Freehand

Sometimes I just like a picture, and there's not much more to say.

A bathroom and two closets, size small

This isn't a game of sardines, but it might as well have been. Everybody was jamming into the little guest bath on the first floor.

The picture is through the walls: One closet to the main room is on the left; one closet for the guest room is on the right; and the bathroom is on through.

It's tight, but we knew that. Our architect, Dennis, was bedeviled by how much we wanted to pack into such a limited space -- sort of like being drafted as Dolly Parton's dress designer.

At this point, Ref was explaining where the fire-blocks had to go to protect the staircase (just out of the photo, to the left), because if there's one thing you don't want to catch fire, it's the stairs. (Then again, if they do, there's the big "escape" window in the upstairs bedroom -- sort of like Miss Dolly's dress having hooks and a zipper).

Some of the wood you see is pocket-door housings; they came in last week, at least most of them, and they can finally go in. As usual, Ref has some tricks up his sleeve to guarantee they work to their utmost.

In the picture at the left, for example, you see a little space between the very light wood of the door housing and the beam running overhead. The screws that hold the housing in place don't show, but the gap means expansion and contraction -- from changes in moisture or temperature -- won't make the door bind. Clever.

Going to seed

Brantley and Steve were busy installing firestops today -- those short horizontal boards half-way up the spaces between studs on a wall. Important, but not very photogenic.

So I thought I'd mention that Patricia, the really sweet next-door neighbor at our rental, gave us eight of these palm trees -- Christmas palms.

Actually, the one in the picture we've owned for some time; it's right outside the front door of our house-in-progress. The ones Patricia gave us are about nine inches tall, offspring from one of her Christmas palms.

The profusion of seeds on these things is one reason why she can be so generous. After the little green buds flower (male and female on the same plant), the fruits ripen, turn bright red (hence the name) and fall, and then the little buggers sprout like weeds.

They're incredibly popular as landscape palms. Beautifully shaped, they require no pruning -- "self-cleaning," in palm parlance, because dead fronds break away cleanly on their own. They're the same kind that plop into our rental pool, but at least you don't have to shinny up to trim off the dead parts, and a falling frond doesn't pack the same wallop as a falling coconut.

(There are more than 2,000 species of palms, by the way. Patricia's also a whiz at raising arecas, the kind often sold as house plants.)

I did have to ask our landlord Steve to borrow another neighbor's saw-on-a-stick to cut the flower stalks on the four Christmas palms clustered over our pool: A frond I can pull out easily enough, but I don't want to skim thousands of little flowers from the surface, or collect thousands of seeds from the bottom.

What lies beneath

This lovely queen conch -- Strombus gigas, Linnaeus named it in 1758 -- came up not on a beach, but in the bucket of the five-ton backhoe at our pool dig. I was blown away that it had so little damage as it tumbled out among the rocks. Oh, sure, a chipped lip here and some bad stains there, but all in all quite a survivor. It doesn't even have the little hole where you dig in to get the meat out.

On Sunday, when I should have made a blog entry, I was reading another Margaret Atwood novel (Alias Grace this time), and washing the shell. I took an old toothbrush to it and thought about it.

I couldn't help thinking about our conch cottage. It's an architectural style that hails back to the Bahamas -- "Bahama conch" is the usual term here -- with some nods to New England and Africa, about as multicultural as can be. Conch "houses" are two-story. Conch "cottages" are a modest one- or one-and-a-half-story.

Conch structures mix esthetic touches with lots of defensive mechanisms. They are almost always up on piers (for air circulation and to keep dry), have sloping metal roofs (to reflect sun and carry water to the cistern), use dormers (to expand usable space), are shuttered (against hurricanes and the hot sun, while letting air in), have porches (to provide shade and a nice place to sit) and feature tongue-and-groove paneling (for structural strength in each room).

That's our house to a T, though our cistern was filled in decades ago and we'll go for a pool instead.

And part of me thinks the shell is me to a T as well. Older rather than younger -- certainly not the buffed-up, polished version all shiny pink and wired for lamps (though they sure are decorative in the night). Chipped, spotted and stained during a long trip through the years, but still instantly recognizable for what it is. Lit the right way, considered with care, not bad.

And certainly at home in Key West.

