Reflections In 56 Degrees

Winter is the season of contrasts in my life. In winter the days are relatively short, with daylight lasting from six am to six in the evening, a little later as we move away from the equinox, and the sense of a closed, rigid season of the year is heightened by the chill temperature of our latest cold front. Winter is the season in theNorthern Hemisphere where life slows, ices up and pauses in the otherwise frenetic pace of spring rebirth and summer fun and autumnal gentle adieux to life. Winter is hibernation.

Waking at four in the morning to the jangle of two alarms is bad enough. To awaken after a few hours of troubled sleep, faced with a day at work is bad enough, but to slip out from under the warm heavy covers to step into dank chill darkness to me is hellish. Hell is an ice field, not a pit of burning tar, and hellfire is a snowstorm, at least for me. I hate being cold and before you laugh 56 degrees, 13 centigrade, is cold. Even mocking northerners who have experienced a windy cold front in the damp chill of a Key West winter express surprise at the actual chill factor of what appears to be a relatively benign temperature. I snuck a ride to work in my absent wife's new car. The roof stayed closed for the 27 mile commute through the dark. The heater was on high. I felt a twinge of guilt at not riding but I still carry traces of my lingering cold so caution was advised. I told myself. I did not miss my motorcycle, if I am honest.

My wife went sweating on a hike in the tropical rainforest of El Yunque to celebrate sixty years of life. I wandered round the communication center swaddled in a furry jacket drinking green tea. It's a hell of a way to start the day, walking the dog, making your own lunch, feeding the dog, remembering to pack all the bits and bobs and trying not to forget the components of a twelve hour day at work...I got it done, I forgot the thermos of tea and trailed out of the house ten minutes late. I got to work on time with no speeding ticket to my credit. Recklessness is not my style, but urgency infused the start of my day and I felt slightly resentful of the unseen scrum of needs at my back pushing me faster than I wanted to move.

The day turned to sun, primary colors outside, lots of paperwork inside. I hate paperwork and like a cat that prefers the company of humans with cat phobias, paperwork seeks me out at work and I felt like I spent most of the day writing reports, filling in forms and reviewing documents and the slice of Friday devoted to the radio and the 911 phones was a tiny crumb of my day. I enjoy dispatching, the problem solving of who to send to deal with each crisis major or minor as it appears on the computer screen. Writing a report measuring the positive and negatives of my colleague's performance is about as exciting as trying to describe how a daisy appears to be growing. It's there, it's where it should be, I'm fine with it. Who am I to judge? As imperfect as I am...

We had a good day, three of us old timers worked as a perfect team in an imperfect world made worse by tragedy not evil. We had several crises, a death not suspicious, yet a crushing sadness for a family, a multiple car accident blocking the main road downtown, an argument, a theft, illness and accident, acts of stupidity, acts of unkindness and we three jugglers in the room kept the balls in the air and didn't miss a beat, and the problems came and went and there and then we had no time to reflect. Belen tried to keep a dying patient alive helping the spouse do CPR over the phone as Nelly and I rushed professionals to the scene by radio and yet it all failed even as Belen kept reading her lines, telling the caller how to do chest compressions and breaths to keep the blood flowing as the lights and sirens rushed across town. I sent the cops and there was nothing more to do but wait. We talked after it was finished, and Belen wondered what more she could have done but Nelly and I who have faced the inner demon of doubt before and often knew there was nothing. It had been perfect, and yet it failed. We talked of stories of accidental impromptu childbirth over the phone to change the mood, and did not succeed. Life is tenuous some days and the drive home in the traffic of chaos among impatient people who did not die that day, gains value by the knowledge gained of how sudden it can be, to find oneself turning the corner, from the routine of the daily chores to the termination of it all. Too often I think death is suggested to us by the popular culture as a heroic statement, a conclusion of purpose. In reality death is sometimes what happens as an interruption to a numbing routine. The moment infused my day with a chill inside to match the chill outside.

Cheyenne was full of joy, ready for her evening walk so out we went, under the mackerel sky, but the wind had abated so even though once again it was 56 degrees it was warmer.

