Why I live here, again

Seeing double

I had a little periodontal work done Friday morning -- not the sort of thing I look forward to on my most optimistic days -- and some errands to run afterwards with half my face reminding me of what my stroke felt like.

So when I got home, and napped for a bit, and then was making myself some soup, I was still a little spacey from the drugs I need to calm the dread before and during, and to blur the pain after.

But not so much so that I knew the full moon in the lake out the kitchen window wasn't something Thomas de Quincey would have taken as a routine hallucination.

I swam through a little of ocean of maple syrup to grab my relatively new multi-megapixel camera, but it wasn't up to it: For all its tricks and skills, its software just doesn't understand "subtle." So I pulled out the trusty old low-rez Olympus, braced myself against the wrought iron at the edge of the veranda and again found La Luna singing with herself in liquid late-summer counterpoint.

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P.S. to Scheherazade: We have now reached 1,001 posts.

Words in the woods

Around here the sun sets in an ocean
. . . of trees.

As it went down tonight and I looked at the calendar, I thought of my grandpa, as I do every April 18th.

Well, of course other times, too. But when that stern, old German harnessmaker got mellow of an evening -- with a cigar out in the big tent in the yard, away from grandma, and maybe even with a glass of applejack -- he'd recite Shakespeare, or sometimes "The Village Smithy." Or:

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.
On the 18th of April in 'Seventy-five --
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year. . . .

I'd fall asleep on my cot out there in the tent, listening as grandpa galloped on.

Endings

"See you tomorow," I whispered to the sun when we were out on the Sebago Marquesas last week. It was putting on its last show of the day, and there were three people on the starboard stern pouring a container of ashes over the rail, embracing and then getting ready to get on with their lives.

We were out with our friend Gene -- with Sassy, the La Te Da bartender we'd seen a few nights before, at the helm of the big catamaran -- and it was the last day of his fantastic visit. (He is one great houseguest.)

And after that, it was button up the house, pack and venture north of Rockland Key for the first time in six months. We visited Malinda and the kids near Orange Lake, finished the 850-mile trek north and got the computer hooked back up.

Uneventful, aside from the dead squirrel in the den.

I send my regrets in retrospect for the last couple of weeks, but for a variety of reasons making the seasonal migration was harder than ever. Consider: As I write this, in the middle of the night, it's in the 70s there and the 30s here.

But hey, the greenhouse looks as tropically good as it ever has, and once again I can think of the ending of one thing as the beginning of something else.

Last night

We were on the porch, and I was giving Robert a variation on "A Hundred Million Miracles" (Flower Drum Song was on Turner a few weeks back, and it's still echoing in my head).

I started waxing poetic about the silhouettes of palms against the sky when the evening light reaches a certain level: black against richest South Sea pearl gray, fronds defined by a flurry of cuts with an X-acto knife.

And then another sort of slice appeared. Hundred million and one.

Good night, moon

Sweet dreams

We bid Tot farewell on Monday.

Robert's aunt -- Leah Augusta, formally, but known with love as 'Gusta, Tot, Tata, Totsie -- was the last in her league.

Her sisters were the Paumega Girls -- Pauline, Mary Elizabeth and Augusta -- the family anchors. Summers at Tall Timber, cocktails with Nonny, wife of Big Bob, mother of Amy and Bob, dear friend of Amanda and John.

She visited John in his later days, until she herself wandered into Alzheimer's labyrinth, and we could laugh with her only in memories and dreams.

Sleep well.

Orange state

Just as I crossed the Florida line, around sunset tonight, there was this big, orange billboard off to the left.

Nice touch, I thought, grasping for anything pleasant after all the crap around Atlanta: Five lanes to two, three lanes to one, hours (which felt like months) creeping along at 5 m.p.h.

But that billboard was of course the moon rising, and the timing was exquisite.

Lord knows what's happening with Fay (though we're still in the center of the cone as I write), but what's happening with me is a car-trunk full of things I picked up as I left: raisins, a hand-crank radio, nuts, skillet meals (thank you Suburban Propane; all I need is a match for the cooktop), a mini-case of chips and stuff, and plenty of hurricane cassoulet, a.k.a. beanie-weanie.

