"Carol invited me to a reading," my wife said as she curled up on the couch, leafing through the Sunday Citizen. "I wonder if I should go...?" A girl's afternoon out, thought I, which means I get to do my thing. "Friendships need to be nourished," said I sententiously so we drove into town and my wife went off with her friends to some sort of post-feminist reading circle as I thought, and I took the wife's scooter from her workplace and rode into town. Her Vespa ET4 has been languishing while her arm is in the surgical cast and the plan was for me to ride the 150 home and tart it up a bit. But first I had some culture and color to absorb.
My wife's teaching assistant and office manager were salivating at the prospect of spending the afternoon at Jack Flats on Duval with their men while watching The Game, however for me an afternoon off means a meander through Old Town on my (wife's) Vespa taking pictures for future blogs ending up at the Old Pile seen above, St Paul's at the corner of Duval and Eaton, where the Philadelphia Brass Quintet was giving the first in this season's series of "Impromptu Concerts." 
On the steps of the church I met a couple of friends who invited me to sit with them and I did. The quintet did their bit in a concert I rated okay,interesting selection of pieces but the execution seemed uneven to me. As a former tuba player I love the instrument to death but it can too easily kill off the melody in a small, relatively small space.
The sun was setting as we streamed out of the church and key West always looks lovely in the light of the dying day, with a purplish tinge on the sky and warm gray tones down below as street lights come on and open doors throw squares of orange light onto the sidewalks. I took the long way out of town along the south coast startling an ambling convertible on my 50mph "moped." The ride home was delightful on the little Vespa.
Not least because it buzzes along merrily at 65mph and even allowed me to pass a dawdling kid in a souped up hatchback and I get silly pleasure from surprising people with my wife's little scooter.That was the last pleasure of the day. Half my enjoyment of the music came from actually bothering to show up, a sense of being rewarded for the effort. The ride home was fun no doubt, always a pleasure but my wife's "post feminist reading" turned out to have been a poetry gathering at the Key West Literary Seminar. Well, bummer, she met Billy Collins. And I didn't. Grrr.
It was sometime last year I was wandering the stacks at Voltaire Books on Simonton Street when I opened a slim volume of poetry called Sailing Alone Around the Room, if only because I used to be a single handed sailor. And if you think the book is about sailing, think again. I burst out laughing at the very first poem titled Another Reason Why I Don't Keep a Gun in the House, and if you think it has anything to do with the Second Amendment: think again. Think of an innovative Beethoven composing for a dog abandoned at home.
My always thoughtful wife brought me home a copy of another book of Billy Collins' poems, and if you look at the title you'll know why this is a book you have to own. I've enjoyed only a very few 20th century poets, mostly writers out of the trenches of World War One, and I have mostly been drawn to romantic, rhyming, poetry-like poetry from the classical 19th century. Billy Collins has been a breakout for me, and my wife knows this.
So there it is, in black and white, an autographed copy of the book no less, which can join the other one in our loo. I have an autographed copy of a book by Billy Collins and I wasn't even there to get it!
My always thoughtful wife brought me home a copy of another book of Billy Collins' poems, and if you look at the title you'll know why this is a book you have to own. I've enjoyed only a very few 20th century poets, mostly writers out of the trenches of World War One, and I have mostly been drawn to romantic, rhyming, poetry-like poetry from the classical 19th century. Billy Collins has been a breakout for me, and my wife knows this.So there it is, in black and white, an autographed copy of the book no less, which can join the other one in our loo. I have an autographed copy of a book by Billy Collins and I wasn't even there to get it! Post feminist readings have a lot to answer for. And so do assumptions.
I found out this bizarre building was designed by a British architect for the world's fair in London in 1936 and was built in Hispaniola eventually as the centerpiece of the acknowledgement of Columbus' trek to the Bahamas. The faro (lighthouse) does actually illuminate at night but such is the electrical draw it tends to black out the rest of the city, so the illuminations are infrequent but I did sneak a photo of a postcard illustrating the effect, a Christian cross in the night sky, near enough:
Indeed the day we took a gua-gua (minibus) out to the monument it was gray and overcast and threatening rain. We need a light to show us the way.
The navy guard at Columbus's tomb stands at the apex of the church-like building with corridors running down each side of the open air central "nave."
The lower floors had open windows and the impending storm blew scads of cool air through the exhibits. 
The various rooms are devoted each to a different American country or colony. French Islands have their room as do the Dutch Antilles, alongside Venezuela, Cuba, Canada and everywhere else from Argentina to Italy ( Columbus was Italian of course). There was also a curious exhibit from Taiwan, Republic of China, asserting the very same thesis posited in the book 1421, that the Chinese passed this way long before Columbus. 
The US room had the obligatory letters of congratulation along with photos:
The US exhibit contained excerpts from the book "A Day In the Life" with an odd cross section of daily, multi-cultural activities around these United States. I don't suppose there was much else to write as Columbus never actually stepped on the US in his forced march to beat da Gama to the fabulous Indies.
Outside the Faro the weather was looking like crap so we bought some postcards from a vendor and made him happy, snapped a picture of an attempt at a cityscape under the glowering skies and scampered back to our five star hotel room far from the crumbling decay of tropical Santo Domingo.
The faro struck me as a grandiloquent gesture trying to embrace all the nations subsequently populated and exploited by Europe, and pointing them inward at the tiny country hosting this massive palace; but it seemed to be trying too hard. And whatever that English architect was thinking I can only imagine that he, like Samuel Coleridge, was high on heroin when he penciled his masterpiece. This is one unusual human monument I wouldn't want to miss, and now I can die knowing I haven't.
