Cow Key Channel

If you want to live free on the water you could do worse than drop an anchor in the shallow mud flats between Key West and Stock Island. 

You will find a wild assortment of floating fiberglass that one can hardly describe as boats if by the term you mean a conveyance that moves. They are living quarters shaped like boats. 

As always the dinghies to get to shore tend to be unnaturally large compared to the mother ship. Those are the boats that move and the larger they are the drier their occupants remain. 

To go to town people tie their assorted landing craft along the sea wall that used to be occupied by houseboats which gives this stretch of South Roosevelt the name Houseboat Row. 

A waterfront view. 

Odd Man In

Robert came by with cheeseburgers and with that we opened the Outback bags and I tore into my share of meat and salad. People ask where locals eat in Key West and they think I’m being a smartass when I say “Outback.” That I am a smart backside doesn’t alter that fact that it’s true. The food is reliably and affordably good, the atmosphere is woody and bracingly busy, service is fast and efficient yet not intrusive.  It doesn’t mean I eat there every day but Outback is a great fallback position when seeking simple desirable food and you don’t cook. I love to wash dishes, truly, because I like order and efficiency, but cooking is not what you want me to be doing. I am impatient and tend to keep burners on “incinerate” until they accomplish the task. That or I cook on low and get bored and look for something to wash and put away. In fact I drive my wife mad seeking out things to clean when she’s doing intricate cooking that I am banned from the kitchen.  Rusty gets to hang with her but I have to retreat to the deck with a gin and tonic and ignore the smells.

Thanksgiving is the holiday we all love. Canadians love it so much they celebrate in October to avoid being frozen in situ by their igloo-building weather. My European family is fascinated by the national outpouring of emotional thanks. Typical juvenile North American public display of affection they sniff. But you know what? I detect an undercurrent of envy when they talk about an entire country taking the time to put down tools and give thanks. And they should be jealous. We can’t celebrate May First because that would be communist so we do Labor Day, and we can’t do time changes with the rest of the world and  thus cleverly give ourselves two weeks a year of extra daylight (of which I approve). But we do Thanksgiving. And we are the best at it. I love Thanksgiving. 

I have no interest in listing all those things for which I am grateful. I mean to say there are things and people that are obvious and therefore tedious to list.  If you ask me at table to say for what I am grateful I would much rather surprise you. If I replied that I am grateful to have been born into the top ten percent of the planet’s wealthiest would I offend you? That being the case you couldn’t say you knew me very well.  My wife and Rusty and surviving my accident are obvious enough aren’t they?  I am grateful for my accident.  Gasp.  Come on now, you know why. The ruin of my lower body has brought you all out of the woodwork. You had nothing to lose so you came out from behind the emotional barricades I had built around Key West Diary and told me you were worried about me.  Guess what? No chasms opened and swallowed me and I didn’t wake up with horns on my head. Instead I got tons of heartfelt messages of support from hundreds of people here and on Facebook. Wasn’t that a surprise? So if I say I’m grateful for you lot this Thursday you know what I mean and I don’t have to explain why I’m not listing all the usual suspects. I may have had a reawakening but I decline  to sink into boredom and normalcy. I reserve the right to be myself. 

I hope you have reasons to be grateful and if you are in one of those holes where it’s hard to think of anything good, you know you have my sympathy. I don’t suffer from depression and my health aside from this little problem, can only be described as robust.  The way old people used to nag on about good health being the only thing that matters has become paramount indeed in my 61st year! I expect I will have to work a few more years to sort out our share   of the bills and allow us to retire without worries. And I’m okay with that. My wife will retire in 2021 so I will get splendid care as I go to work and come home to a spotless house! If money has you feeling ungrateful this year I can tell you I have celebrated all my birthdays with the thought at the back of my mind that at least I didn’t go bankrupt that year. I have never had a facility with money, easy come easy go is my financial lifestyle. But I hope you like me have a treasure trove of memories. It’s what money and work are for. And doing some good when you can. 

Yes I’m lucky and I’m grateful for my good luck. I hope you can be thankful this year and if your Thanksgiving looks crappy you can easily use me. At least I’m not Conchscooter you can say to yourself as you spoon tinned cranberries into your gruel. 

Yeah. These few weeks have had their moments for sure. Happy Thanksgiving!

Blue Hole

I took the photographs on this page on August 28th three days before my epic scooter crash. It was a gloomy damp day typical of summer rainy season and I was looking for a place to walk Rusty away from mud and puddles. Besides I hadn’t visited the Blue Hole, a freshwater former gravel quarry turned into a tourist attraction, in a long time. 