For me it was a matter of keeping an eye on my hound as she rooted around while I tried to figure what the hell I would do about dinner. Chinese? I thought about that as we strolled past the back of China Garden on Big Pine Key. Pizza? A TV dinner from the supermarket? All such stereotypical choices. I went home and had left over pasta, cheese and crackers, and a glass of wine. Very innovative We sat on the porch Cheyenne and I to watch the moon rise over the mangroves. A dog is a good companion, if not very talkative. She tired of my company, got up and walked to the distant end of the porch. Apparently I am too intense even for my dog. The boredom of life versus the permanence of death seemed not to grip her as it did me.

There was that strange mackerel sky so I played with my camera as Cheyenne snuffled around my feet in the Key Deer Plaza parking lot. I don't feel like I've had much time to stand around and take pictures lately. It's ironic because winter is the season of playtime for the visitors, lots of events and happenings, performances, readings and concerts and plays. For everybody not working. It's the time of year when days are short, energies are frosted and low, and crowds are everywhere. The more they organize the harder it is to see anything! The Key West Paradox. The more they invite people to happenings, the less you get to experience.

Its a salutary reminder when your wife is away, how much there is to be done by one alone. Laundry done, trash out dog fed, menu decided...etc... Exhausting. And yet still Life, precious humdrum daily life.

Cheyenne knows how to deal with exhaustion. The best company when one is alone, and life seems cold and short. Fifty six degrees puts things in perspective.

Key West on Dwellable

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Winter In Marathon

I seem to have lost track of the weather lately. When I lived on a boat weather and tides were the dominant features of daily life. Now, in a house securely anchored to the ground by nine pilings, I go out into cold windy weather and have no clue what's going to hit me. This lackadaisical attitude earned me a very cold walk with my dog yesterday morning. I deserved the pain.

My job was to deliver my wife to her job in Marathon as she was to be picked up after work by one of her girlfriends who had organized a birthday trip to Puerto Rico for a few days. Nice for her, the forecast for Vieques is 85 by day and 75 by night until she gets back. Marathon was sixty yesterday morning after we said goodbye and Cheyenne and I took off for an icebound stroll.

The north wind off the Gulf of Mexico was biting cold, plus it had the added effect of filling the north shore with seaweed.

These conditions are not conducive to fishing which was apparently at a standstill.

They are a big industry in this town.

Check out the miles of lobster pots and piles of colorful buoys.

Cheyenne surprised me by making like she wanted to board a fishing boat. I figured it was the smell of fish rather than the lifestyle she craved.

Aside from a local inhabitant delicately walking on water there was no life to be seen in the idled fleet. Idle yes, but picturesque nonetheless.

And there went the sole sign of life. I'm telling the breeze packs the seaweed solid. Not solid enough for Cheyenne and I to risk it, but it was a well matted carpet of weed.

We strolled past the Keys Fisheries restaurant, which I recommend if you are nearby at feeding time. In this case I wasn't but I enjoyed the juxtaposition of the shark, always feared as a limb eater, and the sign. Sharks play to our deepest most primal fears, yet we humans murder far more of them than they of us. They are endangered, we unfortunately aren't. Well, perhaps it's fortunate else I wouldn't be here among the seven billion.

Further up the street the gated community, well protected from unannounced visits by local working stiffs was as dead as the fishing fleet.

They had a nice cheap plastic No Trespassing sign on the gate, similar to this one below, which encouraged passersby not to trespass onto the very desireable lobster pot assembly area.

Too much excitement for young Cheyenne. We got home eventually and she had but one thing on her mind. Well two actually...

...sunbathing (in the shade) and sleep. Good dog.

 

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Veterans Park

I slept long and hard and when I awoke my dog was still snoring. When she finally deigned to get up we took off to enjoy a morning walk together. I still wasn't feeling terribly well so we went to Veterans Park which is small yet full of smells so Cheyenne could have fun and I wouldn't have to walk too much as I was still feeling quite weak. This cold has been an absolute bugger.

