Driving Miami

We left the house late yesterday morning and had one of the worst rides I can remember on US 1. An unloaded Miami tow truck waltzed from Marathon to Tavernier at 35 miles per hour developing a line of road rage over the horizon behind us. I was four cars behind him and unable to pass thanks to oncoming traffic,  though his driving did send two drivers into the danger zone passing in median lanes, which if caught, gets a reckless ticket no questions asked. I admired their nerve. The problem with amblers on the highway especially when driving a flying barn like the Promaster is the car behind gets impatient with the slowpoke van and the risk of being rear ended is ever present. I drove 40 miles with a car glued to my rear bumper as though the delay were my fault  and all I could do was hope for the best and curse the endless stream of oncoming traffic. The day did get better...

My wife was the chef d'orchestre as is usual when we visit The Big City so we zipped from Robert Is Here for lunchtime smoothies as usual...I did happen to notice this vaguely precise Awful Warning dangling from the fence as I trailed Rusty. It rather reminded me to beware of heffalumps.

We somehow managed once again to avoid heffalump traps inherent to buying food at an agritourism establishment and went on our merry way to the storage locker. It took me four trips up to the second floor to deliver three loads of boxes on our dolly. This was because I forgot the keys to the padlock on my first trip and had to make an extra round trip to get into the infernal chamber. Sweaty work overseen by Rusty who  sat in the driving seat and watched and approved of me opening up his space on the bed.  

We went to Target to return needed packing materials and some other stuff whose details escape me. Layne decided to add the money to our cash pile for Mexican travel. I wandered around the parking lots with a sniffing dog hence the apparently random pictures of trees and shrubs and buildings.

The boxes are gone and though order was not entirely restored Rusty staked his claim immediately. He has made the van his home at last and runs for his bed in the van at the slightest growl of thunder when he is in the driveway watching the world go by.

Layne had to make a last visit to see Dr Ritter at the Rheumatology center. I'm not sure how this happened but her arthritis after 25 years residence appears to have gone into remission, just in time for her to get off the drugs and hopefully get a successful vaccination. The afternoon, though rainy, brightened up considerably when the doctor could detect no signs of swelling or inflammation. Quite the surprise.

I was allowed up to the office after a walk with Rusty around the the block so I got my chance to say goodbye to the good doctor who himself suffers from Rheumatoid arthritis. I used to come out of the consulting room in the days before Covid to a roomful of patients and wave my fingers and thank him loudly for curing me. Arthritis of this sort is a bastard disease of endless suffering and I figured give 'em hope. Never a truer word spoken in jest. Only thing is, the waiting room is Covid empty these days and no one was there to see Layne's miracle.

Dr Ritter the workaholic seemed fascinated by the idea of an open ended journey though he wagged his finger in warning about not going south where danger lies. Said the lifelong Miami resident though probably not resident in the drive by shooting neighborhoods. If he only knew our plans Layne said to me after we were out of hearing. Better say nothing or give him a heart attack. We will send him a postcard from Patagonia when they can't hold us responsible for the outcome. (He doesn't do electronics).

Travel is always a series of goodbyes, and to my fevered imagination travel resembles death inasmuch as here today and vanished tomorrow. Of course it's not as serious as we will be back and most probably after Alaska next year but the bonds are slipping with a mixture of excitement and sadness. 

After the doctor we crossed the street and ordered a Jamaican dinner, curried goat for Layne and curried chicken for me from a hole in the wall we've been visiting forever.  We had beef patties for old times' sake and they reminded me how good Dion's patties are in the Keys' convenience stores. We sat in the van eating the beef pastries while Rusty chowed down on a dog thing. "I can feel the end closing in," I said to Layne. "Last time here and there." 

Next stop was Lenscrafters in the Falls shopping mall. I'm not a fan of shopping malls but this one is different, an open air tropical walkway alongside a rushing stream of water tumbling between ferns and over rocks creating small waterfalls. Apparently there is new ownership investing in renovations and I was glad to see that one day people will be able to walk through what may be the antithesis of the traditional shopping mall. Hopefully mask free. I wore a mask as I handed over Dr Douville's lens prescription from the Professional Building in Key West. New lenses in my favorite frame (plus a spare) in a week or when next we drive up.

