Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Walking In The Rain

My wife is getting over a little dose of student flu brought to her classroom by one of the little dears, so on my day off I volunteered to drive her to work. I don't think her mood was improved by the black clouds lying over Key West and rain was hammering down on Stock Island when I dropped off at her school at the College. I drove on to Old Town to take Cheyenne on one of her favorite walks- urban street walking. This sign portended what was to come, though I don't generally think of Poorhouse Lane as flooded by rain."Slow- blocked by Recycling Truck" would have been more a propos. Lots of comments in the Citizen's Voice in the paper have referred to noisy garbage trucks early in the morning. These are the kinds of complaints I usually associate with winter snowbirds, so either the grumpiness is catching or they are down early to take their clothes off for Fantasy Fest this weekend. Bill Butler Park should have been a no wake zone for sure.The garbage can looked more like a goldfish bowl. The pool cleaner's name reflected in the puddle tickled my funny bone.Very droll, I'm sure. There was no sign of Mad Jack monitoring Southard Street as Cheyenne dragged me by.An elaborate child's bicycle seat, perhaps suitable for a post carbon future.There used to be the Dry Cleaners with the cat and kittens mural.Now it's a hole. The mainstream press tells us next week's elections are, as usual, a referendum on the president's policies, or lack of them. Locally School Board candidate Robin Smith-Martin took a hit in the local press when the Blue Paper ( ) ran what it calls a background check and was rather harsh about the candidate's apparently money losing business tactics. The paper, which describes journalism as a contact sport labels him "an Inept Businessman, an Irresponsible Investor and a Tax Scofflaw." A friend of mine read the article, looked up and said, Hmm I'm not voting for him. This from someone who professes not to like the Blue Paper.Not a problem for me, I was voting the other way anyway. The head shot of Barbara Bowers was by Richard Watherwax a local photographer who advertises (in the Blue paper!) his predilection for nudes so fortunately perhaps the candidate for School Board who apparently writes a column called Travel Libido "a column that mixes fantasy and sensuality with the reality of travel" might consider it better to publish just a head shot. Especially as she is running for the School Board, typically a prudish and fussy lot at least when on the dais.
I can only think that Bowers will make a fine replacement for the simpering incumbent who is reportedly leaving the Keys for the mainland, replacing his bravado with some other strain of human emotion more akin to my own, a sense of ironic detachment I'd like to hope . If nothing else she does seem to know the difference between complement and compliment, so the little dears will be able to get grammatical advice from her, if not on the subject of sensuality in travel, no doubt. Better than a man who took out a mortgage to gamble on the stock market I suppose. I have to stop mining the local elections for tidbits like these else I shall require myself to refrain from going to the polls next week, as I really do try to pay attention to the candidates running for office and we need a few good ones to drag us out to vote.
It must be obvious by now that I am no artist. What possessed the owner of this garden to put electrical isolators down as ornaments I cannot imagine. They have LAPP inscribed on them, so who knows, perhaps they were driven across country from a job lot auction in the City of the Queen of Angels. Nevertheless, whatever their story they look splendid and quite surprising, which is the point.
This flourishing object of natural art put me in mind of rhubarb. Yes, I know, my mind works in mysterious ways. I thought of rhubarb (which I love to eat) and then I photographed a plant that patently isn't rhubarb. Go figure.
A special note of thanks to the driver of this Mercedes from New Hampshire for not actually knocking over a moped which might have been parked in the yellow striped (?!) moped parking spot under the front bumper. I'm guessing scooter parking is an alien concept in New Hampshire where I'm told they like to live free or die (or kill scooterists in the effort). I rather liked the mixed message sent by the yellow curb (no parking, not even for an out of state Mercedes) and the apparent scooter parking box (currently occupied by the car). In either case this "Harley Davidson" wasn't eligible to park there.
I wonder how an old mini van, ex-taxi most likely, is improved by going to the effort to paint a motorcycle brand down the side?
A leafy home somehow made it's way uninvited into the memory of my digital camera. That was just before the rain started, again.
I think Cheyenne must have been a running dog in her former life, one of those poor things that rarely if ever get a chance to wander and sniff and pause to ponder the meaning of just being.
She used to try to tempt me into running when I first got her a year ago, after being given to the SPCA on the grounds she was "too old." If she had been a running dog she certainly is too old now, and I am too, and she seems to enjoy her retirement as a wandering dog who can take all the time in the world to sniff. Especially when we are cowering under a tree waiting for the shower to pass over Elizabeth Street.
I found an information box back at Bill Butler Park as we approached the car. Of course my curiosity forced me to look inside and instead of the dreaded used condom I expected to find, I found a paperback book. In German. I have absolutely no idea either why it was there, so I closed the lid and left it for the next German reader with a sense of curiosity to happen by.
I would be embarrassed to draw attention to myself in a multi-colored car like this and would feel forced to obey speed limits and stuff all the time. Happily there are others less self conscious than I.
"Remember man that thou art dust, and into dust thou shalt return." That was the dirge they used to say over us as we knelt to get our foreheads marked with ashes on Ash Wednesday. I think it applied to women as well, back in the sexist days of the Catholic Church.
Scott's KLR, last seen powering off to Arizona a couple of summers ago, was looking all business-like with the Jesse bags and the side stand sunk deep underwater.
Scott sat on the Bonneville a while back and pronounced the seat to be far more comfortable. I was unable to sit on the KLR as my legs are far too short. I am dust already when it comes to tall motorbikes.