Running On The Spot

With my wife back at work this week I kicked my rehab program into much higher gear. There’s only one way out of this handicapped life and it’s through exercise. Some people view physical therapy as torture but for me it is simply an extension of my Broga life, not as interesting, but effective nonetheless and I embrace it. 

At the Tropic Sunday we arrived early for the movie so I wheeled myself around the lobby while Layne bought the tickets. I’ve never been fond of high tables in bars and restaurants so these days as I’m forced to sit at waist height I loathe them even more. I need to get out of the chair. At home yesterday I applied myself to the exercises my Key West therapist Teresa had given me for homework. 

I saw her again after I had lunch with a friend and she sent me home with even more homework. Lift my legs, stretch my legs, stand up without using my arms, squeeze my thighs and so forth. I took the illustrations home and set up my elastic bands and my straps and my inflated ball. Then I went for a walk round the pool with my walker. Then I came home for a nap before Layne and a Rusty got home from work. Tuesday I am at home with Rusty and my therapy equipment. I shall sweat in private. It’s the only way to learn to walk again and I can’t wait. 

Rusty heals his torn tendon with rest and he must hurt because resting comes  easily to him these days. My plan is to exercise as much and as often as I can stand it so I can get to my walking life as soon as possible. It’s all I think of at the moment 

Rusty’s Black Friday

Rusty came to my wife bleeding from his front paw. She wrapped it in a towel and drove to Marathon on Thanksgiving Day. 

The day started out normally with his usual walk and plans for a afternoon with friends at dinner. I stayed behind and got a picture showing a happy dog. 

My wife has been really good about bringing the outside world into my rehab life. Lots of pictures. A while later she said she was taking him to the twenty four hour hospital in Marathon. That took me aback a bit but on arrival with the blood flow dried up and the back of the car looking like a slaughter house they took him in for surgery almost immediately. 

He tore a tendon on his walk and they said they weren’t sure if they could put it back together. An hour later they said all was well and with care he would be fully restored. 

At this stage he is pretty quiet and we are watching his bandaged paw for signs of swelling. 

Thanksgiving evening Rusty slept in the car while we ate. Layne slipped out repeatedly to check  on him but he was passed out.  

I’m not good at selfies but it was a grand evening as Thanksgivings big should be. Sid and Deborah have interesting friends in the arts. My enjoyment of motorcycles was viewed rather dimly. Especially now. Is life to be lived or merely survived?

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.