Walking And Planning

I have been preoccupied with impending changes at home but life for Cheyenne continues as normal. She used to get anxious when we packed bags but nowadays cardboard boxes filled with the debris of ten years of life and scattered round the house don't seem to bother her much at all. We walk as always when I get back from work in the morning.

She chases scents while I think about changes to come. We probably won't visit the Ramrod Pool as often but we are only moving a few miles up the road and Cheyenne does love this spot. During the day, especially in winter, people bring their dogs. So first thing in the morning there are lots of fresh smells for my favorite Labrador.

One of the sad things about this move is that we won't miss our neighbors at all. Even my gregarious wife has failed to find any redeeming qualities among residents of our street. To live on a street for a decade and to be glad to shot of your neighbors seems wrong somehow. We already have one person we know on our new street so I can only imagine how my wife will spread that around!

We had thought about moving to Key West, a move I faced with dread as I like living in the Lower Keys, away from the crunch of urban life in the city. However I had thought my wife might like the proximity to her social life but her friend recently moved into town and she said she doesn't find it does much for her access to their friends... So we both agreed to stay out in the suburbs as it were and I am glad.

You get more home for your money, parking isn't an issue and jets aren't flying over your house to land at the airport all day long. Homes tend to be better equipped with stuff like windows that close, central air, room to store your stuff and all those modern conveniences. I find people tend to put up with a lot to live in Key West, especially Old Town, in homes with no offsets, funky designs, poor construction and amazingly high prices to buy or rent. We get central air, parking, privacy, room to store our crap and a dock, a rather bigger nicer dock than we have at our old home. Our lifestyle won't change much...

Cheyenne seems to like the new place though as you can see the changes scheduled to take place over the next few weeks don't seem to phase her much. She is useless at packing boxes too, though I'm not much better so my wife packs and I carry, or I will when we get access to the new place.

We will be sad to say good bye to our cute treehouse; we still wish Wells Fargo would have modified our mortgage but I always tell my wife it was better that we had to go through this forced sale as not everyone is asadaptable and able to cope with change as we are. And Cheyenne is along for the ride, good girl.

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The Seven Year itch

We moved into our current home in January 2005 and spent almost half our married life here. Next month that all changes.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,

"To talk of many things:

Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—

Of cabbages—and kings—

And why the sea is boiling hot—

And whether pigs have wings."

In some near future whose date has not exactly been decided yet we will be exchanging our small one bathroom home (above) for a rather larger 2-bog home on Cudjoe Key (below). At the same time we abandon our rather fraught relationship with mortgage servicer Wells Fargo bank in exchange for a rather pleasant man and his wife who live in Miami and own the pink palace we are soon to call home.

We have been asking the bank for a mortgage modification for half the decade we have lived on Ramrod Key and Wells Fargo bank has steadfastly refused so the net result is we have to clear the decks and get on with our lives. I have to say the promise of the HAMP modification program trumpeted by our Fearless Leader in the White Man's house has borne no fruit at all so the news that the Federal government is finally seeking to prosecute Big Banks comes as a big whoop-de-do. Especially as Wells Fargo has modified precisely 0.65% of its home loans, which could lean an ex-home owner to think President Obama has accomplished a big fat zero on that front as well as so many others in his career as Leader of the Indentured World. Happily though Wells Fargo did get a 65 billion dollar hand out from us tax payers when they were on the verge of collapse in 2008, not that that entitles us serfs to any consideration of course.

And yet as annoyed as I am by a kangaroo court system that is loaded against the laboring sods at the bottom of the heap there is a sense, underneath the irritation, of a promise of relief, a feeling that we have shed a relationship that would have aggravated me for another twenty years, likely the last decades of my life. Scientists will tell you it's rubbish but I do like the myth that at the end of every seven years all the cells in your body have replaced themselves. Yes yes I know brain cells are never replaced and those abundant fat cells take ten years, but there is something rather reassuring in imagining that every seven years we are fresh humans inside our skins. Even if, in fact, it's the same old me beavering away at not letting the daily news cycle irritate the shit out of me.

I sent away to Her Majesty's Passport Office last month to renew my status as a citizen of the European Union, and duly got my biometric travel document back, along with a promise that Her Britannic Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs is going to keep an eye out on me and requests and requires in the name of Her Majesty that I be allowed to pass without let or hindrance and be afforded such assistance and protection as may be necessary. It is a sentimental document more than a practical travel paper for me these days, but looking at it I realize than in ten years I shall replace it one more time and then most likely that will be it. For the final journey no passport required, certainly not the back up citizenship of one's distant childhood. I can see the curtains flapping in the wings getting ready to be drawn on one more life lived as well as one was able.

Meanwhile I had to take a more prosaic journey into The Heart Of Darkness to get the utilities switched on in our new residence-to-be. I am always grateful I do shift work and at night so I get lots of weekdays off in which to take care of the daily tasks... How do 9-to-5 workers get this stuff done?

