Key West Decorated

Sometimes Key West surprises me and I saw these nicely painted trash cans and I thought nicely done! 

 I  was struck by the reflection of the William Street church as Cheyenne dragged me up the past.

 And again a but further up:

Cheyenne was a determined walker, the air was cool, about  65  degrees and that seemed to enliven her.

These days I look at Residential Parking spots, the forbidden land to a county resident like me. My licence plate labeled "Monroe" marked me as a county resident in the good old days but that is no longer enough. The new permit system requires actual city residence (or a motorcycle) for easier parking. Cheyenne might have to learn to ride pillion. 

Christmas is almost nigh and the absurd reminders of snow and Teutonic Yule start popping up all over town. Why would anyone  want to be reminded of snow flakes?

The sidewalk obstacle course on Eaton Street got my attention away from Christmas decorations. It was  a slalom.

 Oops! No!  There they are again, palm fronds, Christmas tree, wreath and spinning fans. All in one.

I used to work here on William Street. Cheyenne sniffed a shrub and I waxed nostalgic about this strange interim job I had in the receiving department for Fast Buck Freddie's. It was summer and we were air conditioning-free so we sat on packing crates and opened cases of weird dust catchers, unwrapped peculiar furniture and laughed at the collections of trifles people paid lots of good money for. One of my colleagues was an ex gang member from Southern California moved to Key West to be with his grandmother away from the hit squads. He was a funny kid with a huge afro that he seemed to hide behind if that were possible, until he got to know you. And the stories of gangland life came pouring out making my hair stand on end. He was half my age and seemed to have lived twice as much in a California I never saw when I lived in Santa Cruz, a middle class hippy university town far from Compton. 

My other colleague was my boss who was about my age but smoked like a chimney and was so shriveled up he  looked like he could be my father.  He had a young child as I recall and his life seemed rather more hectic than I should have liked. We were a weirdly mis-matched trio but the life was rather fun and I felt like I was re-living my early years of employment when I held odd jobs in places I never expected to end up. I was  about nineteen years old as I recall when I got a job sorting cheese supplies for a grocery chain. Later I was a truck driver's assistant delivering food to supermarkets across London before dawn. I got to see the sun come up over St Paul's Cathedral on many mornings, and drank huge mugs of tea with true Cockney stall holders. Looking back I have no idea how I ended up working for Cullen's grocery stores anymore than I do how I ended up at Fast Buck's. Strange interludes in a life that has wandered all over the map.

Cheyenne stalled on Lazy Way Lane sniffing something indelicate and fascinating and I overheard an animated conversation between two residentially challenged men.The one with the walking stick was telling the other guy about how hard it is to be homeless in Key West. He said his buddy gave up in despair and went home to Cleveland, which in December can be taken as a sign of true hopelessness.

Then, further down the man on the bicycle was telling the woman very earnestly that something in his life, possibly his rooming arrangement just had to change. Cheyenne was on her way so the true nature of the drama got away from me.

 This dog still had a mission:

She managed, did my Yellow Labrador, to put herself in stationary poses in evocative places. I trailed along.

And there was another homeless dude at the bus stop on Caroline Street across from the Bull. No comment from him and Cheyenne brushed by quite rudely.

 The evidence of the night before:

 More supplies! Bring more supplies!

Tonight will be another round of carousing on Duval Street. I'll be working, as usual.

Changing Business

 I am frequently to be found noting the changes around town, simply because there are so many going on all the time. You'd  think the economy really is getting better! In this town it seems like the economy never got really bad compared to other places if you judge by all the activity here. 

 The old Waterfront Market is being transformed at what seems like the slowest pace ever into a brew  pub. Hopefully not all the beer they offer will be bitter double IPA stuff that is so fashionable. I am    casting around for a replacement for Finnegan's Wake but I expect this will be a loud noisy sports    bar type of place aimed at youngsters. 

And across the street the new Marker Resort is getting the finishing touches. I look at it and can hardly remember the leafy perimeter of Jabour's Trailer Park. Time passes. 

The hotel rather has the appearance of a jail if you look at it from the wrong angle.

The old West Marine is getting new tenants including a  24-hour gym, the sort of mainland innovation that will warm the hearts of all these people from Up North who bring their jogging habits with them every winter to the sidewalks of Key West. 

The place looks pretty ragged but supposedly  change will be along soon.  I'm guessing the chickens will be moved along.