To be a homeless citizen in Key West offers opportunities for waterfront living, and though I would find it horribly dull to sit and stare with nothing to do all day our hcs revel in the void. They gather at Higgs Beach at the tables and talk and drink and fight and live out their little dramas like street performances that scare off families and cause people to...call the police.
They piss someone off, a parent perhaps taking their kids to play at Astro City playground across the street, and we respond and move the hcs to another location. Lovely Simonton Beach sounds like a nice spot. 
Which only looks like a park, an ideal spot to hang out and chill during a lunch break. Its actually these hotel charlie's living room:
The city of Key West and Monroe county provide free shelter in air conditioned tent-dormitories on Stock island conveniently located next to the Sheriff's office. There the working poor of the island can shower, use the lockers and the phone, collect mail, do laundry and show up for work each day as well groomed as a housed worker. The people who litter our streets and beaches aren't working poor, they are seasonal derelicts many of whom travel down in the winter and some of whom leave in the spring. There is no plan to deal with the problem except the rather draconian idea of removing park benches so people can't sleep on them. 
Like at Bayview Park, across the street from the police station. 
Welcome to Key West, and our signs are more suggestions than actual requirements, apparently.
Subtlety isn't a priority of homeless citizens, they like to hang it all out and give our parks a special flavor. 
Like a refugee camp.At night it is illegal to park on the streets and sleep so the campers park at Publix, a private parking lot, or at Albertsons, both in New Town and spend the night there before returning to White Street at Higgs Beach for some sea-side fun at the AIDS Memorial by White Street Pier.
The residentially challenged are here for the winter and they may not have houses but they have homes, all around the four mile long island:
at Higgs Beach,
at Rest Beach,
at Bayview Park.
But to step out of work a few minutes before six in the evening and still be riding out of the parking lot in daylight, why that's the first sign of summer around here. In Key West the seasons aren't entirely measured by ambient temperature. Its true we do get cold fronts and temperatures drop as the clouds cover the skies and the winds pick up.
But, the big deal really is the level of the humidity. Summer time is warm day and night and the moisture in the air is like a muslin cloth over one's face. In winter the cloth is whipped away and one's skin dries up and long work pants no longer seem a burden. In between fronts temperatures rise, the sun comes out and the coastal waters glow their usual shades of turquoise, all along Highway One.
For the anxious tourist crossing yet another highway bridge on the way down the yellow brick road to Key West, that green marker shows its just 28 more miles to the corner of Whitehead and Fleming Streets. And if they're lucky they arrive as the cold blows away and the sun comes out.
This is a cloudy gray threatening day along Highway One at Big Coppitt, around Mile Marker 11. Compare that to scenes of devastation and electric mittens in the dismal reports from elsewhere around the US. At least I know how well off I am, its hard to take this place for granted. And no, I still don't miss snow.
I know where I'm going to get my next vehicle. Carmax had us out the door in the Chrysler with a proper tag within an hour of deciding to buy. The price was fixed at $13,000 and due to her extensive research my wife knew that was a decent price for a 2004 with 36,000 miles on it so she was happy. The dealer lets you know ahead of time their fee is $149 so there are no hidden dealer prep fees and all that other rubbish plus they have an in house DMV office so the tag application was processed right there and they stuck it on the car for us. Plus we got our loan online in 5 minutes without having to haggle with a finance specialist and fill out reams of paperwork. At 7.45 percent they were 1.5 points lower than the interest for a new car at Potamkin across the street. The whole transaction was amazingly simple and above board. I had never heard of CarMax before. In my defense I hate buying and selling vehicles and they make it too easy. And they had a rather toothsome white Thunderbird on the lot at $21,000...
On the way home I enjoyed a private treat when a Moto Guzzi V11 Sport in the Coppa Italia red white and green livery worked its way through the traffic jam on the Dolphin Expressway. I got a surprise when he pulled alongside and I discovered a real motorcycle not just another boring crotch rocket. Naturally as I readied the camera he changed lanes and all I got was a quick shot in the Nissan's mirror. That set me to drooling almost as badly as my wife who was grinning madly while driving under the clear blue sky in her own car. The other rearview picture of the day was of my wife enjoying a sunny 75 degree Miami evening as she followed me home.
In fact she came home very happy after three hours cruising with the top down. I knew she'd missed her last convertible, a Camaro we'd had in California,
and it was past time for her to get another. And I wasn't wrong; there's a change.
Snowbird season is the time for surprises, when people from Up North wheel out their abandoned rides from sheds and garages and press them into service as a way to get around a town clogged with cars and nowhere to park. The other day I was in New Town on a mission of some sort and when I came out of the store look what had pulled up alongside me. 
I snapped a picture, from instinct not really sure why this classic unloved Honda appealed to me. It just did in some subliminal way. And it was only yesterday during my lunch break at Fort Zachary Taylor Park that the answer hit me. This is the Era Of The Classics. I reached for my blog...
Cycle was dismissive of this 750cc recreation of the classic Italian sportbike of 40 years ago thanks to its "modest" 750cc capacity which proves they know how to completely miss the point. But I doubt I will ever buy a Moto Guzzi in the US thanks to their lackadaisical "network" of dealers which is a terrible shame. But this is motorcycling as I remember it, and I'm glad Triumph is led by a motorcycle loving businessman who knows how to stay solvent.