When I checked into the motel in Ocala tonight, and showed the desk lady my driver's license, she was surprised that I was going to, not coming from, the storm.

I mentioned the house, she asked a lot of questions about it, I told her a good many things about it, and she understood.

Passage! . . .

. . . Immediate passage! the blood burns in my veins!
Away O soul! hoist instantly the anchor!

Cut the hawsers -- haul out -- shake out every sail!
Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough?
Have we not grovel'd here long enough, eating and drinking like mere brutes?
Have we not darken'd and dazed ourselves with books long enough?

Sail forth -- steer for the deep waters only,
Reckless O soul, exploring, I with thee, and thou with me,
For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go,
And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all.

-- Leaves of Grass

Chasing Orion

It's the hour when Orion is plunging headfirst into the Gulf, chased by a solstice moon, and I'm packing to chase him west, too.

We're going to the Yucatan for Christmas, slow-sailing from Tampa Monday night, so Robert's nephews can clamber around Chichén Itzá, and I can once again climb a ruin instead of just feeling like one.

We'll be back in about a week. Hasta luego.

First thing in the morning

Sunrise, sunset

. . . Early, from the guest-room window. Late, from the porch . . . .

Moons and tides

My friend Lou is making a Moon Song book for her Rebbe's daughter, and asked for a shot of tonight's full Passover moon rising over the sea for the cover.

(If you click on the little "Heavens" label below, you'll see a few of my older moon pictures.)

Wouldn't you know: Full clouds, which meant a lovely silver sky but no big, beautiful disc.

Just in case, I'd sent her this, which I found on the web.

In a digital age, moons and tides and rise and ebb at will -- which, I think, makes it even more important to stay in touch with their natural pull.

Happy Passover, everyone.

Moon dance

It's 78, and the sea breeze is caressing the palms. Dance to the moon, says the breeze. They sway.

Turn a moonlit sky to stone

. . . And you've found our countertop.

Dusky magic

L'heure bleue

Tonight. It's not just for Paris.

Clear sailing?

Today: A frigatebird slicing through the sky -- fregata magnificens -- on the "late peak" day of hurricane season. September 10 is the dead center of the season, but October 17 is the statistical latter peak. Odds are, it's all downhill from here. Yet . . .

One year ago today: Wilma formed in the Atlantic. And . . .

One hundred years ago today: A Category 2 hurricane crossed the Keys with the eye going over Long Key. At least 168 railroad workers were killed, most when their houseboats were swept to sea. The steamer St. Lucie, carrying railroad workers from Miami to Key Largo, was caught in the storm: 28 killed and 60 injured.

I'll take a frigatebird soaring on a 7-foot wingspan as a harbinger any day. And I'm going to start drawing down this year's hurricane supplies for snacks.

Getting ready

. . . for a bit of everything.

Arnold was feeling distracted Thursday morning -- as were we all -- so Brantley and Nate took a load of debris to the dump, and Arnold and I waited for Shawn to check in at the house.

Shawn arrived, we discussed the fence (Arnold's Version 2.1 is a go), Shawn got ready for the next round of materials orders (insulation, paneling, flooring), and then we broke for lunch. Usually I'll head home, eat a bite and take a quick siesta. Sometimes I stop at St. Paul's for the lunch concert. Today I took a walk on the beach and talked with the breeze for a while.

Later, Ref's sister, her husband Al, Ref's daughter, Arnold, Shawn, Mr. B, Nate and Ref's friend Ken were on our porch, chatting and arranging plans, sitting on some old chairs or overturned buckets. It felt as if our house -- Ref's house -- had enjoyed its first family reunion.

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Early in the week, before I knew there'd be visitation Friday night, I asked Shirley to pack up a good suit, shirt, cuff links, tie, shoes, socks and belt, and Robert to send it down by FedEx. The truck drove up Thursday while everyone was on the porch.

When I found out I'd need an extra tie and shirt. . . . Providence smiled. The nice haberdasher just over from Fausto's carries Carrot & Gibbs, and the new line came in this week.

Out of a cloud