The barbecue comes later

Ref had said they wouldn't be working on Memorial Day, but so much for that.

"We're just gonna be here another half-hour," he said Monday morning, because he wanted to finish up on the rafters.

Here, Steve shoots a nail home while Ref and Gregory hold the board in place. Mr. B was back in the bedroom, cutting wood to specs that Ref was madly shouting out. I know the picture isn't focused well, but everyone was in motion. Still, the string sure looks like a laser line -- which is exactly the way it functions.

Some of the pieces took a bit of delicate shaving to fit behind the string -- a lot easier with the "white wood," spruce, than the "green" treated pine that framed the second-floor roof.

"Save those," Ref said at one point, gesturing to some of the scraps that would make perfectly good shims. He'd just taken the guys to the lumberyard to point out plywood sheets that now sell upwards of $40 apiece, when they were $23 a few months back.

Strung out

It was great to see Gregory back on the job Saturday. He had the day off from his commercial gig, and he, Ref and Brantley were putting new rafters under the old roof, doubling up to provide 16-inch centers and make insulation easier when that time comes.

All week, Ref had been explaining the Stafford System -- snapping strings as guidelines to guard against wavy-wall syndrome -- and the fluorescent pink lines finally went up.

Jim, who had wandered onto the job earlier in the week, never seemed to get the idea. Let's just say he isn't likely to be back soon.

But there must have been fluorescence in the air: the guys were all in their best tropic-tone t-shirts.

Ref had an interesting observation on the old roof, by the way. Notice the dark boards, alternating with the light ones. The dark ones are very old cedar -- originals, on 12-inch centers. The light ones were added in later to fill in the gaps.

It amazes me that the old roof, strength gaps and all, has weathered 98 years.

Vandals with a writ

If you've crawled Duval, you've seen the mosaic Alfa Romeo at the corner of Olivia. Clad in tiles, shells, glass, beads and assorted doodads, the funky, conchy landmark has charmed passers-by for a decade, and has been the backdrop for uncountable tourist photos.

But life on the street is never easy. A few weeks back, vandals ripped out some seat stuffings, and then some other nimrod went after it with a 2-by-4. Local glass artist Heather Clark patched it up.

Last week there was another attack, even more senseless: The primary leaseholder of the building housing Glass Reunions, where the car sits, has ordered it evicted. He says he wants the space for parking, which would be believable only when cars levitate; without a curb cut on Duval, the only access to the spot is through the space behind it.
Kim Sprague, the owner of the great glass gallery, put a placard next to the car asking folks to call the Citizen in protest, and then asked for calls to the landlord, who lives in Tallahassee. She told the newspaper the landlord is just retaliating because she wants to exercise a part of her lease that calls for a rent break based on her down-time and damage after Rita and Wilma roared through.

Since I didn't have a phone along, I went into the gallery to ask her where I could sign a Save-the-Alfa petition. There weren't any, so she graciously let me whip a few up on her computer. Before long there were pages and pages of signatures.

Some cities spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on public art, but here's a freebie, and one that perfectly exemplifies Key West's fantastic art community: quirky, creative, collaborative. What part of that doesn't the landlord get?

* * *

UPDATE -- The Key West Citizen carried this lovely reader comment today: "On one of our many trips to your island, our then-toddler son saw the mosaic car for the first time and thought that he must be in another country — a magic land — because where else would they have cars like that? Years later, our self-anointed Princess Christina (child No. 2) saw the car and announced that it must be hers, for this was a car for a princess. How could anyone want to remove a car that sparks so much imaginative thought?"

First impressions can take a while

You're standing in the front door, you look up.
. . .

Of course, you have to imagine tongue-and-groove covering just about everything you see (drywall sheathing only the horizontal beam), and a railing along all the edges of the loft.

But you get the idea: There's a lot going on overhead, and a lot of light hitting your eye from the far end -- which is a wall-sized sliding door.

I'm lovin' it.

At some point in January, after looking at plans for months and months, I woke up with a big smile one morning. In the dream I'd just had, I'd walked through the door and looked around -- and this is just about what I saw.

It was the first time I'd been able to visualize the impact of the place, and that was as delightful then as it is now.

