walks in my neighborhood than ever. All
trying to escape the boredom and the feeling of wasting from remaining still.
My sister and I have been placed on quarantine about two weeks before everyone else. I don’t
believe I have had a physical interaction that was not digital with another person besides my
family in 2 or 3 months. The only place that I have been to besides my house is the National
Forest in Flagstaff, Arizona where I am allowed to go for hikes for miles. It is beautifully
refreshing in comparison to the same color of wall wherever you turn. I’m allowed to take my
truck out for a drive as long as the only destination is my house. I like to drive with the windows
down on the highway and be reminded of the movement of nature that is absent in my daily
circumstance.
It is interesting how affected people become by fear and paranoia. I was driving through the
neighborhood when I saw a couple walking. I waved as any friendly person would. The couple
glared at me as if I was a threat. As if I would somehow give them the virus while contained in
my car on the other side of the street. I found this behavior odd. But then this odd behavior
occurred on several other occasions during my drives. I fear what this virus will do to our
country. It has already changed our daily lives. I would hate for the coronavirus to turn America
into a country where friendliness is unwelcome.
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2020-04-21
An account of how lockdown has affected delivery of some medical services
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2020-03-28
Opinion piece on why virus denial resembles climate denial.
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2020-04-05
Essay likens COVID-19 virus to Zombies, because both infect a host to become viable.
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2020-04-19
@Kellydavio writes "What zombie movies got wrong about the actual apocalypse, part 1,487: they omitted scenes of people on the street demanding the right to be eaten by zombies." Kelly Davio refers to recent protests in Michigan and Denver, CO where protestors took to the streets to protest shelter-in-place guidelines in Michigan and Colorado. Commentary includes Memes that show protestors as Zombies.
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2020-04-20
The first few weeks in quarantine, like for many, were pretty difficult for me. I would have good days and bad days. I would go through waves of sadness here and there and get depressed thinking of all the things I was unable to do or accomplish, and all the opportunities I had missed and would seemingly never get back. This was supposed to be the time of internships, widening my professional network, shadowing professionals, and preparing for my professional future. How was I supposed to prepare for my impending future trapped inside my home wearing pajamas all day? I felt like the whole world was put on pause, but my life was still passing me by. After two weeks of self-pity and baking an extensive amount of bread (stress baking anyone?), I realized I was in desperate need of a new perspective. How can I benefit from this situation? What can I do with this time to prepare for my future that I wouldn't have the opportunity to do otherwise? I had a quarantine awakening.
I decided that this time at home would not go wasted. I put together goals for the year 2020 that I could achieve from the comfort of my home. I realized that there was, in fact, a lot I could do to prepare for my future that didn't involve other people. I began to research online workshops that I could complete and add to my resume, I began reading articles and books that related to my career that I never had the time to read, and I set aside time to practice the things I used to love, like photoshop and web design. I gave myself the opportunity to self reflect and really dissect the life choices that had brought me to this point in my life, and decide if the path I was on was still the one I wanted to pursue.
My time in quarantine has helped me realize that the best way I could help my future self was not by networking or interning for a big company in the city, but was by focusing on me. I needed time away from the productive life the world told me I was supposed to be living to decide if all that productivity was really taking me where I wanted to go in the first place. Where do I want to go? Finding out what I like, what I don’t like, figuring out what my skills are and focusing on how to apply them, deciding what kind of future I wanted and setting goals to get there were all things I’d sidelined before the quarantine. I realized how lucky I was to have this time to be allowed to focus on me. Quarantine has gifted me with a new perspective on life and has shown me how capable I truly am.
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2020-04-18
Normally the beaches are crowded in April. Covid-19 has closed the beaches. The regulations are enforceable by law.
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2020-04-15
Denver artist painted mural of a healthcare worker to show appreciation for medical workers on the front lines of the COVID-19 pandemic.
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2020-04-20
I am residing in a sober living house following rehab for alcoholism. My sober date is Feb 14 - and I have been living in a house of ten ASICS in recovery now for 6 weeks.
I will say after 40 plus years of drinking, and now one day at a time, lessons learned in rehab and recovery are coming in very handy.
We start every day with a 7 am iremote 12-step meeting, and since being under ‘house arrest’ have had plenty of time to meet informally, prepare meals, and walking - my primary exercise now.
I notice the overflowing recycle bins when walking - had I not sought treatment for my alcoholism I would no doubt be living a bottle 24x7 during the last month or so, since my work has ground to a halt.
I think we were deluded in thinking we used to know what tomorrow and the future would bring. Know we know we don’t have a clue, and never really did.
It’s out of our control!
I am a huge fan of the serenity prayer, and recommend it to all - including my agnostic friends!
God,
Give me the serenity to,accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
One day at a time!
I with you peace and serenity!
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04/20/2020
A C-130 military aircraft loaded with medical supplies from Egypt is scheduled to land at Dulles International Airport on Tuesday to help fight the coronavirus, a U.S. official said Monday, a gesture meant to show support for President Trump and the U.S.-Egypt alliance.
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04/20/2020
President Trump says in a tweet that he'll sign an executive order “to temporarily suspend immigration" into the U.S. because of the coronavirus. He offered no further details. Nor did the White House immediately elaborate on the announcement.
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2020-04-16
During the pandemic, I have been manic and have had to keep busy to fight boredom and despair. So I have spent a lot of time practicing softball by myself.
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2020-03-30
During the Covid-19 pandemic, the quarantine has left me feeling manic. To ward off boredom and melancholy, I take my mask, music and moves into the woods for some solo dancing.
