Saturday, November 12, 2011

Moon

I just can't get over how lovely this latest bright full moon has been. Perhaps because it has been so perfectly mild and clear weather.


Imagine standing out under the clear silver light in shirt sleeves admiring such a November moon. I enjoy doing so very much.


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Draught Boddington's

Fred told me Finnigan's Wake has draught Boddington's and though we are both fans of the canned product sold with a nitrogen widget to simulate the draught beer we were both ready to try the real thing "imported from Manchester."


We set the world right over a couple of pints fortified by macaroni and cheese and hot wings. Cheyenne had to wait in the car as no dogs are allowed anymore here. It was a long time ago when Cheyenne's predecessor sat under the table while my wife and I had dinner. Nut they had no Boddington's back then and now they do. A very good thing that is.



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Angling Home

He looked happy ambling home with a barely visible rod, home from an angling expedition on the nearby waterfront.


A warm sunny winter evening in Key West. Everybody's dream.



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Aqua Power

The news that two power boaters died in a high speed wreck this week came as a surprise. I watched them all roll through Key West last week and never did it occur to me that this bizarre sport could claim a life, or worst yet, two. But it did.


But life goes on and the loud platforms for high speed kidney damage have been rumbling around town, the boats on the water and their absurdly huge tow trucks cluttering the streets.


They are objects of dreams and fantasies for everywhere they go they draw crowds, to watch perchance to dream.


That must be why people risk their lives racing across the water at absurd speeds at horrid expense. Living the dream for everyone else.


The racers themselves took a moment and gathered in small bands across town to mark another crazy race in the Southernmost City before they left for their next appointment. We do see all sorts of strangeness here.


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Sign Boneyard

At the end of Government Road in the far rear of Little Hamaca City Park there is an open space with old sheds that have been adapted for use as a place to store old signs.


I found it quite delightful in it's eccentricity.


Here they languish, higgeldy piggeldy until next time they are needed.


Oh yes, come one come all and fill our town with merriment (and loud mufflers!).


Seeing these signs lying around makes one wish for the power to install them at will.


Public works are the people who do what needs to be done.


Ready for any contingency, federal or local.


Running these events apparently takes some forethought.


But on the subject of signs, what is this fashion for transporting the written word across one's buttocks?


Cheyenne had nothing to envy the muzzled leashed and carefully controlled sweet dog.



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