Key West was hot and sticky under a summer sun in April. "I wonder what hurricane season will bring?" My wife had asked speculatively the night before over dinner. "I hope the landlord is ready," I replied smugly released at last from that economic burden of home ownership worry each summer. Our ten years of prompt bill paying made the opening of a new account simple enough, and I mostly had to wonder at the patience of those forced to sit and deal directly with customers and paperwork all day in an office without windows. I feel lucky I work at night, on a weird schedule with lots of random days off here and there for that reason too, my work is varied. Turning on the water faucet is critical work but I'm glad I don't have to figure out how it's done. Civilization grinding through a computer program:

I am fifty six this year, a number divisible by seven, in my eighth seven-year cycle of life and change is in the air. My patient wife is packing boxes, "our" underwater house will be sold Monday and by next month we will be scratching the itch in this new cycle of life in a new home. Cheyenne already likes the cool tile floors and my wife is delighted by the two bathrooms in the new place. "This cabinet is for you" she said carefully showing me round "my" bathroom. I am the neat freak in the family so I am nothing loathe about not having to pick my way through her unguents and lotions to find my toothbrush anymore.

On my journey from gas company to water company to electrical services I passed by this superbike from my youth parked near Eaton Street. I stopped and wound down the window. An old survivor, looking lovely. When I was eighteen the R90S by BMW was the sport tourer to lust after. Today it looks as sophisticated as a bicycle next to modern computerized rocket ships. To my rheumy old eyes this is how a sport tourer should look:

BMW R90S - Classic German Motorcycles - Motorcycle Classics

 

The Aqueduct had been a slow process and I hoped that Keys Energy could meet their own self-imposed deadline to get my new service fired up. Notice how they only serve the unemployed (and night shift workers):

It didn't look good as the nice lady studied my rental agreement. At least she immediately grasped my correct address on first careful reading of said document. I patiently read my magazine and the process wended its way to its inevitable conclusion after I produced my rental agreement dated May 15th and they got idiotic verbal confirmation by phone from the landlord to start service yesterday...idiotic because I went by the house on my way to work yesterday, two hours after they promised to fire up electrical service and of course there was not one living electron in the house at Cudjoe Key. Her Britannic Majesty got me a new passport with less fuss, on time, and with all particulars carried out by website and postal services with greater speed and accuracy than this lot could do by sucking up my time with a personal visit during regular people's working hours. I wish Her Majesty's Passport Office managed electrical hook ups around here.

Let's face it, the bailing wire and duct tape electrical hook ups never look completely 21st century to me at the best of times:

But in point of fact black outs are far less common than they were a coupe of decades ago when I was in my prime and the utility was not. All change should be good I remind myself, as my wife summons up her house decorating magic and sorts out her lists of people who have been nice, for the inevitable house warming party. Then hopefully a carefree summer of inexpensive boating from our new and enormous boat dock on our new canal at our carefree rental home. As long as Cheyenne is happy.

Try as I might I cannot imagine where I might be in seven years, most likely here or near here, doing the same thing wondering where the last decade flew to in the rear view mirror.

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Bat Tower

Technically it's also known as Perky's Bat Tower but for most people who even known about it, it's the weird wooden tower on Sugarloaf Key next to the airfield.

The Bat Tower has been on the register of historic places since 1982 and as far as I know it is one of three such structures left in the United States, the two others are in Texas, but this here one in the Keys is unmarked, unloved and unnoticed at the end of a short paved road that leaves Highway One next to the Sugarloaf Lodge and strikes out north toward the Sugarloaf Airfield.

 

Not much has changed since my last recorded visit here on the Bonneville, but I guess slowly and certainly the wooden tower must be deteriorating... Key West Diary Bat Tower 2009 

Richter Clyde Perky was the name of the developer who had this structure trucked down and assembled here in 1929. It was supposed to house bats that would fly around and eat the mosquitoes that plagued Perky's plans for development of Sugarloaf Key. The bats were duly installed inside the tower but they were not happy and flew away.  Development did not happen, at least until the development, post World War Two of cheap air conditioning and the tower remains as a monument to what might have been.

 

It's too bad actually as bats really are excellent insect managers as they eat them by the ton and their presence would be a boon in places like this, but modern histrionics make it seem like bats really do suck blood and get tangled in peoples' hair so they get no credit for any good they might do.

 

There's an osprey nest  on top and every year it gets bigger as ospreys come back to their nests and add twigs every year. I did not see any this visit but they like to nest high up so the tower is perfect for their purposes, if not for bats.

I did mention the tower is close by the airstrip and as we stood in the shade underneath the tower we could hear a sudden flapping noise in the sky above and a couple of parachutes came flinging themselves through the sky at the tree line that masks the airstrip. Its a popular past time around here that I think is far more reckless than riding a motorcycle.