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09/04/2020
HUM402
This is what the UTas Sandy Bay campus looks like in the time of COVID-19, a vacant cluster of buildings during the academic year.
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2020-04-19
Venice Beach Skate Park was filled with sand to deter skaters from gathering during social distancing
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2020-04-20
St Kilda Road at morning peak hour - so quiet! Taken by Holly Watkins, Monday 20 April
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2020-04-19
(Pictured: Semi with green cabin lights)
On March 21, 2020, Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear asked Kentuckians to show green lights each night a COVID-19 fatality is reported — a show of solidarity and resilience that unites the Commonwealth.
“Every night that I have to report a fatality, it’s a small thing, but we’re going to light the Kentucky Governor’s Mansion green. Green is the color of compassion, it’s the color of empathy. It’s also a color of renewal. According to my faith, when you pass from this world, your body is just a vessel and your soul moves to an ever better and more special place.”
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2020-04-20
(Pictured: Front porch, KY)
On March 21, 2020, Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear asked Kentuckians to show green lights each night a COVID-19 fatality is reported — a show of solidarity and resilience that unites the Commonwealth.
“Every night that I have to report a fatality, it’s a small thing, but we’re going to light the Kentucky Governor’s Mansion green. Green is the color of compassion, it’s the color of empathy. It’s also a color of renewal. According to my faith, when you pass from this world, your body is just a vessel and your soul moves to an ever better and more special place.”
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2020-04-09
(Pictured: Barn and cow, North Madison County, KY)
On March 21, 2020, Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear asked Kentuckians to show green lights each night a COVID-19 fatality is reported — a show of solidarity and resilience that unites the Commonwealth.
“Every night that I have to report a fatality, it’s a small thing, but we’re going to light the Kentucky Governor’s Mansion green. Green is the color of compassion, it’s the color of empathy. It’s also a color of renewal. According to my faith, when you pass from this world, your body is just a vessel and your soul moves to an ever better and more special place.”
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2020-04-09
(Pictured: Barn and cow, North Madison County, KY)
On March 21, 2020, Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear asked Kentuckians to show green lights each night a COVID-19 fatality is reported — a show of solidarity and resilience that unites the Commonwealth.
“Every night that I have to report a fatality, it’s a small thing, but we’re going to light the Kentucky Governor’s Mansion green. Green is the color of compassion, it’s the color of empathy. It’s also a color of renewal. According to my faith, when you pass from this world, your body is just a vessel and your soul moves to an ever better and more special place.”
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2020-04-20
(Pictured: Green lights and night sky, Kentucky)
On March 21, 2020, Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear asked Kentuckians to show green lights each night a COVID-19 fatality is reported — a show of solidarity and resilience that unites the Commonwealth.
“Every night that I have to report a fatality, it’s a small thing, but we’re going to light the Kentucky Governor’s Mansion green. Green is the color of compassion, it’s the color of empathy. It’s also a color of renewal. According to my faith, when you pass from this world, your body is just a vessel and your soul moves to an ever better and more special place.”
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2020-04-20
(Pictured: Front Porch, Louisville, KY)
On March 21, 2020, Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear asked Kentuckians to show green lights each night a COVID-19 fatality is reported — a show of solidarity and resilience that unites the Commonwealth.
“Every night that I have to report a fatality, it’s a small thing, but we’re going to light the Kentucky Governor’s Mansion green. Green is the color of compassion, it’s the color of empathy. It’s also a color of renewal. According to my faith, when you pass from this world, your body is just a vessel and your soul moves to an ever better and more special place.”
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2020-04-20
(Pictured: Ale-8-One regional soda bottle)
On March 21, 2020, Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear asked Kentuckians to show green lights each night a COVID-19 fatality is reported — a show of solidarity and resilience that unites the Commonwealth.
“Every night that I have to report a fatality, it’s a small thing, but we’re going to light the Kentucky Governor’s Mansion green. Green is the color of compassion, it’s the color of empathy. It’s also a color of renewal. According to my faith, when you pass from this world, your body is just a vessel and your soul moves to an ever better and more special place.”
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2020-04-20
(Pictured: Florence, KY Water Tower)
On March 21, 2020, Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear asked Kentuckians to show green lights each night a COVID-19 fatality is reported — a show of solidarity and resilience that unites the Commonwealth.
“Every night that I have to report a fatality, it’s a small thing, but we’re going to light the Kentucky Governor’s Mansion green. Green is the color of compassion, it’s the color of empathy. It’s also a color of renewal. According to my faith, when you pass from this world, your body is just a vessel and your soul moves to an ever better and more special place.”
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2020-04-20
(Pictured: Fountain, downtown Somerset)
On March 21, 2020, Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear asked Kentuckians to show green lights each night a COVID-19 fatality is reported — a show of solidarity and resilience that unites the Commonwealth.
“Every night that I have to report a fatality, it’s a small thing, but we’re going to light the Kentucky Governor’s Mansion green. Green is the color of compassion, it’s the color of empathy. It’s also a color of renewal. According to my faith, when you pass from this world, your body is just a vessel and your soul moves to an ever better and more special place.”
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2020-04-11
(Pictured: Old Fayette County Court House)
On March 21, 2020, Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear asked Kentuckians to show green lights each night a COVID-19 fatality is reported — a show of solidarity and resilience that unites the Commonwealth.
“Every night that I have to report a fatality, it’s a small thing, but we’re going to light the Kentucky Governor’s Mansion green. Green is the color of compassion, it’s the color of empathy. It’s also a color of renewal. According to my faith, when you pass from this world, your body is just a vessel and your soul moves to an ever better and more special place.”
