I am a sucker for a full moon. Every month, regular as habit the moon fills out and we get a flood of silvery light across the islands and I am reliably informed this phenomenon occurs in other places across the planet with similar precision, each month. Nowadays, with winter time closing in on us it gets dark just about the time I walk through the doors at work, and sitting at the computers starting out the windows waiting for a crisis to hit Key West the big silver orb is a reassuring sign that everything, no matter how messed up, is as it should be:
The full moon obliterates the stars in the night sky but they will get their turn in a couple of weeks when the moon wanes and makes way for their more subtle light. I read an article in a National Geographic at the dentist last week saying that there are millions of people in the developed world who never get to see a proper night sky. I hadn't thought about it really but being at sea on a small boat is still as dark as it ever was. When I was out cruising I'd sometimes turn the navigation lights off and sit in the cockpit and sea the night sky in all it's glory and it really is astonishing how many more stars one sees in a profoundly dark place on the ground. I got the idea that comets, before the advent of street lights must really have looked liked some messenger from the gods. I saw a comet, Hale-Bopp I think, about 15 years ago from a well lit street in California and it was so insignificant I wondered what all the fuss was about.
I should have been living on this street back then. There are no street lights where I live and the night sky from my home's deck is almost as good as being at sea, or in the prairie, or in the mountains, where human lights are held at bay.
The full moon obliterates the stars in the night sky but they will get their turn in a couple of weeks when the moon wanes and makes way for their more subtle light. I read an article in a National Geographic at the dentist last week saying that there are millions of people in the developed world who never get to see a proper night sky. I hadn't thought about it really but being at sea on a small boat is still as dark as it ever was. When I was out cruising I'd sometimes turn the navigation lights off and sit in the cockpit and sea the night sky in all it's glory and it really is astonishing how many more stars one sees in a profoundly dark place on the ground. I got the idea that comets, before the advent of street lights must really have looked liked some messenger from the gods. I saw a comet, Hale-Bopp I think, about 15 years ago from a well lit street in California and it was so insignificant I wondered what all the fuss was about.I should have been living on this street back then. There are no street lights where I live and the night sky from my home's deck is almost as good as being at sea, or in the prairie, or in the mountains, where human lights are held at bay.--------------------------------
Okay, it's that time of year and I'm not going to hold it in this year. This is an official complaint.
Driving 38 miles per hour on the Overseas Highway is not acceptable. Now I know that when you snowbirds come back, and you tourists visit for the first time, the sights are splendid and deserve your attention and everything. BUT the minimum speed limit is 45 mph (70 km/h) and frequently the limit is 55mph (90 km/h) except for one ridiculous 35mph (60 km/h) stretch at the north end of Marathon. And I know that we live in the "islands" and therefore we should all be living on island time mon, but it doesn't work that way. This is America and we have to show up on time and do what needs to be done. As much as we resist, we are stuck with appointments and deadlines and stuff (unless we are Mad Jack, but he is a person apart, oh madone). Besides there are tons of places to pull over and admire the views all along the sides of the roadway so you don't have to slow to a crawl on the bridges to admire the water. Get out and walk, it will do you good. And my blood pressure too.
And tell the truth, you want people to give you real all-American service-with-a-smile when you get to your hotel. And what if you were feeling poorly and no one answered 9-1-1 because the relief operator was STUCK IN SLOW POKE TRAFFIC? Exactly, the mad motorcyclist you are holding up could very well be the person assigning you your room after a long tiring drive, or the convenience clerk selling you expensive gas at the end of the road. So please don't forget Florida law allows only written warnings if the speed limit is exceeded by five miles per hour or less so if you risk driving sixty on the Highway in a double nickel zone you will not get a nosebleed from the g-forces, I promise, and you will make me happy. And that has to be worth it, right? The truth is, one doesn't really save any time at all by going sixty as opposed to fifty, but it is mind numbingly boring. There, I said it. Sitting in a line of cars at 47 miles per hour sends me to sleep and not paying attention really is dangerous as we will see.
