Middle Torch Key Walk

I think it's been five years since I last came out here. Cheyenne walked with me a couple of times and then found it boring. Rusty was totally into it. In fact a couple of times he pranced off into the bushes and didn't come when I called an whistled. We had a conversation about coming when called. More accurately I had a whiny monologue and he looked repentant. Blah blah blah.

It was a good evening to be alone with a dog in the wilderness.

Rusty trotted back and forth being busy, I paused and enjoyed the sound of the wind in my ears and the views across the mangroves.

I have missed these open dances but without a dog to drive me to it I don't get out here. So I was glad to see Rusty was so busy enjoying himself.

The last time I came here there was a trailer tipped on its side, abandoned and slowly decomposing. As you can see above it's all gone. Nice.

And the widespread dumping of assorted household and construction garbage has been cleaned. This place was practically paved with shards of glass.

Rusty got busy and disappeared for a few minutes.

Leaving me to play with the camera.

 

 

 

 

It was a good walk. He gulped a bowl of water back at the car and passed out once we got home after a full dinner.

The dog is back!

 

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Mallory Sunset

I have never managed to grasp the essence of Sunset in Mallory Square in all the years since I started posting photos here in 2007. I don't think this effort from last Fruday evening does any better. I came by to get a dog collar to my wife's specifications and as a further extenuating circumstances I was on my way to work but there is an absence of ease in this place that gets to me at this time of day.

It is said in Key West that Tennessee Williams came by the old decrepit Mallory Square armed with alcohol and toasted the Suns performance in setting so beautifully before him. The concept of sunset as performance art took off and now the daily sunset is a staple of tourist literature. Come to Key West - watch the sunset. An hour or so before the appointed time the earth tilts ever so slightly and like loose change the tourists wandering Lower Duval find themselves impelled to slide west moving ever faster like supplicants for a revival meeting at the waterfront, an act of devotion to thank the sun and admire the eccentrics who make Key West into Key Weird for their edification.

And that's where it goes wrong for me. There are all these people standing around waiting to be entertained and into their midst I wander. The acts are variously entertaining or breathtaking or amusing because nowadays a waterfront martini would not only be illegal it would also be inadequate entertainment for the television generations. So people perform. They swallow swords, walk high wires, set light to things and make cats jump through hoops. And they make a very living wage doing it.

The hangers-on sell stuff. Food and trinkets and...dog collars.

And all of it is controlled and regulated by a not for profit organization that rents spaces on Mallory Square and supervises the evening event every day. Except when smaller cruise ships tie up at the dock and block Appolo's performance.

Meanwhile the sunset is also big business on the water and people pay to see the sun setting while afloat.

A bit of banter and...let me reverse that thought. A lot of banter and a little action is the way to get tips as I discovered when I worked as a boat captain.

These are the vacation memories taken home to the snowfields of Iowa and Indiana and Michigan.

And coconuts. Don't forget that imported symbol of Key Westness...the coconut. The city authorities have wrestled and do wrestle with the fecund imported tree that produces tons of foliage and lots of nuts and was imported to the Keys to make the islands look right. And they do a very good impression of it too. The city wanted to replace the coconuts lining North Roosevelt Boulevard with trees native to the state and a lot less work to maintain. That plan caused an uproar and any idea of civic parsimony was tossed out by the tax payers who demanded expensive nut-dropping trees be maintained above the sidewalk.

I met this dog from Indiana enjoying a 65 degree evening and as I was in the throes of dog loss I stopped by. Rather than the joys of ownership I got an unnecessarily lengthy discussion of dog death for my troubles but I got to feel dog fur again.

And just to prove how untropical Key West can and will be from time to time the workers at El Meson de Pepe were putting out gas heaters to render the atmosphere more properly bearable.

And so to work. Mallory Square sunset celebration still escapes me. I like it, I just can't photograph it. Yet.

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Meet Rusty

The past ten days have been agony, pure and simple. It started by saying goodbye to Cheyenne and it ended by bringing home a funny little dog who bears the burden of being asked to fill the hole in my heart left by the departure of the most extraordinary dog I have known. Oddly enough I think this little bundle of love is up to the challenge.

Rusty's life, all four years of it approximately, has sucked. This picture is from October last year when a Homestead woman who feeds strays in her neighborhood spotted this street dog. From what can be gleaned Rusty, formerly known as Bobo lived on the streets of an area known as Redlands, the agricultural heart of South Florida. Also where you go to dump your dog, apparently. Yet this little reddish-brown dog is astonishingly even tempered, loving and ready to fit in to a "normal" suburban life. Why people buy dogs beats me. Found dogs live out their lives in gratitude and make the best companions. You too can pick up a cat or dog that could light up your home. LINK.