We were alone. And the hole is not at all blue even under sunny skies.

There are a couple of alligators in the water but there was no sign of wildlife at all. No turtles no dinosaurs no birds. Except himself. 

It was a pleasant enough interlude and I enjoyed strolling around with Rusty. I didn’t know how lucky I was to be walking...

It’s a short walk made shorter because half the circumference is closed to the public. The edges are vertical rock and not easy for a dog to climb up.  I know this as Cheyenne took an accidental plunge years ago and I hauled her wet 100 pounds out in double time seeing her as the most vulnerable and tasty of alligator bait. 

No drama necessary.

Taking Pictures

When I was in rehab I’d look out the window of my private room and think about the things I missed. 

I knew what I would miss about being in the institution but I was trying to think about what there had been in my life before rehab  that I wanted to enjoy again. My life at home was obvious. Beyond that I wanted to be able to go outdoors at will and even now in my second week back in Key West I take a keen interest in how the sky looks.

I thought about how I missed my big camera. That’s been a great joy to me especially as I waited a long time before I bought it. I like to feel the absence before I buy stuff on a whim and my Panasonic LUMIX 300 offered me depth of field (“3D portrait mode” in iPhone jargon) and a massive telephoto lense in one compact package along with a lot of other filters and features I might enjoy. And it has indeed worked out.  There’s a fly in the ointment though! 

It’s not the camera that is at fault, it’s me. I have come to realize suddenly that I no longer have the ability to adjust the angle of my shots by much. I can’t always stand or squat or lean. These days I can’t even drive myself anywhere or stop as the whim takes me. I can’t stroll or lean unobtrusively against a light pole. I have to make do. Obviously this isn’t the end of the world but it is another unexpected consequence of not having the use of my legs. I would never have thought of this little problem. 

I am lucky inasmuch as I can stand for a little while without support but I can’t easily go off-road for a picture.  I was hunting a butterfly two days ago but I couldn’t move my walker and juggle the camera in pursuit of the fluttering and darting wings. As it was a little patience got me there. 

Most of my around town pictures are from the passenger seat of the car as I am swept from doctor’s appointment to home and back by my ever patient wife/caregiver/driver. 

And by keeping my eyes open there’s no telling what I’ll spot here and there as she fills a prescription or orders a drive through coffee.

A wheelchair perspective on a newspaper box or  a gnarled  buttonwood trunk. 

The Good

Yesterday was a very good day. My wife and caregiver is off work this Thanksgiving week so she celebrated by snoring until very late. First she took Rusty for his customary morning run and a good day was presaged by the fact he passed out as soon as they got back. I read in bed with tea provided by the caregiver and we didn’t get up till noon. It kept getting better even for the cripple. 

On Saturday we took Rusty to the vet to have his ear checked and he got a prescription for yeast so he was feeling better by Sunday with no head shaking. After I had a shower which is a major event as I have to lift my leg into the tub and settle on a special shower stool my caregiver dressed the one persistent surgical incision that won’t completely close (and prevents me doing water aerobics). All that done we went downstairs and I took a circuit of the pool which, after one walk round usually I feel exhausted. Yesterday I could easily have gone round twice. Hmm I thought, there’s an improvement. 

With the caregiver caught up on her sleep we implemented Saturday evening’s plan and went for fish at Alonzo’s on the boardwalk. I will be honest and I was a bit intimidated being out in public but I kept repeating Webb’s mantra “You don’t mind and they don’t matter” and off we wheeled. I could have walked from the car but the problem then is can I sit in their chairs? The sitting is easy enough but if the chair doesn’t have arm rests and if it is flimsy will it tip me to the ground as I get up? If in doubt I take my chair rather than the walker. 

The chair magically sweeps away all obstacles and we took an outside table. Just as well as I noticed the doorways to the inside restaurant have substantial steps. It was a perfect evening. Indeed Rusty was snoozing in the car with the windows cracked it was so cool. 

I had my favorite fish fingers which Layne loathes for some reason. But I don’t see going out for fish and only eating shellfish. 

After dinner we went to Truman Waterfront and found ourselves alone in a vast expanse of perfectly manicured lawn and cement paths. It was lovely and much nicer and more laid back than original (Spottswood family) plans suggested. 

All family members requiring exercise got it. And I found a convenient place to sit and rest at one of the exercise stations.

We made ourselves a promise to have sunset drinks on the ship one weekend...must follow through! 

A very good day at home.

