Still foggy, but it's dawn

Shirley died four weeks ago today, and it's time to pick myself up and dust myself off.

It's not as if we haven't been doing anything. There was a wonderful funeral (who would have expected those two words together -- but with Shirley, who could have expected otherwise?).

There were heartwarming times with Ray, and the kids and granddaughters -- even laughter and splashes in the pool.

There were daily reminders of the hole she left in our lives, and of the whole she made them.

Sunset, sunrise.

Robert went down to Key West to show Harry -- his bridge buddy and our CPA -- around town, welcome Sharon and the boys for a few days around their camp-out in the Dry Tortugas and get ready for Ray to go down next week.

He and Shirley had planned the trip down for months, and Ray and his son Jeff will go instead. I hope it will be a little solace in paradise.

And maybe some cool weather: Here in Tennessee, the car thermometer read 102 today when I took Mom to lunch at Cafe Roma, ran into Ann McCoin (who's handling Shirley's estate; she also did my dad's and John Gray's) and had some terrific vermicelli with pancetta.

And the other news is . . . the windows.

Monday must have been slow in Key West, because Mandy Bolen called to ask where our case stood. Ain't heard nothin', I told her -- which was at the top of Page One Tuesday.

Then: The Building Department called Tuesday afternoon to say our permanent, final Certificate of Occupancy was ready. Robert picked it up Wednesday, and we are now legal, even with outlaw windows. Clerks have blessed the paperwork to refund our substantial performance bond and, as the saying goes, the check is in the mail.

I don't know how, or why. The city still hasn't told me what gives, and whether our victory before the special magistrate sets a precedent for the rest of Old Town.

When I find out, I'll let you know. I'm back.

The city speaks

Aren't the azaleas pretty this year?

Less lovely is the 10-page document that arrived from the Key West city attorney's office this afternoon: "Motion for Rehearing of Appellate Order and Motion to Strike Language of the Order."

Robert was insulted by some of its language -- but hey, they're lawyers, and painting our actions in the worst possible shades is their job. Our tax dollars at work.

What fascinates me is that it's not an appeal of the special magistrate's decision to Circuit Court (which I'd expected), but simply a request to the magistrate to reopen our case and reverse his ruling on the wind codes' precedence over Historic Commission guidelines.

Perhaps I am grasping an infinitesimal reed (if I were still South, it would be sawgrass), but the motion specifically requests that Judge Overby "strike that part of his Order" that deals with wind codes.

It does not ask that Overby rule against our windows on any other grounds we cited in our other arguments on appeal -- particularly, that HARC ruled precisely the opposite way in a similar case last December, and that a helping of equal justice would be nice.

I may be back on the island sooner than I'd expected.

Flips, flops

And by these I don't mean the Crocs by the door, next to the conch shell we dug up in the yard last year, though there is symbolism in both of those to spare.

The flips by the door usually mean the owner is home, so ring the bell. The conch at the door is a petition for good fortune (legend here has it that a shell inside the house invites disaster).

No, the flips and flops I mean now are the little whupp sensations that panic brings from time to time, and the fastfast heartbeats in my neck and ears when I put my head on my pillow. I haven't written about it until now because I just didn't know what to say.

When I called to ask about our permanent Certificate of Occupancy, given the ruling in our favor by the Special Master hearing the case, I was referred to the city attorney. The licensing department wouldn't take my call. The Historic Commission wouldn't, either. Talk to the city attorney, they said.

He's been out of town for a family funeral, so perhaps I shouldn't read awful things into the silence (although he has several deputies, and one of them faced me before the magistrate).

But what I fear is that Judge Overby's ruling in our case has raised such a red flag against strict preservationists that the question may not be settled for months, at least.

I did some research into the Municipal Code and found that any person -- or group, or board, or anyone -- who is "aggrieved", may appeal a decision of the Special Master to Circuit Court. Which, I think, will entail us more time, energy and money than I am right now eager to commit. I have appeared on my own behalf until now, but I am reluctant beyond belief to go into court without a lawyer. Start the meter running, with the city pulling the flag.

Thus these few days of silence. Thus my sadness, here on the first day of summer. I just want the damn thing over with. And please let me live in my house.

Bustin' out

This hibiscus pretty much echoed my mood on Friday.

(It's one of two just inside our front fence; the other is on the other side of the gate, and both have been sneaking random disembodied blooms toward the street between the pickets.)

Ronnie, our mailman, slipped the city's letter into our mailbox just before lunch, and I goggled as I read the judge's ruling.

I figured Judge Overby would have ruled in our favor only because the Historic Commission had made it possible with a similar case late last year.

But no. It was bigger than that.