Light in the attic

This was the view Thursday morning from the top of the stairs. The loft is subfloored, and the high louvered windows in front are gone, as is the front door. All the openings are ready for replacement. The're framed, the interior Tyvek is going up -- and the light is spectacular.

At this point, every day at the house is like a game of "find the seven differences." If you look carefully, you see the changes 24 hours have brought; if you don't, you miss 'em.

Two additions in the photo on the right, too: Steve (in the cap) and Jim have joined the crew. They both bring a lot of skill to the job.

I wish I'd been as comfortably dressed as they were: By the time I got to the house this morning my shirt was soaked through. It's getting to be that kind of weather -- middle 80s at least, and at least 90 percent humidity.

I've seen only two shirt-and-tie bozos in the last month, a pair of Mormon missionaries on Duval Street, bless their little hearts. Such a long way from Temple Square, and so close to paradise.

Minding the store

Antiques shop window, Bahama Lane and Fleming Street.

The dig, Day 2

Orby, who works with Wade, was on the job Wednesday. He's every bit as deft at digging (and every bit as nice), and he brought a Bobcat and dump truck to haul off the incredible amount of rock and debris that's coming out. Turns out it's saleable as fill -- several hundred dollars a load.

In the top picture he's plucked out yet another vintage bottle. But take a look at the size of the boulders at his feet, and notice the white layer: all rock, and all a noisy challenge to break up.

As for the threat of rain: We got a few afternoon sprinkles, but nothing to dampen the pace of work. It's rainy season, after all, and these little tropical things move through.

Meanwhile, all the old windows have been torn out and re-framed, and the loft subfloor is going down. Bit by bit, Ref is getting ready for the trades to come in.

Totally digging it

Chris, our pool guy, was telling me some construction war stories when Wade rolled up with his giant backhoe.

Yes!

Chris had already spray-painted the hole borders in the back yard, but there was the small matter of the rebar poking up on the side of the house between Point A and Point B.

That turned out to be no matter at all: Wade used the bucket like a big, heavy hand to bend the rebar out of the way like a kid bending licorice.

Before you knew it, the bucket was scooping up a few layers of urban archaeology, and then scraping limestone (the white layer in the picture at right).

While he was plumbing the hole to see if the deep end was 5 feet down yet (it wasn't), Chris noticed the source of the bottles, pots and other urban detritus -- an old well right under his feet at the edge of the lot.

There's a great, big low-pressure system out over the Gulf, and we'll see if heads up to Naples or turns our backyard into the neighborhood's biggest mud puddle.

On the other hand . . .

That did sound like a palm frond falling into the pool.

Tearing down and sprucing up

Ref and Brantley were busy over the weekend -- among other things, tearing off the siding (and saving what can be used later) on what will eventually be the common wall between the living room and the master bedroom.

They'll need to install some studs (though more for consistency than engineering; the old 4-by-4's can be spaced twice as far apart as 2-by-4's), and then fur everything out to a consistent 6-inch wall thickness.

Which is where all the fancy spruce on the front porch comes in. Also on the agenda for the spruce: framing the soffits in the living room and kitchen.

We're still waiting for the pool guy -- and for windows, too. They'll go in as soon as possible after they arrive. We want to seal everything up before hurricane season, and the official start is 10 days off.

Things that go ploosh in the night

It was about 4:15 -- I know because I was only half-asleep; some folks who'd obviously left a bar at closing time had been sufficiently boisterous on their way down Simonton to wake me up.

Then came the closer noises. At first I thought it might be a dream. But no. A loud, drawn-out eeee-awwrhh, and then a heavy splash, as big as the coconuts that used to fall in the pool out at Patty's house on Donald, when we rented it some years back.

What the hell? Another palm frond in the pool? I didn't remember any that looked ready to go, and fronds don't tend to scream as they fall.

I flipped on a light, then the outside lights. Looked a minute, started laughing. I got the camera.

The big spot must be where a very wet Sparky had clambered out of the pool, a smaller spot where her tail hit when she shook, then a trail back to her secret place between the back wall and the pantry.

By 6, she collected herself sufficiently to reappear and start mewing for breakfast. Still wet.

The new roomie

He (or she) has been here a few weeks now, but I've postponed mentioning him (or her, but I'll just stick with he, him and his).

For one thing, I can't properly introduce you, since as far as I know he hasn't told me his name. Not that he's not vocal: surprisingly loud for his size (about equal to my thumbnail) he chirps through the night like a cricket, if the cricket had studied the flute for a while.

Since his new residence is my shower, and since the shower is adjacent to the bedroom, that took some getting used to. In fact, for a few days I tried to persuade him to relocate just outside the shower, in the plants at the pool, but he kept hopping back -- the second reason I've hesitated. I didn't know if he'd return (he did) or stay (he has, usually dwelling under the drainboards but occasionally venturing up the wall. He's a great climber).

As you may be able to tell from the picture, he's not shy. I keep trying to invite him to dinner: I have some other roommates -- mosquitos -- I'd like to introduce him to.

Forecast: clear and sunny

It's nice to know where things are:

-- Tuesday's storm, having dropped even more of its load on Cuba, is finally passing that island's eastern edge.

-- Ref and Brantley are back on the project, after taking a few days off to get other projects in order.

-- The pool guys will get to work next week, first laying out and then digging and then twisting rebar and then pouring. Or at least they say we're on their schedule for next week; I'd been expecting something this week.

-- And the big yellow hibiscus are back, battling for space amid the immense tree-climbing plant around Steve's door to the deck that nobody can identify.

All in all, good news.

Look out, it's a schefflera

. . . And a big one, seen out toward the street from the dormer.

We'd never seen them this big until a few years ago -- let alone one in full bloom. Whenever this one breaks out in big, showy red spikes, I'll be sure to let you know.

I'll also let you know we won't have one of our own: Schefflera actinophylla is on the Florida Do Not Plant roster, and a Category 1 no less -- the worst. Our landscape architect quickly pointed this out when he saw it on the preliminary wish list we drew up for our gardens.

It turns out there are lots of pretty plants that are so-called non-native invasives -- Australian pines, mimosa, nandina. Good grief, even lantana is a no-no. Boston ferns! Who knew.

The state experts categorize a whole range of plants as "aggressive, nuisances, pests, noxious or invasive."

It is helpful not to concentrate on those terms on days when big cruise ships are in port, and you're making your way through sidewalks full of your fellow non-native invasive humans.

Think of them as vents

Since it was only spitting this morning, I decided to hike over to the house to see how the new roof held up under the inch-plus onslaught.

It turns out that Tuesday's drench was the first significant rain since . . . November, a record dry spell that started right after Wilma.

Sure enough, the second floor was bone-dry. As for the front corner where the tin had torn off, not so much.

Still, the gaps make a nice pattern.
The old wood, by the way, is rough-cut pine, extremely tough stuff, and the beams are pegged with gum wood -- flexible enough to give a bit in a storm, but then spring back to where they ought to be.

What a full day of rain looks like

So goes Margo

The marquee box at the 801 Cabaret is now an impromptu memorial to David Felstein, 68, who performed as Margo at the cabaret for the last decade.

The performer, who also wrote a lovely, witty, gentle column in Celebrate about the delights of life on the island, died Friday of bone cancer.

I know I'd be forgiven for saying this: I always thought of Margo as 130 pounds of David, 170 pounds of sequins and 28 ounces of Max Factor Light Egyptian.

There's only one adjective I can imagine using for that life: unforgettable.

Queen of the night

Word over all,
beautiful as the sky,

Beautiful that war
and all its deeds of carnage
must in time
be utterly lost,

That the hands of the sisters
Death and Night
incessantly softly
wash again,
and ever again,
this soiled world. . . .

-- Walt Whitman, Reconciliation, 1865

- - - -

I took this picture a month ago for my friend Lou, and thought it was just fine at this full moon, too.

Connecting dots

Move for the right angle, and the sun coming through the window glinted off them like some brilliant code in Braille.

But these little galvanized tin discs, used to hold weatherproofing down around tacks, had simply fallen out of a roofer's tool belt.

As Freud knew, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Lovely weather for it

Wouldn't you know it.

Since I got here in mid-February, we've had .05 inches of rain -- yes, half of a tenth -- except on Feb. 26, when we got a whopping .17. We're a few inches under the seasonal average. Just yesterday, I mentioned to our neighbor J.J. that Ref had been lucky that way -- nothing to get the materials wet.

So when the roof guys got to the house Friday morning to put down the weatherproof underlayer, I don't have to tell you what happened.

There wasn't much drizzle -- just enough to drive the tourists under Duval's awnings, and enough to scatter the roof guys.

Before you could say "subtropical," the clouds scudded south and the guys scrambled up under pearl-gray clouds and got it done.

Rafter dance

Working against time, Ref pulled in neighbors, friends, a helper and the occasional building owner to finish the plywood before the roof guys arrived with their paper.

They were set to get there at 2, and as the clock ticked, the saw buzzed, the nail gun banged and the sweat flowed.

Measure. Muscle the sheets onto the sawhorses. Mark. Snap a line. Cut. Lift. Way up. Jockey. Nail: BANG.

Oh, and by the way, time here and here to wrestle more plywood to the second floor, to reset a shifting scaffold and to make a few brilliant cuts on a board to form two crickets, to guide rainwater on a swift stream to earth at the lines where roofs merge.

Thus through the morning, and into the afternoon.

Of course, the roof crew didn't show at 2, or at 2:30, or at 3, which came as no surprise to anyone who's ever dealt with a roof crew. But if they had been there at 3, they would have seen the sunlight narrowing for the last time on that roof, the aperture to the sky shrinking, board by board, to the final 10-inch triangle, one last little skylight ... closed. BANG. BANGBANGBANGBANG.

Sparky, the communal cat

Her Groucho moustache makes me want to laugh, and the notch in the tip of her left ear makes me want to say "aww."

Like so many cats in Key West, she seems to be community property. Neighbor Thomas feeds her, landlord Steve feeds her when he's in town, I feed her. But despite two, three or four meals a day, she's a lean thing, and completely in touch with that "aloof" business.

Or at least she started that way. Couldn't pet her at first, and she wouldn't think of crossing a threshhold. Then she started leg-rubbing, and purring nicely when she got a bit of affection right around mealtime. Then she'd look up and meow for ear-scratches, arching and then collapsing and rolling over to get her belly tickled.

Now she usually sleeps the night on the bathroom rug, probably so she can catch me on the way to the kitchen.

Made in the shade

Plywood on a dormer. Yes! Funny how such a little thing can generate such a big smile.

Ref hopes to have the second floor covered by the end of the week, and then the roof guys can put down their paper.

Step right up

I had a wag of a professor who used to end every seminar with the mantra, "Questions? Comments? Short speeches?" Which is worth saying now, since I seem to have the comment function working.

For those of you new to Blogger, use the little e-mail icon if you'd like to send someone a link to a particular post. If the spirit moves you to comment, click on the "comments" word itself. If you'd like to send me an e-mail, just write suenitos at gmail dot com

(Don't worry about having to keep track of a new e-mail address. My old ones still work; this just funnels messages to my regular inbox.)

Whistling in the wind?

It's ready to get sheeted with plywood -- or almost, because Ref wanted to adjust a few little details this morning. But first, he offered to climb up top to get some pictures. Considering my allergy to heights, I was delighted.

If you have a few hours to kill, you can click on the image and start counting hurricane clips and straps. Holy cow!

In the middle of a full day of nailing 'em in, Gregory came up to me and said, "I have some good news and some bad news. Good news: This house ain't goin' nowhere in a hurricane. Bad news: I'm gonna be knockin' on your door."

If you think he was exaggerating: A few more pictures, working our way down to the piers. . . .







All things considered, almost enough metal for full orthodontia on Sandra Bernhard.

A patch of blue

Ref is ordering shutters this week -- from a manufacturer on the mainland, both because it's cheaper and because the manufacturer will paint them. He needed a chip for the order -- and here's Behr 'Sailboat.'

Hard to tell from a little patch on a computer screen, but trust me, it's intense.

Sunday trumpets

Our landlord has a DSL connection with a wireless node, so I've been connecting to net radio a good deal. Despite the tinny speakers on my laptop, it's handy, since the Miami NPR station is on a temporary FM repeater here, and it doesn't do much music anyway.

So I was listening to WGCU/WMKO, from Fort Meyers and Marco Island, early Sunday morning. There was a trumpet voluntary, and what other picture could there be for that?