While walking Rusty I passed a left over protestor from the recent burst of Free Cuba marches and flag waving. I have little sympathy for the Cubans who have been given the good life, perhaps the best life, in the US while their fellow Cubans suffer 90 miles away and they can't be bothered to do anything more than wave flags and demand another intervention from the US to get them their properties back. Fidel Castro took his life in his hands and fought for what he wanted and believed in. This lot can't get off their middle class backsides to do the same for what they say they believe in. I can't imagine the hard put upon people of Cuba will ever get rid of the tyranny of the Castros to replace it with the tyranny of these people. Some people never get the breaks and I can't imagine how rough Cubans have it caught between an oppressive past and a no hope future. Meanwhile the Miami Cubans live well and complain. I have no desire to go back where I came from and I have an irrational belief they should feel the same way.

Our last stop on our shopping trip was Petsmart naturally. Rusty needs (needs?) a van sized bed and he gets to choose it. I followed Layne's directions and led Rusty to the bed section. He is like me and knows what he likes. The model he laid down in was the same as the ones at home. Only this time Layne got a slightly smaller size thank heavens and he slept in it all the way home so it passed the Rusty test and should be easier to handle in the small van space. Meanwhile 90 miles away people have to queue to buy staple foods. The unfairness of life seems insurmountable to me.

It's going to be a problem on the road but I shall have to harden up. I keep reminding myself suffering is everywhere even when I am not there and it will be after I pass through. Insurmountable. But there is beauty too.

At least he's where he wants to be:

The Packing Grind

These are not, I fear the days of great blog posts but bear with me as I have to use the material I have to hand and these days it's all about choice. Does it come with us? Do we store it in the locker in Miami for future use? Do we sell it? Do we toss it? These are not thirty days that shook the world, but I will tell you this need for continuous unending decision-making gives you a taste for how much of our normal lives we live on autopilot. I took a break to read Bad Land by Jonathan Raban. I read his book Coasting years ago when I lived on my boat in Santa Cruz and absorbed sailing by proxy. Webb Chiles recommended Bad Land when I talked of crossing that part of the country to drive to Alaska. The lives of English émigré would-be farmers is stark and a fascinating review of the immigrant fables as told as part of the myth of westward migration.

Unfortunately it doesn't take Layne long to finish her project and we're back at it. A complete set of pots and pans to be photographed for instance, is the next chore. She posts them on Facebook. On Sunday she sold our outdoor furniture to a man with an SUV who hauled away what was in effect our dining room in two trips. Our first Instapot is sold. The utility trailer used to haul motorcycles is sold. On and on the list goes. My preferred method would be to get a dumpster delivered and toss everything off the balcony. But I would be wrong; I think we might have made enough to keep us in Mexico for three months this winter so there's proof positive I'm an idiot. An impatient idiot.

We bundled our winter clothes and packed them alongside proper walking boots in a space not instantly accessible under the bed. The idea is when we reach frigid regions we will pull out knit caps, scarves, long underwear and heavy socks to deal with the cold, but until then we shall exist in an optimistic Spring of not too heavy clothes until the weather tells us, by force, we are no longer in the Keys.

My other clothes, and I do own some long pants by the way, are reduced to four bags which required some decision making. Do you want this or that...? I am the despair of the fashion conscious.

Happily the bags fit in the overhead bins on my side of the back of the van. The two bins on my side are smaller because the original dimensions mean I couldn't sit up so we went back to Custom Coach Creations in Deland for a re-do, and they rebuilt the boxes a little smaller so my seated frame will fit underneath without giving me a headache. $600 well spent. The little green patch masks the join where the liner was cut behind the old bins. They do a nice job in Deland.

As we demolish the house we practice storage for the van. Luckily we took the time to vacation last year in Michigan and those experiences gave us a chance to test ideas we had. Layne has been revamping her pantry as a result. And I am carrying boxes of spices and sauces up and down the stairs. One important thing for us to remember, and we sometimes forget, is that unlike sailing we will be traveling this time right past supermarkets and all manner of stores as we go, and we have to curb our tendency to picture ourselves away from stuff and thus overthink what we need to carry all the time. 

We pause too in the business of cleaning up when we come across certain stuff, including my old travel wallet (now for sale) with a strange assortment of small bills from Albania, Bosnia, Croatia and Nicaragua. Completely random. Layne says we may well use them and they have gone in the foreign currency drawer, wherever that is. I think it may be a few years before we get to spend two hundred Leks again but I certainly wouldn't mind driving Gannet2 through Albania and seeing what has changed since last time. 

But first we have to pack.

Mangrove Walk

My wife and I have a bet going on. I have high hopes that by the middle of next month I will be a millionaire and Layne will be utterly devastatingly impoverished.  I am confident because I believe we can be all packed up by mid October and there is a million dollar bet riding on this.  If I am wrong and we aren't all packed up by October 12th I shall be bankrupt and Layne will be rolling in it and doubtless mocking my optimism.