There was me, appellant, v. City of Key West, Florida, a municipal corporation, appellee, and a citation of HARC's action, and then:

"IT IS ADJUDGED: the HARC decision in Case H07-02-02-145 is REVERSED. The application of the Historic Architectural Guidelines adopted by Ordinance by the City of Key West is superseded by the Florida Building Codes Chapter 24, Section 2411, High-Velocity Hurricane Zones. SO ORDERED. . . ."

Holy crap. Of course I'm no lawyer, but that sounds as if HARC has to allow wind-safe windows everywhere, not just on our house -- which, if true, will really bring out the preservationists who rose to whack me down at HARC's April workshop.

One of them -- an architect who used to head HARC -- cited another chapter of the code that stands in full opposition to the section the judge cited. So, will the city be forced to press for resolution from a higher court?

The Citizen wants to interview me -- but I think my first call will be to Carolyn in the Building Department to see if I can get a full, unqualified Certificate of Occupancy in my hot little hands first. Not to mention the 8 grand we posted for a performance bond.

V I C T O R Y !

"This is Debbie from Code Compliance," the voice on the phone said.

Not the city department one usually relishes hearing from, but I said a warm hello, and asked her how she was. I'd only met her once, at my windows appeals hearing before the special magistrate, but she seemed pleasant and helpful.

"Oh, I'm great, thanks," she said, "but you're going to be even better: I wanted to let you know as soon as I could that Judge Overby ruled in your favor."

It took a few seconds to sink in. Do you mean . . . ?

"You won. He overturned HARC's ruling. Your windows are legal. Done. Finished. For good. I'm notifying HARC, the city manager and the city attorney. You'll get the ruling in the mail."

Debbie, I said, it's a good thing I'm not there, because I'd be hugging, kissing and dancing around the room with you.

She giggled, and it isn't often that you can hear somebody blush -- but this was a loud blush. "Oh, it wasn't me; it was Judge Overby."

Then he's lucky I'm not there, too.

Sweaty palms

When Jon pulled up with the four big palms Wednesday morning -- actually, two twin Christmas palms -- it was clear that their giant root balls weren't going behind the fence, where they belong, without some adjustment.

So we removed the two sections of fence on either side of the gate.

Sounds easy, if you leave out the giant rocks that kept getting in our way excavating the knee-deep holes.

Their jackhammer finally prevailed -- but I still felt as jittery as if I were running it. That's because Wednesday was also my court appeal date on the window issue.

Our lawyer, the sweet and brilliant Wayne, was in court on a separate matter, but stood at my side as I made my case to Judge J. Jefferson Overby. The city lawyer made his points, but without much vigor.

And despite my trembles and sweats, the judge was uncharacteristically kind: He agreed to consider the case afresh, weigh the facts and get back to me with a decision. He could veto the windows, approve them or kick the case back to the Historic Commission -- but at least he didn't rule against me outright.

"You can be cautiously optimistic," Wayne said after court.

Dum spiro, spero, I told him -- but his Latin wasn't great, so I had to translate:

While there's breath, there's hope.

We're in

Finally, on Thursday, Durwood came by early to inspect the gas shutoff -- and within an hour, Carolyn called me from the Building Department to say that our Certificate of Occupancy was ready.

It's conditional, expiring in October, and I had to post a huge bond to cover tearing out the windows, but . . . I'll take even partial victory. I picked it up, made a quick run to the apartment for some things I'd need to spend the night at the house, stopped at Fausto's for a bottle of champagne (ex-Mayor Jimmy hugged me on hearing the news) and went home -- how sweet those words are, at long last -- for a victory dance.

The landscapers were putting in even more of their spectacular wares -- lady palms, foxtail palms, dwarf Madagascar date palms; and I'd post more shots of the garden progress, but our order for a DSL modem fell somewhere in the crack between the old BellSouth and the new AT&T, so I'm typing from a dialup line in the upstairs bedroom, crosslegged on the big bamboo bed.

But typing with a smile.

There was another victory dance when Waste Management hauled off the outhouse, after about the 12th call. We closed the day with martinis at Mangoes, where Franko Richmond was playing piano brilliantly as ever.

Friday I had early coffee on the porch, and then we met with the alarms guy, changed our voter registration, changed our postal address, changed our driver's licenses and had a little meeting with the lawyer, who said he'd be there with me Wednesday when the magistrate hears our appeal on the windows.

As you can imagine, there's lots to do to shut the apartment down and get the house fully arranged. I'll post more when I can.

Connections

I did a Hail Mary call very late Friday hoping to piggyback on our pool guy's call for his final inspection -- so the house could get its final approval -- and earlier in the day had called Southern Bell (no, BellSouth; no, AT&T) to have them string a line to the house so they could plug it in on our existing number. . . .

