Roberts Lane

I first published this essay March 17th, 2009 and there is no Cheyenne in the pictures because I didn't get to rescue her until December of that year...so while I was here she was being run off her feet by the family that eventually abandoned her for being too old. I wonder what they would think of her now?

Roberts Lane

I parked the Bonneville in a motorcycle spot on Frances Street planning to stroll over to Nassau Lane to take some pictures. Imagine my surprise when it occurred to me I had already done that, and in fact using the "search" function at the top of the page I found the essay posted last December 18th 2008. Well bugger, I thought. This blog really has been going on too long. It was with some trepidation I went to Roberts Lane for a back up plan and honestly I couldn't remember for the life of me if I had taken pictures there or only thought about it. So I took some more.Fortunately the same "search"function revealed no previous entries by this name so here we are, off Frances Street between Southard and Angela, a stone's throw from the cemetery. Indeed Google Maps shows Roberts almost connecting with Catholic Lane, though in fact they don't seem to join without crossing private property...I could hear sounds of construction coming from the house though I was discouraged from approaching as I overheard a most unusual conversation, as I stood on tip toe, out of sight) I hoped!). One male voice said: " I don't see why they'd come after me.I never killed anyone." Which is quite devastating as the opening gambit in any conversation when followed up by the next statement to his companion in physical labor: "It wasn't like I killed anyone,"he went on: "I was just the book keeper to the mob." Which had me interested. It didn't seem like he was in the witness protection program, though why would he be laboring instead of living off his ill gotten gains? Maybe rebuilding a home on Roberts Lane is deep cover? Like the sailors in HMS Pinafore I with caution feeling, softly stole away...to enjoy some of the architectural gems of this tiny lane:It is traditional in Key west to paint the eaves over the porches in this or similar shade of blue. supposedly it keeps away insects, and more esoterically, spirits as well.I am a big fan, as are insurance companies, of metal roofs which provide the strongest hurricane protection and I particularly enjoy the old style metal roof, almost scalloped looking like this:Roberts Lane is also filled with Art which gave my wander an added fillip:Roberts Lane has a little intrigue of it's own in J Wills Burke's book Streets of Key West where he discusses a Roberts Lane off Caroline Street. From what I can gather that would be the alley way alongside Los Cubanitos Marine hardware store which never had a name as far as I knew but on Google maps it shows as Roberto Lane which may be what Burke is referring to in some geographic cosmic mix up. Or not.Burke's Roberts referred to any one of three historical figures, a "colored Sheriff" or a "colored businessman" weirdly enough a friend of Stephen Mallory, Secretary of the Confederate Navy. Ina any event the lane is here and not there nowadays. Very pretty it is too, off Frances Street:And there on Frances runs the dreaded Conch Train blathering its endless repetitive spiel at 5 miles per hour (8km/h): One needs the Conch Train as a reminder that this is Key West, not Paradise.

Streaks of Light

Many years ago a woman I lived with in Florida remarked to me that in winter the texture of the light changes in South Florida. And she was right and I have not forgotten. It does. 

 I suppose the bald fact of the matter is obvious, as the sun falls lower and lower in its arc across the sky the angle at which the sun's rays strike also changes and the sun is no longer directly overhead. The Tropic of Capricorn is only sixty miles south of here so in June the sun is almost directly overhead which makes for a hot drenched sensation to the light. By now the sun is sensibly much closer to the southern horizon and mornings are arriving earlier and with angled light at a time when I can still be awake if Cheyenne needs a walk.

Above the temple of the spirit, the Minor Basilica of St Mary Star of the Sea and below the other kind of temple, Old Town Fitness. The sun shines equally on both. I love the texture of the non native coconut palms and the shiny quality they get from the sun. They wave all day around my house and though they are a pain with huge numbers of fronds falling off all the time, and dropping coconuts, which do taste good,  I know exactly why tyey are seen everywhere in the Keys. They look lovely.