Packing up a life in preparation for a transition is an illustration of diminishing returns. The closer you get to the conclusion the more crap you find lurking in the corners of your life. I am already looking around for a hauler with a pick up truck for hire to load up bigger stuff and transport it to the dump on the other side of Cudjoe. My wife looks at me with astonishment: "I can sell that!" she insists. She can too. 

We were going to the bank on Big Pine Key to notarize one more moving document to set up a mail forwarding service. Oh good, Layne said, we can sell the Crocs. In a fit of absentmindedness Layne had bought me two pairs of size 12 Crocs, only they were in womens' sizes. Who knew there was a woman's size 12? She posted them on Facebook and we had a buyer. We arranged to meet in the bank parking lot. It was a scene from a spy novel as we lurked in the car watching vehicles pull up at First State Bank, wondering which one was the buyer. Soon enough a small black car dislodged an impressively tall black man, apparently quite flexible. We smiled at each other as in this age of Covid I stayed on my side of his car and slid the shoes across while he slipped me two tightly folded 20 dollar bills. We each sloped off from the parking lot in different directions.

The walls of our home are becoming denuded of art. Our pictures collected on various travels are in boxes and there are boxes everywhere. "I may have sold the dressers" is a typical opening gambit in our rather weird conversations. "I can't get the damned shower tray to hold up in the van," might be my typical reply. When we lived on boats we shared pink jobs and blue jobs as we traveled. It was a source of much conversation among sailors, how jobs fell into typical pre-feminist roles among traveling boaters. Layne cooked and I tended the sails. I changed the engine oil and Layne shopped. It was weird but effective. We are going back to pink and blue jobs. Layne cooks and I study the spare tire situation. 

Rusty is handling the chaos quite well. My previous dogs have got stressed by the obvious changes.  I think Cheyenne got dumped at the pound before her former family moved. When we prepared to leave our home on Ramrod Key she got really anxious and I couldn't be out of her sight for a minute until she realized she wasn't being dumped again. Rusty just keeps on as normal as furniture moves and boxes come and go. I like to think he knows how important he is to us.

A new city policy has been announced requiring employees to be vaccinated or to get a weekly PCR Covid test at their own expense. I sent in my vaccination certificate to HR as I am technically on the books until October but I know several of my colleagues are determined anti-vaxxers. That's one of the reasons I'm getting out before Fantasy Fest. A vaccinated Monroe County Commissioner for the Upper Keys died recently after getting the disease that some people call a  hoax. In his obituaries Mike Forster is described as a powerhouse of good, organizing help for the needy in his community and acting like a true leader. I find it deeply disturbing he got the Johnson and Johnson vaccine and still suffered a fatal breakthrough infection.

I can't stand the idea that there are swathes of people who can argue with a  straight face against vaccination however I have opted out of the drama. Our plans when we are on the road is to get take out food kerb side, eat in the van and avoid contact as much as possible. At this point we have to patiently wait for Covid to burn itself out because apparently we as a species don't want to help it along.

The weather this September has been lovely so far, yes too hot but also breezy and pleasant. I walk Rusty before dawn and I don't sweat so that's a win. I find it ironic to a degree when I see parts of the country knocked down by hurricanes, tornadoes wildfires and drought while South Florida trudges on as normal pretty much. 

The summer skies are gorgeous with clouds and storms, the colors of the leaves are bright  and I am enjoying the peace and quiet of ultra low tourist season. As seen here:

Dusk in the woods with Rusty. Perfect. Not a moose in sight.

Art From The Past

From the archive I wanted to post  a few pictures from a  time when museums and art were available without thought or worrying about masks and all the rest. 2019 seems so recent. Interestingly enough the artists niece posted a comment saying she was unaware of the exhibit at the time so that was a nice plus!

Tuesday, September 10, 2019

Martha Watson Sauer

It was without doubt a splendid day Sunday in Key West, as warm as you like and humid but the skies were clear and all was well with the world. And downtown was filled with cruise ship visitors.

My wife noticed this extraordinary attraction as we walked past Clinton Square Market, a pretty decent place to shop for souvenirs and toys the last time I went in, a long time ago as I am not by nature a shopper. The point being you can ride an escalator in Old Town Key West. Fancy That!