And there was Gary early Monday, not exactly bright on a showery day but happy to get wet from either sweat or rain to get us on the network. He had us dial-toned within an hour.

As he left, a city truck pulled up, and an inspector came up our walkway. It was JC, who had last seen our project a full year ago, when the pool was freshly dug. He was here for our final inspection, but after several calls back to the Building Department -- talking with the head of the department, the clerk who handles inspections, and Diane from the Historic Commission -- he told me we lacked a contractor's call for the final pool inspection, on top of the bond with HARC for our windows, which he thunked his knuckles against to prove their substance.

I trotted to City Hall to provide the bond. Diane was there. Turns out she's a licenced inspector, besides being the city's architecture czarina, and she said she'd come by to get us cleared for everything except her windows.

True to her word, she was there within another hour. We passed everything, and she called in a report so we could have our Certificate of Occupancy by sometime Tuesday.

After she left, our having discussed the house, Ref, old timbers, new switches and the history of Key West, I stood in the living room and sang the Doxology.

And after "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow," I sat down and started to thank:

-- Ref, Shawn, Arnold, Dollie, Mr. B, Nathaniel, Gregory, Deco, Dave, Frank, Kurt, Li'l Shawn, Rhino, Charles and about two dozen other carpenters who have given what they have to our home.

-- Matt, Dennis, Steve and Charles, who made the electricity happen.

-- Ida, Carol, DeWitt (I still have to find out if he was born in our house, as he suspects) and Jorge, for the water.

-- Kenny, the sumbitch, for his conch-timed HVAC work.

-- Chris and his wizard crew (with Chip fired and rehired during the year of our project) for our pool.

-- Dan Ace, and Javier, for our beautiful roof.

-- Roy, an amazing painter and a truly honest man, and Darren and Joe, for our colors and textures.

-- Hank and Ray, who gave us bathrooms beyond belief.

-- Vendors like Dennis, Mark, Laurie, Thomas and all those clerks at Strunk and Home Depot, who never lacked a smile.

-- Too many neighbors, friends, passers-by, blog-readers, guest-house visitors and others who always provided a word of encouragement.

-- And always -- ever, always -- Robert, who coaxed every nickel out of every account we have to get the checks written that have made magic happen.

Praise him all creatures here below. Praise him among the heavenly host. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.

And we move in Tuesday.

Over the fold again

Mandy Bolen's windows coverage led the Citizen yet again Tuesday morning.

And yes, that's a close-up of our house.

The caption: "Historic preservation guidelines prevent metal-framed windows, above, to be used in Old Town restoration projects. Wood-framed windows can cost homeowners an additional $3,000 per year in insurance premiums."

Quite the tea party

I'm not sad about today's HARC workshop. I'm not upset. I'm not angry. I am well and truly pissed off.

Let me get the good news, and the thanks, out of the way first.

Thanks to City Commissioner Clayton Lopez, who attended, signed up to speak about the windows issue -- and, incredibly, was not called on when his turn came. He left assuring me that the City Commission would resolve the problem. I guess the HARC commissioners forgot who appoints them under the law. (As soon as I got home, I filed a formal question with the city about why he wasn't allowed to address HARC. I look forward to the answer.)

Thanks to Christine Russell, who used to work for our architect and would like to replace some of her own windows, for speaking in support of rational guidelines and the costs of insurance.

Thanks to HARC Commissioner Nils Muench, who again sounded warnings against purism.

And really special thanks to the four neighbors from Center Street who took the time from their day to show up, wait their turn and speak in our support, saying that our house has done more to raise their property values than any project in the city.

Now, back to pissed off:

The commissioners openly sneered at City Commissioner Bill Verge's suggestion, in Sunday's story, that it was time for a "kinder, gentler HARC." Ain't gonna happen on their watch. (Did I mention which city body confirms members of the historic commission?)

In fact, one HARC commissioner suggested that perhaps it was time for the historic commission to start regulating interiors, too. (That might be legal -- if the property were a full-blown National Historic Landmark, but I'd urge 'em not to try it unless they want to see pitchforks and torches on Greene Street.)

Another said too many people were planting gardens that obscured their houses. Apparently he hasn't noticed the two mega-historic properties on Caroline just down Ann from Old City Hall that have been obscured by 9-foot ficus hedges for the last century.

And it degenerated from there. One commissioner compared old buildings to the endangered Florida panther, perhaps forgetting that metal windows could eventually be replaced with wooden ones from the building-supply store, but you can't special-order panthers.