Bright white winter sunshine makes the most banal apartment complex  glow.  There is a freshness in the early morning air that elsewhere might hint at autumn, but around here with no signs of  yellowing leaves or frost or anything, it looks more like a developing spring day.

Cheyenne is learning to appreciate the coolness of the winter mornings and she seems to be more inclined to be awake when I get home from a night at work. The fact that I arrive home around 6:30 in full daylight also helps her wake up, I think.

I rarely walk with money in my pocket. I carry plastic bags and my iPhone, but if I carried money I'd end up with a huge cup of con leche and a cholesterol sandwich from Sandy's...Cuban coffee and eggy bacon Cuban bread are irresistible to me.

Tell me this cottage with the royal palms, with the shadows, with Virginia Street disappearing into the distance... this is Key West as we want to imagine it will be in a hundred years even if the ocean rises three feet in the interim. 

All this head-in-air looking at shadows and sun beams was provoked by the ride into town at seven in the morning and those big empty thunderheads in the sky.

Havana Lane

Blame Garythe Tourist who wants more pictures of the quiet streets of Key West. This one is a block long between Truman Avenue and the cemetery. Last photographed in 2011.

It is the sort of quintessential Key West lane, brimming with bicycles, no room for cars you'd think, though local drivers ignore those sorts of fears.

My colleague JW has told me some stories about one side of his family that operates the plumbing business. Stories of customers forgetting not to flush on the heads o the hard working plumbers downstairs, stories of the dismal smells of failed plumbing, stories that convinced him a work life behind a computer might be more salubrious. 

Four years ago I remarked on a  rather nice little Yamaha parked on the lane. This year there is one of the new generation Harley Davidsons, the Street 500 which you might imagine ideal for buzzing around Key West and the Keys. I rode one in North Carolina earlier this year and I quite liked it. I like most motorcycles and even though this is lacking in personality a bit I think it's  quite practical. In the land of motorcycle exaggeration a practical motorcycle that doesn't set your hair on fire...may not be great.

A Key West style break room:

The habit of depositing unsightly trash is ever present. I usually stick my large trash on my little trailer and pay a visit to the dump for a modest fee. I'd rather do that than see this stuff outside my house moldering away every day.

Cheyenne found it intriguing, as she always does.

Old Florida louvers to allow air to circulate and keep the interior shady and dry when raining. I am fond of air conditioning but I like the look:

And then I found myself immersed in a  jungle. I wish I knew how to grow stuff like this. And keep it looking nice. It would be dead inside a week at my house.

Open to vehicular traffic:

Veterans Memorial Garden

Today the park is officially dedicated, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

 I went by early today on my lunch break to check out the newest memorial in Key West.

 I thought it was well done and I expect it will look good over time.

Not much to say really, except this was probably long overdue. The place is good and I'm glad there is somewhere to sit and contemplate. This town has a terror of bums occupying public spaces but he saddest part is many of these homeless are vets, we are told.  A memorial is better than nothing but it seems more like a start than a final goal.

The Eleventh Hour Of The Eleventh Day Of The Eleventh Month

Of all the days in history the one that resonates with me is Armistice Day, now known as Veteran's Day, and when I saw Canadian politicians last week celebrating the elections I noticed the poppies on their lapels...

Armistice Day was created to mark the millions who died in World War One in the poppy fields of Flanders in Belgium. They said the earth was as red as poppies with all the blood spilled on it. So through the English speaking Commonwealth people wear little paper poppies to remind themselves of all who died.

I grew up in the shadow of World War Two, food rationing was only just ending after years of suffering to pay off the endless debts of war. And now we live wars by proxy, people who died in Iraq weren't even allowed to be shown on television lest the national drama have its political story line disturbed. Veterans who deserve medical care, who were promised medical care, don't get it and no one these days promises "never again." Pearl Harbor, D Day, Bataan, and even one dare say Korea and Vietnam are becoming historical footnotes in scholarly texts in a country with the attention span, collectively, of a gold fish. If it didn't happen on Twitter and doesn't expose breasts who can remember it?