 Frankly I find it astonishing how things sell or rent despite their dilapidated appearance. You'd think someone hoping to rent the building would at least mow, if not pluck the weeds..? Or paint over the  mottled scabrous paint? Not a bit of it!

 From Conch Republic Seafood in the distance there is a collection of cement that apparently is soon to be transformed.

And they are back to the pre-2008 shenanigans selling condos not yet built. the economy must be back!

It seems rather a shame that the best possible use for this area is more condos. Imagine if a park were built here. The open space at Truman Waterfront still stubbornly defies being transformed into a park. I am wondering if I'll be dead before that happens.

Talking of  change, Garbo's Grill seems to have gone for good. It was around the corner but this construction on the former site seems to have stalled and on Facebook they seem to be on the 900 block of Caroline. I haven't noticed them but I shall have to look closer, I guess.

This convenience store was a convenience store that closed and has now re-opened under a new name. Easy come easy go. Convenience stores are all over the place and most of them are surprisingly stable.

The Palm Reader is gone of course, shot to death at his family home in Trinidad, but weirdly enough his space on Duval Street is still there, now a monument to him. I wonder how long it will last?

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Cheyenne At Mile Zero

Preventing me from going home to enjoy a pot of tea on International Tea Day.

Key West's Charm

How is it I've never seen (noticed) this mural before?

It is on the side of this place that used to be musical instrument store on Caroline Street.

It's getting closer to Christmas than I realize. And as that deadline hurtles towards us...

Hanukkah is upon us. Tomorrow.

Thanksgiving was our big holiday this year so we can allow ourselves to slide by this most stressful time.

Snow as decorative motif is as much white as I need. On a bicycle no less.

Telegraph Lane behind Rick's has been freshly repaved, not surprising considering a city commissioner owns the bar. However the sidewalk looks like a third world dump. Civic pride Key West style.

Apparently the party at the Grand on Duval went late. They left the glasses out until morning.

Another dump located in the yard of a historic home, they say. Perhaps Key West has a surfeit of historic yards such that not all of them can be kept pristine.

Cheyenne did her best to keep Key West clean. The Dion's fried chicken bag never stood a chance.

"Good morning." He looked up bleary eyed at my dog. Young, idle and too cheap to find a place to sleep.

A friend remarked that part of Key West's charm is it's unkempt style. There you go.

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A Wake For Finnegan's

Walking past the former Irish pub on Grinnell Street I looked in and saw the Book Of...Guinness just lying there. It seemed like a Sign, except I don't believe in signs, especially as the last rumor I heard had my favorite pub coming back as a Cajun Restaurant. Great; trade in Colcannon for jambalaya. Guinness for Abita. I love New Orleans, but not when it displaces Finnegan's Wake.

 

The exterior of the venerable pub looks much the same except cleaner and freshly painted. The Irish greeting, "a thousand million welcomes" or some such over the top Celtic greeting still dangles in the breeze. I'm not sure if it's preseverence is encouraging or an annoyingly drawn out farewell.

Finnegan's needed a clean up and I like how it looks now but I miss the pub.

The old website is still up for a touch of nostalgia.

I'm hoping for the best...and expecting the worst.

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Loafing On Sugarloaf

I have 500 fresh miles on the P200E back from the shop and I am working diligently to get out from under the burden of running in the new engine. Thus it was I chose to abandon my dog early on Thursday afternoon and chose instead to duck off the tyranny of the Overseas Highway for a short diversion south at Sugarloaf Lodge.

The weather has been bright and sunny but cool this week, especially in the early morning before dawn as I wend my way home with a visor that fogs at traffic lights and hands that feel the crisp chill of 58  degree darkness. So I packed my heavy winter riding jacket on the front rack to wear home and save my teeth from chattering. I do enjoy the versatility of the old Vespa.

I took the south shore of Sugarloaf Key  and stopped at the bridge over the creek for pictures and a dude on a fishing skiff obliged by zipping by to break up the pastoral serenity. All pictures need a little action from time to time.

 American Shoal Lighthouse was just visible as a pin on the horizon.

I had spotted a couple of motorcycles or scooters in the distance ahead of me as I rode enjoying the light and the scenery. They went beyond the bridge, probably to the end of the road where there is a foot trail, into the mangroves,where Cheyenne and I took a Short Walk a  few years ago. The motorcycles, for they were low slung cruisers much loved by part time riders around here, burbled by and returned my happy smile with glares such as might be projected by their hard core brethren on Sons of Anarchy.

 It was good, pausing for a minute before getting back on the conveyor belt to work.  I just wished my dog was there.