Colds are depressants so my thoughts have been quite gloomy, therefore it is better I think I post some pictures and leave the commentary for another day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From my sick bed I have been watching Season Three of The Wire and Proposition Joe showed up at the beach and pulled a guitar from his car. His tag was from someplace Up North, Tennessee I think and the water views seemed to enthrall him. From behind I thought he looked, with his lanky dreads, like a young version of Proposition Joe, a moment made poignant as Robert Chew who played him, died recently. It was a hell of a role and I am enjoying my second go round on the Netflix discs of the TV series.

And so home to the couch, Theraflu and sleep. Wot a life!

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Heat And A Fever

I got a dose of head cold from the kids at work. Sitting in a room for twelve hours spreads germs like you wouldn't believe and this bug has been going around, where you live no doubt as much as it is in the Southernmost City. We wipe the consoles with anti bacterial foul smelling wet rags and here I am, sitting on the couch where I sleep, eyes and nose streaming, feeling very sorry for myself. My wife gives me soup and sympathy but I am ready to be whole again, thank you.

My dog is heartless. I had to go to the homeopath for a refill of these weird Chinese pills that dry you up and the dog was bound and determined to get out of the house. One could hardly blame her, it was bright and fresh if a little warm and the colors of South Florida were extravagant. The sun was out at last yesterday and she was not going to be left behind. I never saw a Labrador that could twist an arm like Cheyenne.

It occurred to me as I tottered after my frisky hound that I had no pictures for my daily blog. So here they are. Thank you Cheyenne.

This isn't my first walk down Asturias but it's the first time I've been down here in January and not seen snowbirds in these homes. It's just my observation but I'm not seeing as many winter visitors in the suburbs as in years past. It's not to say there are none, but the clusters of little old ladies standing around discussing snowdrifts in Indiana just aren't here. It's good for me when I'm sleeping during the day but it can't be good for the tax base.

A neighbor stopped by to ask if I was the one who bought this place. Nope, just walking my dog. People come, people go.

Bananas are coming too. In countries where they are grown commercially they cover the growing fruit in plastic bags to help it along. Here the fruit is more ornamentation. My banana tree is too small for fruit but a friend of mine grows the sweetest bananas I've tasted. We get some local fruit down here.

Dates don't mature in the Keys. I'm told its because they need dry heat and around here it gets all rainy as they are about to mature and they go off. Bummer, but they look good.

My favorite tree is the pine; childhood memories I guess. No fruit or nuts though.

This is as close to countryside as I've seen around here. It was like a summer day up north, buzzing insects, a slight cool breeze, the smell of cut grass, it was lovely.

Summertime.

I went home worn out. Good dog, guarding my sick bed.

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Fiat 500 Cabriolet

I was walking Cheyenne and my phone rang. My wife's Sebring Convertible had stopped working and she was in Marathon where she teaches adults two days a week. We had little hope it was a jump start problem but I drove over and the car wouldn't start. I suspected the correct cause, a blown fuse, but I had no replacements even had I been able to check their status. AAA came promptly in the dark and towed the car to Stock Island.

"I have found a Fiat convertible at Carmax in Tampa," my wife announced over dinner the next evening.

"Ok," I replied cautiously because she hates wasting money on a new car. It was apparent to me that a road trip was coming up if she had decided, without any pushing from me, to make the move. So there we were, not too bright eyed, not too early on the road to Tampa seven hours away, in a car with some, perhaps minor, reliability issues.

I wasn't ready to cross the Everglades twice in two consecutive weekends but this had to be done whereas last week's trip was for fun. My wife put 80,000 miles on the 2004 Sebring since she bought it six years ago. The interior light didn't work, the roof was waterproof though the trim was shot, the heated seats didn't and the heavy trunk lid had to be held open with a special tool designed by yours truly: a stick.

The old Sebring is actually not a bad car though it has a few plastic parts that need replacing every 70,000 miles we discovered...shocks, a cam chain tensioner and so forth. The battery has had a habit of going flat so we suspected a failing electrical system. We drove and hoped for the best.

Cheyenne was not happy. The rear bench seat was uncomfortable and she was restless. We were anxious to arrive. It was not a completely happy crew under the canvas roof.