And tell the truth, you want people to give you real all-American service-with-a-smile when you get to your hotel. And what if you were feeling poorly and no one answered 9-1-1 because the relief operator was STUCK IN SLOW POKE TRAFFIC? Exactly, the mad motorcyclist you are holding up could very well be the person assigning you your room after a long tiring drive, or the convenience clerk selling you expensive gas at the end of the road. So please don't forget Florida law allows only written warnings if the speed limit is exceeded by five miles per hour or less so if you risk driving sixty on the Highway in a double nickel zone you will not get a nosebleed from the g-forces, I promise, and you will make me happy. And that has to be worth it, right? The truth is, one doesn't really save any time at all by going sixty as opposed to fifty, but it is mind numbingly boring. There, I said it. Sitting in a line of cars at 47 miles per hour sends me to sleep and not paying attention really is dangerous as we will see.-----------------------------
I was shaken up recently by an extremely nasty wreck on Atlantic Boulevard in Key West. A motorcyclist died in the classic car-crossing-street convergence that we all dread. I spoke to the traffic homicide investigator who showed up at the scene and he said the injuries were as bad as he had ever seen and they still give him nightmares a week later.
The car was coming towards the camera in broad daylight, the motorcycle was coming from over my shoulder and was passing Rest Beach to the right. The car wanted to turn into the beach parking lot where my Bonneville is parked. The car turned, not seeing the motorcycle, which braked hard, leaving a long black smear on the road, hit the side of the car and the rider's unhelmeted head went under the rear wheel.
I didn't know the rider, he was a bar tender downtown, but his sudden death left a lot of people shaken up because he was a very popular decent guy by all accounts. His wife was devastated, and whatever his relationship with her, she expected him home that day and he never did show. That was a death notification I was glad not to be involved with as the news went down hard, very hard I am told. In these kinds of situations it is easy to get caught up in figuring how you would be smarter and avoid the death trap. I don't know anything more about the circumstances other than what people have said and the newspaper has reported. The investigation continues and other than the horror of the scene the investigator has told me nothing. But I will say even if the motorcycle was speeding or pulling wheelies the car should have seen him coming. And it apparently did not.
One person told me he laid the motorcycle down to try to avoid the car and as Irondad will tell you that is the worst thing to do (I'm betting he never took any training either). If he did slide the bike that action slid his unhelmeted head under the wheel. Perhaps a helmet might not have saved his life, because if he was going fast the impact could have broken his neck anyway. Who knows? I like to think I ride and pay attention. I go as fast as I dare when I deem it safe, and its never safe in crowded urban areas. I treat cars as unpredictable, I generally wear a helmet boots and gloves. I hope for the best, I pay close attention, I look ahead. But above all I tell my wife I love her every time I leave home and I am glad to see here when I get back. All actions reinforced, powerully by this horrid wreck. Oh and I don't pull wheelies, because I've never learned how. The self preservation of the fearful.
The car was coming towards the camera in broad daylight, the motorcycle was coming from over my shoulder and was passing Rest Beach to the right. The car wanted to turn into the beach parking lot where my Bonneville is parked. The car turned, not seeing the motorcycle, which braked hard, leaving a long black smear on the road, hit the side of the car and the rider's unhelmeted head went under the rear wheel.I didn't know the rider, he was a bar tender downtown, but his sudden death left a lot of people shaken up because he was a very popular decent guy by all accounts. His wife was devastated, and whatever his relationship with her, she expected him home that day and he never did show. That was a death notification I was glad not to be involved with as the news went down hard, very hard I am told. In these kinds of situations it is easy to get caught up in figuring how you would be smarter and avoid the death trap. I don't know anything more about the circumstances other than what people have said and the newspaper has reported. The investigation continues and other than the horror of the scene the investigator has told me nothing. But I will say even if the motorcycle was speeding or pulling wheelies the car should have seen him coming. And it apparently did not.One person told me he laid the motorcycle down to try to avoid the car and as Irondad will tell you that is the worst thing to do (I'm betting he never took any training either). If he did slide the bike that action slid his unhelmeted head under the wheel. Perhaps a helmet might not have saved his life, because if he was going fast the impact could have broken his neck anyway. Who knows? I like to think I ride and pay attention. I go as fast as I dare when I deem it safe, and its never safe in crowded urban areas. I treat cars as unpredictable, I generally wear a helmet boots and gloves. I hope for the best, I pay close attention, I look ahead. But above all I tell my wife I love her every time I leave home and I am glad to see here when I get back. All actions reinforced, powerully by this horrid wreck. Oh and I don't pull wheelies, because I've never learned how. The self preservation of the fearful.------------------------------------
I saw a palm tree winking the sun at me in the breeze and I looked again and I realised that no matter how irritating these trees with their fronds and nut-missiles are they are still handsome things to see in mid winter especially:
And some people pay good money to have other sweaty people keep them in good order on their streets:
Coconut palms are not native to the Keys, they are imported to give the required "tropical paradise" look to the islands. They annoy some people with their profligate ways, spewing fronds and nuts year round. They used to annoy me but I am becoming mellow in old age. Oh dear.