For me Armistice Day celebrating the peace treaty that took effect at 11:00 am on November the 11th 1918 remains the  day that makes all the forgotten dead and wounded and lost and missing and sacrificed for political reasons that no longer make sense. Think of all those millions who died to avenge the murder of the Serbian Archduke in Sarajevo...

And to take us back to the new bright hopes of Canada's government pictured above, it turns out the last soldier recorded to have died in the war that ended at 11:00 am that November day in 1918...was from Nova Scotia.

From Wikipedia:

On November 11, Pte George Price, Canadian Expeditionary Force, was part of an advance to take the small village of Havré. After a crossing of the Canal du Centre into the town of Ville-sur-Haine under German machine gun fire, Price and his patrol moved toward a row of houses intent on pursuing the machine gunner who had harassed their crossing of the canal. The patrol had entered the house from which they had thought the shooting had come, but found the Germans had exited through the back door as they entered the front. They then pursued into the house next door and again found it empty. George Price was fatally shot in the chest by a German sniper as he stepped out of the house into the street, against contrary advice from a house occupant, at 10:58 a.m., November 11, 1918. He died just 2 minutes before the armistice ceasefire, that ended the war, came into effect at 11 a.m. 

That's some serious dedication to duty. That's why Armistice Day is still worth remembering. No poppies around here but that doesn't mean one has to forget.

Downtown Washed Clean

Summer is having a hard time letting go and I don't just mean temperatures. Heat is present all winter long in Key West, coming and going as cold fronts blow across the islands and bring muggy weather in anticipation, then cool weather temporarily as the front blows over town and then warm sunny days reassert themselves. The pattern goes all winter long though it has been longer than I can remember since the last dip below sixty degrees.

Rain is supposed to start drying up now as we approach the end of hurricane season at the end of this month. But as you can see the city is sill getting sprinkled enough to give the streets a clean shiny appearance. Dry season is not quite upon us.

Cheyenne's fascination with the USS Maine Memorial at Mallory Square has less to do with an appreciation of the Spanish-American War and more with a hunt for left over crumbs ignored by the stray cats that get fed hear daily. Cheyenne isn't proud: cat food will do fine for her, espceially if it is found food.

I caught her in a  cute pose at Captain Tony's where I found an abandoned bouquet- story unknown but easy to speculate upon... Below coincidentally we find one of the late Captain Tony Tarracino's most quoted saying printed on the t-shirt worn by a residentially challenged stroller: once your reputation is ruined you can live quite freely. In his case I suppose entirely true if poverty can equal freedom.

My advice to people who see bad parking habits and think they can do the same is to not presume. The other night a rental car got towed from a city street because it was blocking a driveway. It's starting to be that time of year. Sidewalk parking isn't allowed and if you see it being done presume it's a local with special ,permission, perhaps by where of where they work, and leave this sort of parking to them. I seek out motorcycle parking spaces which are city designated and free. What better!?

A bus stop space doesn't count as motorcycle parking and this renter can count themselves lucky if they didn't get a hefty ticket or even have their scooter towed, for which the rental company charges, and towing ain't cheap. Luckily the city bus drivers are a patient lot and they made allowances for this one.

Scooters are a good way to get around but for ease of use and simplicity some people argue bicycles are the only way to go. Looks good doesn't it?

Living in Old Town Key West can I am sure feel like a fishbowl, which is one reason I live 20 miles away on Cudjoe Key. But this city also allows for some creative decorating for the year-round outdoor lifestyle.

Clinton Square Mall, the old brick building basking in the sun. It once was a warehouse backing up to the Mallory Square dock area.

A Conch Train on Front Street waiting for passengers. The early morning light was exceptional. I love winters in Key West, the only place I have ever not minded the end of summer.

It's not really winter if your elderly dog overheats on a brisk 40-minute walk around town...She is not as young as she was, but she had fun.