Water Into Wine

It wasn’t Cana, rather it was the Lower Keys, but it was a wedding to which I was invited and glad I was to go, not only to get out but also to make happy some friends who have been very, very good to my wife and caregiver in these difficult weeks past. However Paolo Veronese (“Paul from Verona”) and St John the Evangelist came to mind to one educated at Hogwarts such as myself. 

The weather as we shall see was less benign than that shown in the 1562 depiction of the seminal event in Jesus’ brief but drama filled life. He saved the day at Cana in the second chapter of St John’s gospel:

5 His mother said to the servers, "Do whatever he tells you."  6 Now there were six stone water jars there for Jewish ceremonial washings, each holding twenty to thirty gallons. 7 Jesus told them, "Fill the jars with water." So they filled them to the brim.  8 Then he told them, "Draw some out now and take it to the headwaiter." So they took it.  9 And when the headwaiter tasted the water that had become wine, without knowing where it came from (although the servers who had drawn the water knew), the headwaiter called the bridegroom  10 and said to him, "Everyone serves good wine first, and then when people have drunk freely, an inferior one; but you have kept the good wine until now."  11 Jesus did this as the beginning of his signs in Cana in Galilee and so revealed his glory, and his disciples began to believe in him.

I don’t think the Benedictine monks who educated me would have given me passing grades were my intent here to claim miraculous powers or to put myself on the Savior’s pedestal but as I arrived at the wedding and my wife parked the car on the cement strip reserved for the handicapped I could see the guests eyeing us up to make sure we qualified. I tried to take their glances with the serenity Jesus surely would have employed. Rusty could have come to add to the cheerful confusion but he doesn’t like crowds so his place on the back seat was replaced by my walker waiting to be deployed but first my wife struggled to get the chair out of the trunk. I pulled my legs out of the car and pivoted into my wheelchair.  Oh yes, I qualify for handicapped parking. 

I wheeled myself over to the reception area where we had to put on flower leis to denote membership in the wedding party. Alcohol was next but in an effort to be good I went non alcoholic which only choice was a glass of water. Jolly good. Very refreshing. The event was on the ground floor of the restaurant, and much of the ground was covered in sand with open air tables crammed into cement  in between the stilts which supported the main restaurant upstairs. The tables were those irritating high stool height which, even when you stand seem mountainously tall. In a wheelchair they were barely at eye level. 

My path through was on the scale of a tank division penetrating the Ardennes forest as guests chairs and belongings were swept aside for the mechanized advance to the bar at the back which gave the only solid surface access to the wedding area which was in a sand pit. They did the wedding itself in mime which was lucky as the soundtrack at the bar was rollicking reggae which I rather enjoyed. 

The weather looked non cooperating from a Floridian perspective with gray clouds and wind and threats of rain but if you were visiting from New England the 76 degree afternoon probably looked heavenly, snow and humidity free. 

Weddings are about one thing and even though it was done in mime from a distance I got the idea from the distant handicapped gallery. “...in sickness and in health...till death do us part.” The usual. Then the miracle happened. My wife brought me a glass of non alcoholic water and -lo and behold!-  it was wine. I threw caution to the wind and I supped. Food was uncovered and a plate of chicken wings traveled across inaccessible sand and appeared on my wheelchair accessible cement pad. I ate, loaves and fishes style, dunno where it came from. 

We were part of a small contingent of locals, the visible proof of the parents’ migration to lower latitudes and for that reason I was glad to be there. However it was awkward. Aside from the spaces which required flexibility the simple greeting “How are you?” generated momentary awkwardness as the stranger suddenly noticed I was in a chair and thus unlikely in their estimation to be doing great. I’m fine thanks. Even though you, you great strapping thing are looking down at me huddled between my wheels...it is possible to be handicapped and doing fine at the same time. But youth has its limitations. 

The photographer fell into conversation with me by accident.  Turns out his grandmother broke her pelvis in her 90s and she still likes to garden. We chatted about my experiences in the hospital and his grand mother’s trials. I told the usual jokes about rehab and recovery and I felt a slight bond until I overheard him repeating the story to his wife with wonder in  his voice as though no one in a chair should be capable of making light of his situation. People surprise me. It’s not all blood and guts as you recover sometimes you laugh. Being alive feels pretty good even through rehab.  I missed the comfort of familiarity. I missed Encompass Health.  There I’ve said it.  We were all in wheelchairs. 

The staff were massively helpful and got the empty chair back to the car while I tonked my way back through the Ardennes forest of high chairs using my walker. It caused some distraction as kind people leapt like scalded cats as they noticed the cripple approaching. 

I did my duty. I drank I ate I witnessed the public commitment.  I went out in public a cripple and survived the apartness. I do it again on Thursday at a gathering of people to feast. This has to get easier.