Carmax is fantastic. They don't haggle or bullshit, they let you test drive anything on the lot you fancy, they will buy your car independent of whether or not you buy another from them, and all paperwork, tags financing is in house. The entire process from test drive to shifting our crap to the Fiat took two and a half hours. Simple. Why anyone would not buy at Carmax I don't know. This is our fourth purchase from them, and as always no high powered selling or upgrading, no hassle, no bs. Lovely.

Cheyenne took a keen interest in the paperwork. I was worried the bench seat in the Fiat would make her crazy on the way home. They gave us twelve hundred bucks for the Sebring - yay!- which covered the tags and taxes for the $16,000 Fiat. Someone took a bath on that Lounge 500 which cost 25 grand brand new and which Carmax bought at auction in Delray Beach, sold it to us and made money with a nine grand discount...I wish I had business sense, but I am a wage slave by inclination.

Ever since my wife first saw the new 500 in Italy five or so years ago she has been unwavering in her desire to own one, perforce a convertible. She checked the Smart and the Mini and they didn't measure up. Her love of the 500 has been single minded. Weird too because she is no great lover of cars. But she's like my dog (in a good way) in that she knows what she wants. I drove the car home, she organized the stops, seen here on Tamiami Trail south of Naples on Sunday, food courtesy of Trader Joes.

We had hoped to get another year out of the Sebring but my wife has to travel for her teaching job and getting stranded is no fun so this change was inevitable. It's a pain in the ass having a $200 monthly bill but the car was an extraordinary deal, first purchased in December 2012 and since then driven 1116 miles. Carmax changed the oil and the thing is like brand new, just run in. My wife loves to drive with the roof down, though in the Fiat the cloth roof is more open than down. The roof slides open and closed with no latches or complicated lifting mechanisms and my wife loves the fact it can be opened or closed safely at speeds up to sixty miles an hour, perfect for Florida's squally weather, now sun, then rain and suddenly sun again.

The roof space inside is taller than the Mini and the interior is surprisingly spacious, even Cheyenne slept soundly on the dreaded rear seat. Even with the roof open. We opened only as far as would leave her in the shade but it didn't bother her at all. Driving home through the Keys at dusk with the dog snoring in the back gave us the promise of being able to take road trips in this little bumble bee. It's supposed to be good for 40mpg but holding eighty on the freeway drops that to about 29mpg...

The trunk is small but adequate, the 1.4 liter engine is reasonably peppy and you can manually shift the automatic six speed box, if you like, no clutch involved weirdly enough.

My sister still has her original Fiat 500, a twin cylinder air cooled 500 cc engine that offered 65mph on the flat if you were lucky. These cars were the workhorses of Italy equipped with trailers and roof racks they took families on vacation, husbands to work and they doubled as pick ups or SUVs of the time. Driving them took skill as first gear had no synchromesh so double de-clutching was a standard skill. The roof rolled back but the vinyl was kept in place by poppers when closed and rolled up in straps when open. The modern 500 reflects the quirks in an up to date package. I like it.

On Card Sound Road we kept it down to 55 long enough to slide the roof open and home we drove. I watched the mileage zoom up to 48mpg as I stuck to the mandated 45 speed limit (plus a couple). It's an odd position to be in, buying a car at a time like this. I am acutely conscious of the weird economy we are in, the effects of burning carbon, of a world generally in flux, resource battles, consumerism and Peak Oil. Despite all that daily life goes in and mobility is still expected of us no matter how gloomy the economic outlook. Besides I am battling a huge head cold I picked up from my infected colleagues at work and the feeling of unease you get from a fever permeates my days. Perhaps the economy is doing better than I think and my gloom just comes from my post-nasal drip.

I slept most of the night and woke in a coughing fit. Cheyenne and I went to Big Pine at four in the morning and I found myself pushing some shopping carts I found in some bushes. In my fevered state I wondered how the homeless among us cope with the rattling noise and awkwardness of these infernal carts. I imagined myself pushing my earthly belongings in one and I shuddered.

Everything happens for a reason the wide eyed optimists among us say with perfect sincerity. I'm buggered if I know what the reason is much of the time, especially when people die, but I know why we got the Fiat 500; my wife wanted it. Good for her. Good for me.

 

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