Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Monday, December 9, 2013
Thus when I think of a future in Sacramento I don't consider loving parents and uncles and cousins and aunts and all that as part of the equation. I think of the muddy brown waters of the ditches and canals of the Delta, dug to drain the land and make it good in the industrious 19th century to grow crops year round. I think of the awful heat of summer, and the biting damp foggy cold of winter, notorious fog banks that pile traffic into untidy heaps on the endless freeways of Central California.
Awful heat sounds like a joke considering where I live but in the Keys summer rarely sees highs above 95 and even then the ocean breezes tend to help a little. I have seen temperatures in the hundreds in the Plains and also in the deserts of the southwest and Key west feels refrigerated by comparison. In the end. I suppose if it were just a question of weather Key West would thrash Sacramento hands down. Certainly we have more creative bums than most cities, seen here depicting the fatal scene from the Wizard of Oz:
Andrea is looking forward to shopping in malls closer than three hours from home. She will escape the summer heat by visiting Lake Tahoe and Yosemite National Park, less distance from her new home than the Everglades are from her old. She will be close to wine country, San Francisco and if she chooses, snow skiing. Her cost of housing will drop, her taxes increase and her car will need smog checks.
People come and people go from Key West all the time. It's a flow as natural as the tides, and for many life here was a disappointment, full of unexpected difficulties even though most of the hardships of life in the Keys are fairly obvious. Andrea doesn't ride a scooter so free scooter parking, ignored by this Vespa owner who might be viewed to have excessive attachment to his paint in a rough and tumble town; all that is of no consequence to her, and her car.
She is a woman half my age so I am not sure what drives her sense of aesthetics, and though Old Town in Sacramento is a charming tourist attraction, here Old Town is a thriving community of lived in homes. Some of them put bumper stickers on their palms with the apparently ironic message requesting we "Renounce Greed" but hey, this is a town where having an opinion is de rigeur. Some might see it as greedy to keep a winter home here for use a few weeks out of the year but still...simplicity is a moving target for those of us trying to grasp it!
I know Andrea likes to eat out as this topic is frequently discussed at some length during those hours we have worked together and the phones haven't been ringing. I am not sure she will be ready to drive two hours in any direction for dinner but Northern California is the epicenter of the North American world of foodies. A small town like this one cannot hold a candle to those choices, though Key West does well enough for me.
I told Andrea, as she mused about what sort of dispatch job she might get, to look into campus police dispatch at the University of California, as she will be in a town close to the intellectual influence of UC Davis, where not only would dispatching be less intense, but also where the stimulation of university life will spill over into hers if she wants it. I do miss living in a university town...even if we have the bicycles to look like we are one. I'd like less alcohol and more intellectual rigor. At least I think I might.
Her car is for sale, she has tickets to fly west to look for housing, her last day will be on us before we know it, around St Valentine's Day, and one more former colleague will become 'what's-her-name...the one who went to live in California...' So many dispatchers and trainees have been through our communication center in my nearly ten years I am starting to feel like the survivor of a prolonged catastrophe, a veteran of trench warfare, or a bubonic plague to which most others succumb. Perhaps that's the worst of living in a transient town and liking it, not everyone else does, forever.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
I confess it's too cold for me to go swimming anymore unless it were a calm day and a heated swimming pool. Visitors seem to suffer no such compunctions, and beaches will be crowded. Look at them, it gives me goose bumps to think of a beach day in 77 degrees.
I walked under the bows of the Fort Myers Beach ferry, impatient passengers waiting to disembark, for their day at the beach.
A local lounger put their impatience to shame with his brown bag dangling by the water's edge. I have no idea what he saw in the turquoise waters beneath his feet.
You don't have to be a local to contemplate your navel in Key West. You can do it on a rented bicycle in a crisply starched t-shirt.
A tour bus driver was taking advantage of a gentle cooling southeast breeze to let him sleep in silent comfort. Not quite silent comfort...
These people, the bus's neighbor, could have learned a lesson or two from the coach driver. Their RV was buttoned up tight in the breeze with a muffler-free generator rattling like the arrival of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Their joy ride indeed, 32 weeks in and blessed with a busted muffler. As these charmers plan to visit all the national parks one can only imagine they will be leaving their mark in those natural, silent spaces with their self propelled jack hammer.
I moved on to lounge elsewhere, lots of quieter spots if you know where to look. No ice storms here.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
My first thought was that it's getting to be time for Christmas decorations and my second thought was that chasing down decorations sounded like a lot of work...and there's still plenty of time for that. So I set my phone camera to sepia and off we went, Cheyenne and I.
Elizabeth Street looking down the hill toward Truman Avenue.
I particularly appreciated the absurdity of this situation, classic Teutonic Yuletide decorations on the porch with the front door wide open to let in a cooling December night breeze.
The wall surrounding the land belonging yo the Minor basilica of St Mary's. No plans to sell this lot off to developers!
The church was declared a "minor basilica" by the Vatican and this title is bandied about like a temporal badge of distinction by the spiritually inspired church. I don't think Pope Francis' devotion to the poor gets much traction here where community leaders get on their knees and hobnob with God's representatives on earth, probably not about hiring standards and rates of pay. On Stock Island though the church operates a much needed soup kitchen and food bank that keep the working poor nourished and grateful enough not to demand living wages.
More urban loveliness:
It's the season of goodwill and this is my favorite house decoration, near the cemetery.
It's a reminder that everyone is supposed to be nice for a few weeks. That includes the old biddy who stopped as I was taking the picture and observed Cheyenne resting comfortably in the gutter and started to give me the third degree about torturing my dog. I felt like John Cleese and the Norwegian Blue...she's just resting I insisted to the gaunt Miss Marple eyeing me like I was a child molester. She's...heavy she said. So am I, I replied but she's an elderly Labrador and I have no excuse. Lucky for me it was the Christmas season else she'd probably have brained me and stolen my dog to save her from further abuse. Had she had half the brains of Cleese's parrot I'd have told her in no uncertain terms to go and save a dog from the pound and to bugger off and leave us alone. As it is even I am infected by the Christmas Spirit and I just walked off without further ado. Ho ho bloody ho.