I will keep returning to Perky's Folly until all that is left is a pile of disassembled shingles.

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Not Greece

Summer heat and a few pictures, taken at my favorite spot where land meets water in a public place. They've renamed West Summerland Key, which is sensible as the main Summerland Key, the one with the post office on it, is well west of here. Trouble is they renamed it Scout Key as there is a scout camp on this largely uninhabited island, but the girl scout camp is called ironically enough "WESUMKEE"  an abbreviation of the old name for the island. I call it Homophobe Key because change annoys me, even though the Girl Scouts don't seem to give a toss one way or another about lesbians. Women it has to be said as usual are ahead of the men and the male scouts need to get with the program too.

There is this old pump station  sitting sturdily and emptily next to the old water main installed in 1942 to serve the expanding military needs in Key West, a city that had till then  survived by rain and cistern. Someone has been clearing out the rubble in the old structure and though there was evidence this place had been left abandoned too long  the rather unpleasant contents of this impromptu latrine have been removed with no trace left behind, much to my astonishment.

Cheyenne took stock of the clean room and thought the breeze was cool.  The old toilets in the other room are cemented up and the whole place was actually quite spiffy which I found mildly heartening. People come to fish in these lonely places and they seem never to have learned  how to spend the night in the wilderness and leave no trace. This place has been too fouled up to try to enter in the past. I wonder what's going on? Is gentrification coming to my undeveloped backwater of a non-beach? 

 This funky building reminds me of so many crude structures left behind by humans around the world, places once thought to be critical and now abandoned. I wonder when I look at this stone cube how people lived here and how lonely it must have been alongside a narrow road in the middle of nowhere with no facilities to speak of. A pretty enough spot I suppose but Robinson Crusoe comes to mind. Cheyenne looked around and found nothing of interest which I took to be a good sign.

Afternoon temperatures have been hitting ninety degrees and its too hot for furry Labradors to be out and about unless the wind is cooling things down. I sat outside for a while  and contemplated the beauty of the scene. I love summer in the Keys and watching the sun sparkle on the water was a reminder that getting out on the water is a priority this year.

I am not going to Europe this year and that decision has saddened me. Finding a Greek island in my backyard is some sort of compensation.

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Key West Tuesday

I posted an old essay yesterday about the Poinciana blooms across Key West, a reflection brought to mind when I saw this tree blooming on Southard Street.

It's not just the flame trees that are starting to look good. The traffic is lighter, the streets are emptier and Key West is rich with heat and color.

Some people refer to winter as "season" as though winter is the time for tourists, though nowadays people seem to come to Key a West year round, in larger or smaller numbers.

As Cheyenne and I strolled on the shady side of Frances Street I was moved to think of another essay recently published on this page, Key West Diary: Big Coppitt Cemetery and as we walked past the Key West cemetery I thought about how peaceful is the one ten miles north of here...

...not least thanks to this lot trundling by every few minutes. I think the 90 minute tour on the Conch Tour Train is well worth while for anyone wanting to know some of the history of this town. But I'd sure hate to live on any stretch of their route!

Walking the streets of this town always feels like a privilege to me. Cheyenne has fun sniffing everything in sight and I get to see and notice and there's always something to ponder. Like why does an otherwise sensible cyclist choose to ride the wrong way on a one way street?

Check this one out...what the dickens is a St Francis of Assisi hermitage doing in a back unit in Key West? Not open to the public the sign in back says, so I wonder what the point of the label is!? It's hard to imagine anyone coming to Key West for a retreat of Franciscan spiritual solitude, but who knows?

A bit of motorcycle content here, a chopped Harley which I believe to be a pan head because the alloy silver valve covers resemble frying pans...as shown by the arrows for those less mechanically inclined!

When we got to Bayview Park Cheyenne was going strong, but the denizens of the park were laid waste by the heat ... or something.

There was a surprisingly large and active group of tennis players being very busy. When I was a kid in boarding school they made us chase balls around playing fields every afternoon in an effort to make us proper Catholic gentlemen brimming with team spirit. All I remember is running around on wet, rainy, snowy English afternoons my knees freezing cold my thighs burning like lumps of ice, my boots clogged with gruesome mud. So pardon me if ball games have lost their appeal now that I am old enough to make the choice to turn my back on them.

On the other side of the park I found more cars than I could photograph parked on the sidewalk. One does it so everyone does it!

This picture amused me despite the fact that free range chickens do not amuse me. They are noisy and messy yet picturesque we are told because visitors find them to be cute. We are told they have been around forever but if you check photos and paintings from the early part of the twentieth century you won't find chickens on the streets. Despite the stories made up about how they got here.

And on the way out of town you can see work has begun on the multi-million dollar project that will soon be the new city hall at the former Glynn Archer School on White Street.