And there was music of course to soothe the fevered brow and persuade shoppers to shop:

They got a bit of an audience and I was prompted to wonder if there was an equal or similar number of women inside spending the cruise ship dollars:

 We weren't the only ones enjoying downtown Key West though I didn't see them at the Tropic watching Tel Aviv On Fire. It was a busy Sunday as I am hinting here. Starting of course with an extended dog walk followed by a ghastly bicycle racing exercise class called Spinning which my wife signed me up for, without my consent. It was so hard I fell asleep in the movie and the only way to wipe out that shame is to take more classes and come to terms with Spinning. Which invovles pedalling like a maniac not standing around like these two:

The Custom House was designed by the Federal Government as  aborder post along the Canadian line where snow predominates for half the year. Down here the Federal building looks slightly absurd, ready to shrug off any possible snow that has never fallen in Key West. But the large wide porticos provide excellent spots to sit and watch the world go by. Or make a phone call I suppose.

The people ahead of us in line looked ready to mount a major expedition on the exhibits but I went in hoping things hadn't changed too much since my last visit as I was only carrying a  camera and had no other survival equipment along for the visit.

It turns out there were two splendid visiting exhibitions  and as I have far too many pictures, apologies, I'll showcase the other one this weekend in a separate entry on this page.

The watercolors on display were deft and bright from all over the place, Mexico, Martinique, Paris and even Key West. There was a potted biography on the wall for those reading this on a  large screen. The rest of us I found the signage on the Art and History Museum website and copied it below:

 With her sketchbook and paints invariably in hand, Martha Watson Sauer (1912-2006) created an incredible body of artwork while also serving as a teacher of watercolor painting and weaving in the Key West arts community.  A Key West resident for nearly 70 years Surroundings: Watercolors by Martha Watson Sauer pays tribute to more than half a century of Sauer’s work, which also include her personal effects and sketchbooks.  Her plein air watercolors spread beyond the island, they highlight architecture, landscape and people from her extensive travels around Mexico, the Caribbean, Europe and across the United States.

“My aim is to transmit to paper the delights of nature and the out-of-doors; the sun’s heat and the deep cool of shadow,” she explained prior to her death in 2005.  “My paintings are not puzzles.  I like what I see and try my best to present the scene so others may share in the enjoyment of it.”

Born and raised in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, Sauer came to Key West in 1936 during the Great Depression while the city was clawing its way out of its economic malaise by encouraging tourism with the help of the Federal Emergency Relief Administration (FERA), later called the Works Progress Administration (WPA).  Key West had not been her intended destination.  “My mother and I stopped by accident in a travel agency in Miami,” Sauer remembered.  “We saw these watercolors by [FERA artist] Avery Johnson with scenes of Key West.  It was such a dear little town.  So I said, ‘Let’s go to Key West,’ and we did.”

Arriving at a time when a number of the WPA artists remained active in Key West’s economic recovery efforts, Sauer’s innate watercolor technique was noticed by the professional artists.  She received early tutelage from members of the WPA, particularly F. Townsend Morgan.  Sauer was asked to create lino-block prints for tourist brochures promoting tourist destinations including the Key West Municipal Aquarium, the Hemingway House, West Martello and the Peggy Mills House.  

Sauer became one of the original members of the Key West Art Center that was known as the WPA’s Key West Community Art Center in the 1930s.  Her very first sale was a painting purchased by the eminent pragmatist philosopher John Dewey, once a Key West resident.  Today, her works hang in private collections in Switzerland, Japan, Great Britain, Canada and the United States, including the Key West Art Center located at 301 Front Street.

The Helmerich Trust paid for the exhibit which will be at the museum through November 10th. Well worth a  visit.

The artist's easel is preserved  and is part of the exhibit. It looks pretty much as you'd expect:

She was apparently a close of observer of the world around her.

The paintings are not usually labeled by location which is annoying, but people do that on Instagram forgetting to add time and date.

The artist and her spouse presumably around the time Key West was struggling to survive the Depression and was being described in all sorts of detail by various artists and writers of the period:

70 years in Key West is bound to give rise to a memory or two...

With journeys faithfully recorded in watercolor:

Apparently beyond the artistic exhibitions she also produced commercial work such was her versatility:

And the figure in the middle is herself, teaching:

Key West enjoyed her skill on the cover of the guidebook created to teach the visitors about the city they were being encouraged to visit. It seems extraordinary now but Key West was very nearly evacuated for lack of money in those desperate years when 80% of the population was on assistance from the government. 

And then Julius Stone dreamed up tourism and the city has never looked back. Rum smuggling didn't hurt either during prohibition. 

This one below looked like an Italian city to me but who knows...

And I am going to put this one squarely in Key West: