Close, but no cigar

Ref called this morning -- I think he was at breakfast with the guys, which is something of a Saturday tradition -- to update me on stuff.

I miss him, and told him so, and asked him to give my best to Brantley, Gregory et al.

Not that I've been thinking about him. Not that I didn't make a U-turn in horrid Gunbarrel Road traffic in Chattanooga (wow, is that redundant) to get a picture of this building. Not that I think it's up to his standards.

But the name has a nice ring to it.

Seeing red

"Whenever this one breaks out in big, showy red spikes, I'll be sure to let you know," I said in May about scheffleras.

I'm letting you know.

Another country

Wayne, who sells lemonade at Fleming and Duval, passes these out -- and I had to stick one on the old SUV we have in the Keys as soon as we got Monroe County tags in February. If it makes just one person smile as much as it tickles me, I'll have had a good day.

Besides, it reflects the island mindset so well. In three months by myself, I went through only about a half-tank of gas, but almost all the tread on a set of Crocs flip-flops.

Alas, I dusted off my mental passport a week ago (if you hadn't noticed the dearth of construction pictures), and headed back to America for a few chores.

It occurred to me as I packed that I hadn't worn shoes that tie, shirts that button or pants that go below the knee in more than three months either, and I hadn't ventured beyond Stock Island.

As the mile markers rolled up (US 1 starts at zero a few blocks from the house), I was looking at it as an excellent adventure into another country.

Then I hit the 18-mile stretch -- a straight-arrow two-lane pretty much north and south on the right edge of the very lowest Everglades. It's adapted from the old Flagler railroad right-of-way, linking the Keys to the mainland. Some might describe it as desolate -- but hey, there's a quarry along the way, and a correctional center waaay off among the sawgrass, and every car going north or south, and the occasional osprey.

(In a silly way, I appreciate Flagler a lot. An original robber-founder of Standard Oil in the first Rockefeller days, he's famously quoted as saying, "I'd be a rich man today if I'd never come to Florida." Makes two of us.)

They're doing a big job putting in a taller bridge at Jewfish Creek, and adding two new lanes for a few miles north of it, and the southbound conga line in the picture is from about Mile Marker 109.

The next morning, my eyes had widened in proportion to the road, which you can see on the left, and I really was in another land.

Why do Atlanta (in the picture) and Miami have to be such nightmares? All I could do was smile knowing that some onrushing bumper-rider who'd been to the Keys might put my Monroe plate and the "Slow Down" sticker into perspective to get his own smile for the day as I kept drilling north (with Cuban jazz on the CD and a big, dumb grin on my face). At least nobody honked.

Onward north, and into even worse drivers, and finally the sky showed mountain mists shrouding hills and then mountains themselves, when the sky wasn't taken up with billboards.

Finally off the interstate, and up Tennessee hills I hadn't rolled over since I wore shoes, and then off the blacktop, and onto our little county road, and along the frontage fence on another two-lane.

And at long last back to another "another country," this one landlocked rather than surrounded by the sea, but with gates to keep the world at bay as best they can.

Home of sorts. But nothing like the home I can't wait to get back to.

- - -

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

-- J.R.R. Tolkien

Royal splendor

Pardon the cliche, but I'm still getting my breath.

It's blossom season for the royal poinciana (Delonix regia) , and umbrellas of fire are opening all over town.

There's a particularly magnificent specimen on Southard, just west of White -- but I didn't have my camera along when I walked under it the other day. I'll snap it for you the next time I'm strolling that way.

The link above, by the way, takes you into the wonderful Floridata pages -- scads of information about our flora. You might like to wander through that amazing virtual garden.

SoWhat?

Oh, it's a nice neighborhood; but this kind of marketing B.S. is just going to have conchs scratching their heads, snickering, or both.

Fresh poultry

Moisture test

The storm was quick and intense, and it caught all of us by surprise. Those outside scrambled in, and those inside scrambled to pull tools out of the cascades coming through the old roof -- faced with plywood, but not yet paper, so water poured down everywhere.

(If you blow the picture up, you can even see raindrops. Just click it.)

"You know what that means?" Ref said, pointing to the pools on the dining room floor. "If water isn't going down, that means moisture isn't going to come up. That floor is sealed." He was grinning.

We kidded the plumbers that they were lucky they weren't having their inspection today.

By late afternoon, it had all gone airbone, taking the humidity to somewhere around 300 percent.

I think we all would have preferred it on the floor.

Everyday sculptors

Sometimes you just have to stand in amazement at the skill people show in everyday jobs.

The pool crew was today's example of work as art.

They were laying in the rebar, rhythmically bending (a foot here, with a pull), joining (a twist there, with a little buttonhook-like tool) and leaving behind the neatest armature of 10-inch squares you could imagine.

By late afternoon, they were wedging chunks of brick at intervals under the iron grid, to even out the thickness of the pool shell-to-be. Again, their skill was enough to get Brantley's attention. "Those boys do beautiful work," he said, shaking his head. That's high praise, because if you want to know about beautiful work, just stay around Ref and Mr. B for a while.

The plumbers, too, were finishing up hose bibs and getting everything shipshape, ready for their city inspection tomorrow. Ref was doing his own inspection today. "I like the penetration you're getting," he said about the foam they were using to seal each little place where pipes come through the floor.

À bas la résistance

Did I mention Croissants de France? It's apricot and almond. Couldn't resist buying it. Photographing it. Posting it. Eating it. Dusting my fingers off. Smiling.

Getting a leg up

That's Eddie on the left, brought in with a helper to tack down the plywood for the new roof on the old section of the house.

You can't see it in this shot, but Eddie looked as if he'd just been hosed down. It's in the 90s, the dew point is in the 70s, and everybody's sweatin'.

The plywood wouldn't be necessary if the old boards under the tin weren't so far apart. But just take a look at yesterday's view underneath the tear-off. No wonder our roofer, Dan, wouldn't guarantee the new roof without something substantial to nail to.

Meanwhile, Brantley and Don (a Chicago native) were skinning the den and bedroom with Tyvek -- and letting the sunshine in by opening up the den window.

Also closer to ground -- and under the house, in fact -- the plumbers were still running lines.

No sign of the pool crew today, but at least Brantley had some encouraging words. "I've seen a lot of pools built," he said during one Gatorade break, "and these guys really know what they're doing."

Grotesque? But yes!

I was walking past the Alfa today -- no, it wasn't a victory lap; it's just on the way to Croissants de France in its exile on Petronia, and I had a pastry jones -- and saw a group of guys in deep-sea-fishing T-shirts taking pictures with the car.

As usual, I offered to take a group shot of all of them, and they gladly accepted.

"Isn't this the ugliest damn car you've ever seen?" one of them asked, in a good-spirited way.

"It's grotesque, and I like it," I said, ready to reel off a bit of its history and probably, in a very deep way, ready to defend a fellow offbeat.

"You mean that in the Italian sense I bet," said one of the other guys in the group, and I realized I'd have to rethink my stereotypes about deep-sea fishermen.

We had a few minutes' conversation about grottoes, and shells and bones, and "outsider art" and OCD in centuries before the terms were known. About teapot hood ornaments and drivers behind the 8-ball. About warty shells on doors and black-and-white trunk panels.

They went off in search of beer, and I my ham-and-cheese croissant. At C de F, the woman at the counter took my order with a smile, and we talked about how long it would take to get the store open on Duval (they had a fire on Valentine's Day of '05), and the pace of things in Key West. . . .

And she mentioned that she was leaving in a few days for a house she'd bought as a summer place in the Pyrenees. I realized I'd have to rethink my stereotypes about pastry shop clerks.

Forms and function

From way above (sorry about the angle, but I could just hold the camera out the bedroom window and hope), you can see the progress Chris' guys made on the forms.

The iron supplier pulled up to drop off a ton or so of rebar just as I was leaving, so I'm expecting even more progress tomorrow.

And about that T-shaped thing at the pool's low point: twin drains. It's all for safety. With just one drain, a person could be held down by suction if he were sitting directly on it. With two, no such threat.

Ripoff artists

So much for that tin roof.

Alfa update: Art critic hits the road

Kim, at Glass Reunions, called me over today while I was making my way up Duval.

The gallery has been closed for a week or so -- putting in impact glass, a new front door, new carpet -- and she wanted to show me their redo.

And to give me the good news: The contest between the mosaic Alfa and the property manager has ended. (See "Vandals with a writ.")

What a happy ending! The car is firmly in PARK, and the building owner has found a new property manager.

Turning up the volume in the den

Sometimes I think the pictures aren't at all adequate, but when I looked at the den today, I just smiled and clicked.

Most of the plywood sheathing is up (and over; the roof is almost ready for papering, but you still have to be careful where you stand when it's raining).

Finally diving in

Chris & Co. were there bright and early to start forming up the pool. (Early is right, but bright is a figure of speech: It's still overcast and drizzling a bit from Alberto.)

This step is great news. I really need to get up to Tennessee for a bit, and I'll skedaddle as soon as the forming is finished. Chris obviously has the plans clearly in mind, but it never hurts to keep your eyes on the prize.

Apparently the city can take its time to inspect pools before the concrete gets shot, so that can happen while I'm occupied elsewhere.

Subtler than I'd expected

Far too much rain Saturday and Sunday for pictures ( the "something brewing" toward Cuba turned out to be Alberto), so here's Friday afternoon again.

Ref and I had stepped into the street to take an end-of-day look at the new profile. I think it's pretty subtle -- and hooray for that. Only from this one, brief angle do you get a sense of the full scale of the project -- and even then, you don't see the den.

Novena to Sta. Barbra proves fruitless

I simply gotta march,
My heart’s a drummer.
Don’t bring around a cloud
To rain on my parade!

- - -

Yeah, right.

Waiting for the laundry

Actually, I'm overjoyed it's come this far.

Ref has already told the plumbing guys (Pedro and Jeremy; Jorge hasn't been here for a few days 'cause his wife just had a baby) that he was impressed with their neatness and skill -- even pipes to the washer concealed in walls.

I was holding down the porch this morning -- Ref took the crew off to late breakfast before sheeting the new roofs, so I watched over the equipment -- and was thinking what a great place it will be to kill time while a load spins.

It was a cool, cloudy, sea-breezy day. There was one moderate storm just after dawn, and a big one caught me on Duval around noon. But midmorning was ideal. Our neighbor, Frankie, had a huge smile when she said, "It's always this nice when something's brewing out there," gesturing somewhere toward Cuba.

She traipsed off on her errand to the drugstore, and I was left with a mockingbird running through his playlist, a little brown lizard slowly exploring the sidewalk, one pigeon in the mood to mate with a pigeon who was not in the mood, a tiny frog singing in a hedge of what I think are some leftover ficuses. . . .

All punctuated with other neighbors walking their dogs and a little extra traffic, mostly scooters but the occasionial Escalade, too: Duval is shut for Pride Fest, and befuddled tourists don't realize that our street is less a shortcut than one leg of a maze.

Every so often, as I watched the palms blowing, I caught myself sighing and grinning like a fool. It's a great day when your only regret is that you haven't brought a book along.

Hipster

It's great to have our two new roofs up, less great not to have them relate to the old one. Our architect, Dennis, took the easy way out when figuring out the relationship -- "builder's best judgment," or some such, and the drawings were ambiguous.

He was probably hedging his bets against things we wouldn't have learned until demolition started -- I sure don't blame him for that -- so when the new rooms went up, "builder" and I had to make some best judgments.

The blue lines show you the solution: Ref put in a hip to join the old and new, and to let gravity work to draw water and debris down.

The angles were far beyond me, but after some very fancy slicing, the hip surgery was a resounding success.

Making room

Ref is up, and Brantley's on deck, and they're creating a bathroom and laundry room.

They're a day or two ahead of the plumbers (what nice guys!), who are running lines hither and yon in and under the house.

Yon will be tomorrow, but hither already has its shower valves, because I went out to the warehouse to pick them up today.

We also have running water. Yes, it's only a hose bib now, but at least we don't have to beg and borrow from the neighbor.

I signed up with the Acqueduct Authority at about noon, and before 3 a crew had arrived to unlock the valves. More nice people.

Maybe it's something in that water, but people down here have been friendlier than I ever could have expected. Newcomers seem to relish telling horror stories about the Conch Mafia's rudeness, but my experience has been exactly the opposite -- especially with the clerks and bureaucrats who make up the usual suspects.

Perhaps the lesson is this: When you move to paradise, don't be surprised to meet angels.

Geometries of light

The roofers are due any minute now to tear off the old tin -- and when they do, and the new underlayment goes down, so long to this light-play in the loft.

I'll miss the patterns, but not the leaks.