I was rather nervous making my way alone to a giant mainland mall to find a dog. My wife got in touch with this woman representing a group of volunteers who madly enough find and rescue and foster hopeless dogs and cats and they make them whole. After my hopeless sadness at the Key West and Marathon SPCA and dealing with the rejectionists walking into Petco at noon yesterday was like nothing really.

I knew it was him immediately. He was smaller and thinner than I expected but he sat there in the crowd, serene as though he knew that today was the day. I lost the ability to take photographs for a while as I juggled paper pen, leash, emotions and strangers which as we all know give me hives. Bobo was fine in the middle of it all.

I signed, Lissa injected a microchip - no really, right in front of me- and I was officially driving home with a completely unfamiliar dog.

I don't think Rusty had ever spent three hours in the car- and that only got us as far as the Publix in Marathon where I completely lost my head and forgot to buy milk. But the entire week has been like that and taking 911 calls has been a trial in the Cheyenne fog I have been stuck in. Traffic on a Saturday afternoon sucked of course but Rusty only got up and protested mewling a couple of times. Mostly he just laid down on the back seat and let me drive.

 

At Publix he was ready to get out of the car and I put him on my (Cheyenne's) extenda-leash and off we went. There's a crazy old guy who hangs out behind Publix, a stray human as it were...Rusty is just sweet. Look at him with a stranger. He sat down and said pet me but the old guy was off on cloud nine:

Rusty is full of curiosity. Arriving home he trotted back and forth checking stuff out, and getting him up the stairs was a trial as he could see the void through the stairs. It took a couple of trips but he got the stairs down pat. The dog door through the sliding door held him up for 15 seconds but then he had the run of the house and the deck and when he gets reliable he'll have the yard as well. Only after we feel safe taking down the dog gate that closes off the stairs. He found the spot where Cheyenne died and his attention to it inspired me, the curmudgeon, to imagine the baton was being passed between dog generations.

I miss her so much and have to guard against my memories of perfection interfering with my expectations of what is a remarkable dog. Rusty is on his way and finding his place, and the more I see of him the more I like him. I hate to think how many other wonderful animals are bring abandoned. I want them all.

If he doesn't get used to her bed we'll replace it but it is the most comfortable dog bed I've ever seen.

 

JW says Rusty won the lottery, but I feel like I did.

Thanks to these good people for the chance LINK.

 

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Mainland Chaos

I was an hour early for my appointment so I figured, lacking my navigator-who-must-be-obeyed I might as well stick to the chain eatery on the main road. I was on a mission and good was fuel. IHOP Homestead it was. What an experience. 

My first hint should have been the sign indicating available parking ... in a neighboring field. My mission to the mainland required the use of the car so I had four wheels to park and luckily I don't mind walking so I took a distant patch of grass for my Fusion. Once inside the restaurant I thought I was in some new form of hell. 

I was squeezed into a corner after giving my name to an Official Person with a clipboard and suddenly an inundation - there is no other word for it- of people poured into the restaurant. I clung to my iPhone like a castaway clinging to a rock, unable to read my book as utterly diverse America swirled around me. It is my observation Trump cannot win the Presidency, and if he does there is no wall he could build to keep America white middle-class and mid-western any more.  That ship has sailed. 

Across from me two generations of African Americans are at two tables. Mom and daughter exchanging giggles and smart phones at one table, shy young lovers glancing at each other at the next. At the table to my right a Latina mother kept two youngsters fed and in order. To my right my people, a family of Anglos sat prim and restrained eating the weekend breakfast out. As long as I keep my mouth shut  I look like I belong to the entrenched power structure, I don't look like a wetback. But twenty years ago I went through the same excruciating unimaginable process of legal acceptance. 

Were you to ask me today what color my wife's toothbrush is I would be forced to admit I have sbsolutely no idea. In 1985 in San Francisco my then wife and I rehearsed my immigration exam together, going over the minutest daily details of our actually shared lives. In addition I learned how many amendments there are to the constitution (27) and how many senators there are in the US senate. And Google wasn't a gleam in anyone's eye back then, not publicly at any rate. So when I hear people talk about sending people "back" I wonder how my Jew second wife and my Italian self will continue to be married in a country where Native Born Americans cheer Trump's nativism. A hundred years ago our confines were narrower than they are today. Hungarians, Italians, Irish, none of them were wanted. 

So I take heart in the appalling crush of humanity in IHOP and remind myself that must be why it is international by name and in aspiration and today at least in scope. 

I'm voting Bernie because I can vote. Native Born  Americans who stay home  are the ones I'd rather see sent back. Somewhere, preferably next door to Trump. 