I am looking forward to seeing that finished, as well as the Boulevard re-opening with four lanes and a turn lane in July -can it be that soon?- not to mention the endless project of the sewer construction in the Lower Keys. There sure is a lot going on in these islands.

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Keys Chorale On Life Support

I make no apology, I like opera but I also  like the lighter side of the outdoor concerts put on by the Keys Chorale. I remember the Christmas concerts at Fort Zachary put on by their diminutive dynamo of a leader, the now sainted Emily Boyd Lowe and the concerts outdoors at the back of the college put on by her worthy replacement Dean Walters, whose future as leader is now in question:

Florida Keys Chorale was created in 1990 as a no-credit course offering at the Florida Keys Community college. This was at a time when the college offered music courses and classes in theater...Nowadays that's all gone and replaced by the high ideals of business and finance, and yet somehow the Chorale soldiers on. All this was brought to mind Sunday night when we were offered dinner by our boss who left us a note and some funds to buy dinner to close National Telecommunicators' Week. We were supposed to get pizza reputed to be dispatchers' favorite food but really the people who answer 911 are foodies you will find, always rooting around for interesting new menu items to pass the time between phone calls. I like weird Uzbek food from Kennedy Café which is good for night shift as they are open till midnight and deliver. We've had burritos from the Yebo food truck recently and they went down well. This time Shannon said "honey chicken from Tong's Garden" so we agreed Nick and I, as disagreeing with Shannon takes nerve. We got a  huge piece of chicken breast breaded with a sticky sauce on the side that I managed to get everywhere like Winnie-The-Pooh with a hunny pot. It was delicious.

There is a collection of free magazines and papers in the police station lobby where I was waiting for the driver who called ahead to tell us he was one minute out, and while I waited I picked up a weekly I haven't paid much attention to lately, called Konk Life. Its published by a Conch Bubba who started a community radio station a while back but the community support was lagging so the radio which was grossly underpowered such that by Stock Island the signal was fading, went completely off the air and faded to the Internet which is not what I listen to in my car. But the flimsy ad-filled paper seems to have blossomed while I had my back turned and all the journalistic talent that has recently been fired by Cooke Communications of the Key West Citizen seems to have a found a home in the burgeoning empire of the deBoer publishing franchise. What a pleasant surprise! I waited for the Chinese food to appear and flipped the pages. Well, well, now we have something to look forward to each week to fill the hole left by Solares Hill. 

The editor is an old newspaperman from the Citizen, a sports writer of some local repute and  the writers are familiar to the community as the publisher himself Guy deBoer is pleased to point out. I took my copy of Konk Life upstairs with our dinner and took a  tour between 911 calls. There was lots of stuff to read. The big story that I found captured my interest was the extensive coverage and opinion of a recent meeting of members of the Keys Chorale. It seems they have to choose between dropping their affiliation with the college if they want to keep Dean Walters who is not qualified to "teach a course" though he is eminently qualified to direct the Chorale... However the obvious question is whether or not the musical group can raise tens of thousands of dollars and manage all the minutiae of maintaining a musical volunteer organization...But that is what they will have to do to keep Walters. 

The next issue facing the Chorale is that of diminishing membership. Their website quotes numbers of between 70 and 100 but the articles quote 33 to 37 actual members nowadays, which is apparently a critical quorum that has been reached, and it must not shrink further if the Chorale is to stay alive; fewer members and it dies which gives everything a certain sense of urgency. It has been lost on no one that the Key West Symphony died a rather public and acrimonious death thanks to low funding and bills that could only get paid after unconscionable delays. The economic climate continues to be healthy only in the eyes of the delusional and those removed from the reality of earning a living. For the rest of us money is tight. 

We are entering a new era, one that the city has trodden before certainly, but one that those of us who remember the days of plenty before 2008 can only view with collective sadness. Its the arts that make life interesting and on some days bearable even, a fact not well understood by the troglodytes who measure the value of life by Return  On Investment, yet they are the masters of our shrinking universe more so than previously.  Those that have made a fortune out of Key West aren't stepping up and business and financial leaders who can help with advice and experience as much as with cash could help helm the Arts into a safer future, but I guess that open season on politicians is more interesting and more lucrative. Key West is a funny place and on has to hope that oddness will win out in the end and perhaps the trend toward mercantilism at the expense of all else can be bucked in this small town.

Certainly the dense prose on the pages of Konk Life holds out hope that print in this town isn't dead, far from it, and whatever happens to music someone will likely be around to report on what does happen. I am now looking forward to seeing how often and how much I disagree with whatever I get to enjoy reading in this paper. Just having a paper with a letters page will be a refreshing change from the new and not improved leadership at the daily Citizen.

For other local news the online Blue Paper is also available for hard hitting opinions.