A.M., noon, P.M., evening

Ref called me over to the house early because the plumbers were there. In a few minutes, the electricians arrived, too. Plenty to talk about with all of them.

Meanwhile, he was going to town putting up two roof beams -- one each for the den and the bedroom -- and a bearing beam for the wall between the bedroom and the bath, because it has a pocket door.

Over the next few hours, while the plumbers started cutting holes and pulling pipe in and under the tiniest bathroom, he and the crew were madly cutting rafters for the den and nailing them home.

Gregory had some down time, waiting for concrete to set at his other job at the old Hyatt at the east end of the island, so he came in after lunch. Thus came the assembly line for the bedroom roof: 13 plain rafters, and 13 with bird-mouths (notches where the rafters meet the edge of the house); and yours truly learned how to use the Sawzall to finish the cuts, besides lugging much lumber.

You can see where we were by the end of the day -- about 7:30 . I think it's a V for victory. And so, said Pepys, to bed.

One, two, whee!

Big gulp

Steve tipped up the water cooler for a drink, and it occurred to me it may be the biggest insulated cup I'd ever seen.

Hoist the joists, then deck 'em

Just after that upstairs wall went in, the crew went out to pour piers for the bedroom-den addition -- and then came these two days of work compressed into one entry.

At left, the perimeter beams go up on Saturday: 2-by-12s joined together for super strength. Then more 2-by-12s go in as joists. In the picture just below, Gregory (in the pink shirt) is back for weekend work, and the crew is joined by Ref's friend Sterling (the tall guy at the center of the shot).

So: measure everything, check levels, measure again, check angles, check levels again.
. . .

By Sunday, with all the joists and nailers in place, some wood-walking from one end to the other finally convinced me these rooms might not be so small after all.

After some planing and fine-tuning, the subfloor was ready to go down, in 4-by-8-foot sheets.

If that sounds easy: Trust me, it's not. The lumberyard had fobbed off some warpy sheets of pressure-treated heavy-duty plywood -- not a structural problem, because everything gets glued tightly and then nailed like crazy; but an assembly problem, when you try to get sloppy tongues into messy grooves.

But, as Ref kept saying, a subfloor is just "rough copy," so thanks to a saw here, Gatorade there and sweat everywhere (and frequent love taps from a sledgehammer), it was ready for water seal by late afternoon. When the chance of rain is 40 percent and you don't have a roof yet, water seal never hurts.

A wall in two frantic hours

I mentioned the wall separating the upstairs bedroom from the bathroom and storage closet yesterday. Here's how it went up:

Step One -- 11:30: After you've laid out the chalk lines on the floor, measure and mark the top and bottom plates -- the horizontal boards -- where they'll meet the studs.


















Step Two: -- 11:42: Make box headers -- two 2-by-6s and two 2-by-4s nailed together into a very heavy, sturdy unit -- to bear the loads over the doors.













Step Three -- 11:55: Install the jacks (the studs supporting the box headers), the studs and the joint where the wall separating the bathroom and closet will go.

















Step Four -- 12:43: Fix the top corners so the design works. You can't put up a purely rectangular wall because of the knee walls and dormers. It was a lot of tricky measuring and trimming -- and then again on the other side.













Step Five -- 1:30: Stand the damn thing up by brute force, sledgehammer it into place, plumb it -- and then nail it like crazy. (Don't worry about that 2-by-4 where the sliding door goes; it's just for some stability while the wall was being pulled up to vertical.)

Eating my heart out

It ain't Wabash and Ohio -- or even Due -- but hell, even Wabash and Ohio is now Uno's Grill, for chrissake. Ike Sewell is spinning at 4,500 rpm, and I won't get started on the list of what isn't what it used to be.

But I can eat this in Key West without air freight, thanks to the cold case at Albertson's, so I'll shut up and chew.

Blest be the ties

A lot went up today -- namely the big wall in the upstairs bedroom. But I'm bushed, so I'll fill those details in tomorrow.

Meanwhile, these horizontal things are 98-year-old collar ties. In structural terms, they helped keep the house together all this time.

Ref said he could flesh 'em out and wrap 'em to match the new ceiling -- but they're going to stay just as they are, aside from a little cosmetic buff and gloss, as a reminder of the bones of the house.

I think the contrast between the new wood ceiling and the old wood ties will be just wonderful.