And some people pay good money to have other sweaty people keep them in good order on their streets:Coconut palms are not native to the Keys, they are imported to give the required "tropical paradise" look to the islands. They annoy some people with their profligate ways, spewing fronds and nuts year round. They used to annoy me but I am becoming mellow in old age. Oh dear.----------------------------
I have found a new use for my vast quantities of palm fronds from my dozen or so mature coconut palms shading my house:
We had some friends over for dinner last weekend and tried out the fireplace I bought on a recent trip to Miami. Indeed this cast iron thing was the reason I drove the car to the Italian Consulate instead of riding up, so it had better work:
We had dinner upstairs, a collection of people I work with and their partners. Young Noel now forbidden forever by Amendment Two's voter approval from marrying Matt ("I don't want to get married like a boring straight!"); Belen who plans to marry Yeye in January; he wants seven kids, she wants six despite my warnings about poverty and stress and over population ("Yeah yeah; you aren't Cuban, you wouldn't understand, old man."). After dinner we went down to my wife's beach, or sand lot really, and started the fire.
Belen was mother and showed Diggy, our token Nicaraguan how to build a smoky cripsy melted marshmallow into a sandwich and we sat around and talked and poked the fire and watched the embers swirl up into the warm November night. Rachel, our token immigrant English speaker developed a taste for pyromania and was seen casting very dry, very flammable pieces of coconut matting into the flames and squeaking with fear and delight as they flamed up.
It was a good night, no one got drunk and threw up, we relieved some work related stress and I listened to the brown and the black and immigrant and native young Americans talk about Obama and their future. I think I may soon get Noel to finally register to vote; of course if he registers with the wrong party I'll have to kill him, but freedom comes with a price. It was good to be there and watch them all cement their one-ness with that perfect symbol of American-ness, a graham cracker, a melted marshmallow a square of Hershey's and a final slice of graham cracker to hold it all together. S'mores, the constitutional glue that binds us all together.
We had some friends over for dinner last weekend and tried out the fireplace I bought on a recent trip to Miami. Indeed this cast iron thing was the reason I drove the car to the Italian Consulate instead of riding up, so it had better work:We had dinner upstairs, a collection of people I work with and their partners. Young Noel now forbidden forever by Amendment Two's voter approval from marrying Matt ("I don't want to get married like a boring straight!"); Belen who plans to marry Yeye in January; he wants seven kids, she wants six despite my warnings about poverty and stress and over population ("Yeah yeah; you aren't Cuban, you wouldn't understand, old man."). After dinner we went down to my wife's beach, or sand lot really, and started the fire.Belen was mother and showed Diggy, our token Nicaraguan how to build a smoky cripsy melted marshmallow into a sandwich and we sat around and talked and poked the fire and watched the embers swirl up into the warm November night. Rachel, our token immigrant English speaker developed a taste for pyromania and was seen casting very dry, very flammable pieces of coconut matting into the flames and squeaking with fear and delight as they flamed up.It was a good night, no one got drunk and threw up, we relieved some work related stress and I listened to the brown and the black and immigrant and native young Americans talk about Obama and their future. I think I may soon get Noel to finally register to vote; of course if he registers with the wrong party I'll have to kill him, but freedom comes with a price. It was good to be there and watch them all cement their one-ness with that perfect symbol of American-ness, a graham cracker, a melted marshmallow a square of Hershey's and a final slice of graham cracker to hold it all together. S'mores, the constitutional glue that binds us all together.---------------------------------------
Gratuitous Vespa photo:
My wife's 150cc Vespa ET4, lurking behind Overseas Market one afternoon when I stole it for a ride. I miss my Vespa.
My wife's 150cc Vespa ET4, lurking behind Overseas Market one afternoon when I stole it for a ride. I miss my Vespa.