Goldman's Deli

Goldman's Deli in Key West is one of those eateries that persists and perseveres through dint of hard work and value for money. This is not glamour dining but the best kind of cafe breakfast and lunch joints. And because I work nights and I live up the Keys I don't eat here very often at all. Last Monday my wife and I had an hour to burn before we hoped to go and check dogs out at the pound so I suggested we have breakfast.

Really Goldman's is that kind of place, you drop in and try to merge with the flow of busy staff, a busy counter and ambling customers.  When we arrived it wasn't even that busy. Then it started to fill and I mentioned to my wife that the flow of customers suddenly arriving put me in mind of Charlie's Charts. Almost twenty years ago my wife and I and two dogs sailed our catamaran from California to Key West and we discovered this particular phenomenon that I shall try to describe and which has followed us into our life ashore.

 

The guidebook we used when we navigated Mexico's west coast was written by a guy called Charlie and his chart book was packed with gorgeous charts, all painstakingly hand drawn, with three dimensional of rocks, shaded lines for beaches and anchorages marked by little anchors. We loved reading the directions and planning stops. The Internet is a miracle worker so I can show you a sample map like this:

What we discovered was that all sail boats  would head for Charlie's anchorages as marked with the little anchor. We would often seek solitude in our shallow draft Gemini catamaran and in a large bay like Tenacatita we  might choose to anchor in a spot of our own choosing, away from the anchors. Then dammit other boats would spot us and think, hmm that looks good let's try it. We called this inevitable clustering phenomenon "Charlie's Chart syndrome" and to this day when an empty spot fills suddenly behind us we think back to that famous cruising guide.

Sure enough as we waited for breakfast sipping coffee Goldman's filled up behind us. "Charlie's Charts" we muttered to each other as a wave of people filled every table in sight.  

The breakfast did the job, eggs pancakes and crispy bacon, lots of coffee and NO TV. Brilliant, which puts this place head and shoulders above Harpoon Harry's which I never even think of visiting anymore as I am tired of blaring screens while I eat. This menu is  all you need: Goldman's Link

 Tables full we couldn't linger as long as we might have liked. And this place has that simple inviting feel that all greasy spoons have.

That the restaurant survived the death of its original inspiration is pretty cool. I gleaned this obituary from the January 2009 Citizen for the owner, Alison Goldman who died at the unfortunately tender age of 48 - and I remember she was a cheerful force of nature in the restaurant that bears her name.

 Alison was co-owner of Goldmans Bagel Deli restaurant in Key West, which opened in 1998. Alison took great pride in operating Goldmans, where every day she could be found greeting customers, cooking, and perfecting the delicious recipes, many of which were handed down from her parents and grandparents. She was active in many Key West civic and charitable organizations, and loved her family, her many friends and neighbors. Alison loved to travel, especially to the Bahama Islands, where she went often to swim, snorkel, fish and enjoy the sea and sun. Alison touched everyone she met and was loved by all who knew her. Alison's wishes were for her ashes to be spread upon the sea near the settlement of Black Point, Bahamas, where Alison was considered a Bahama girl by the many friends she had in the islands. She will be missed by all.

 And they use those great old heavy, traditionally shaped bottomless coffee cups. Very cool.

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Houseboat Row

I was leaving Key West at the start of a cold front yesterday and the sky was a mass of uncertain cloud, strands of cotton wool barely hiding the blue sky. Suddenly the air felt cold and I thought how perfect for a dog freed from air conditioning.

This section of South Roosevelt Boulevard is still persistently known as houseboat row even though the houseboats were forcibly removed a dozen or more years ago. What happened was the empty land to the west was crying out to covered in expensive condos but the developer felt no one would pay one point eight million dollars for a rabbit hutch with a view of freeloaders messing about in boats across the road.

I never wanted to live at houseboat row, a messy cheerful place, an impromptu marina and community where people lived cheek by jowl in public view. I suppose the kindly developer, praised in the paper yesterday for funding an African American monument, just moved the process along but still...I cannot conceive such an impromptu community could exist in the Southernmost City in the 21st century. I was sad though when I watched the "boats" being barged to Garrison Bight to start a new life as respectable liveaboards. Being sad changes nothing and money does. But we still call it houseboat row.

There are still quite a few boats anchored in Cow Key Channel between Key West and Stock Island. I don't doubt someone will make it their business to clear out "hazards to navigation" even as the State Legislature works to outlaw residential anchoring. Living for free still bothers the good burghers in their McMansions. And Key West as you can see is no exception.

A half sunk dinghy is no recommendation for the alternative lifestyle but cleaning up after yourself does not occur to those living on the margins as a way to continue undisturbed.

Enough maudlin reflection. Time to ride home in the chill sunset air.

 

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