None addressed the insurance issue. None addressed severe storm forecasts based on climate change -- though one did make fun of "alarm and hysteria," and another reminded Old Town property owners that they should "seek to appreciate" their old windows.

I've been pretty polite about the whole thing so far, but as of tonight, I've decided to expand the argument by two words: "bloviate" and "tyrannical."

Read all about it

What had me on tenterhooks the other day was a conversation I'd just had with The Citizen's Mandy Bolen -- actually it was one of several interviews -- about our window issue. I've been talking with her for almost a month. She's a fine reporter, and I say that as a guy who's worked in newspapers for most of my life.

So, she said she was doing a Sunday story. With all respect, and knowing that things happen, considering the newspaper business I never count on it until I see it.

Well, it's Sunday, and there it is, Column One, Page One: "Old Town history vs. safety debated." (One-column headlines are seldom elegant, but I'm not complaining; it's accurate.)

I always say, If you're planning to drop-kick a beehive, you might as well do it on the front page of the Sunday paper.

Here's what Ms. Bolen wrote, with apologies to those who already read great swaths of it in my letter to Commissioner Lopez:

By Mandy Bolen
Citizen Staff

John Teets, like many Old Town homeowners, is serving two masters -- his insurance company and Key West city's historic preservation commission.

Metal windows have been deemed safer in hurricanes, but wood-framed windows are historically accurate, and the city's Historic Architectural Review Commission has insisted on them.

Compliance with HARC rules will cost Teets and his partner, Robert Rymer, $3,000 per year in increased insurance premiums, along with about $7,000 to replace the metal windows already installed when the builder complied with wind codes rather than HARC guidelines.

"HARC can't trump fire-safety codes; how can it continue to deny wind-safety requirements?" Teets asked his city commissioner, Clayton Lopez, in an April 13 letter requesting the City Commission order a review of HARC guidelines as they relate to windows.

A public workshop to discuss HARC guidelines takes place Monday evening, and Teets plans to participate. The meeting will be at 5 p.m. at Old City Hall, 510 Greene St.

The HARC commission comprises five members nominated by the mayor and approved by the City Commission. The commissioners do not write the guidelines, but enforce them, as they pertain to the federal government's Standards for Rehabilitation and Guidelines for Rehabilitating Historic Structures.

In the letter, Teets explained to Lopez that a year ago, his builder made a mistake when installing metal- rather than wood-framed windows.

"His mistake? Installing windows that meet tough storm codes, but not HARC guidelines -- not because of their appearance, but because they're made of metal."

Teets has emphasized that he is not opposed to historic preservation guidelines and acknowledges they are essential to communities, but he said Friday that the standards should be based on the appearance of the historic buildings, not on the materials used.

When Teets appealed HARC's decision that would have forced him to replace the metal windows with wood, HARC Commissioner Nils Muench stopped by the Center Street home to inspect the metal-framed windows.

"The lone HARC commissioner who did look found the windows perfectly acceptable in appearance and moved to approve them," Teets wrote to Lopez, who is also is willing to reconsider the guidelines.

"If the homes conform visually to the historic structure, what's the matter with it?" Lopez said last week. "We have to find a middle ground."

Lopez added that his mother served on the city's very first HARC board, but that she stepped down in frustration.

"When you start wanting to regulate what materials can be used just for aesthetic purposes and not for the purpose of saving the building, something has to be done," he said.

City Commissioner Bill Verge also has been following the HARC dilemma, and although he considers himself a "middle of the roader," he said there could be room for more leniency.

"Sometimes the guidelines put people in somewhat impossible positions," Verge said. "If you want to preserve something back to 1885, you might as well take out the bathrooms and put in an outhouse."

Verge praised HARC's preservation work overall, but said it could be time for a "kinder, gentler HARC" in light of conflicting insurance requirements and the specificity of historic guidelines.

Teets on Monday also will highlight the benefits of more modern materials in the face of hurricane-force winds.

"Those of us who live here take hurricanes as seriously as San Franciscans regard earthquakes," he wrote. "We know the question isn't if a big one will hit, but when, and we look to the past to strengthen us for tomorrow."

He pointed out the technological innovations that came about as a result of Hurricane Andrew's deadly winds in 1992.

"Since then, manufacturers have stepped up to offer a wide variety of products that provide structural protection -- including impact-rated windows in pleasing architectural styles," Teets wrote.

"Yet despite this history, and despite increasing warnings of more volatile hurricane seasons to come, Key West's Old Town might as well be trapped in 1892, a century before Andrew. Wind protection required elsewhere in Monroe County is explicitly denied here because of HARC guidelines."

Teets acknowledges that wooden shutters could protect wood-framed windows, but not as surely as impact-resistant windows do it on their own.

"Metal window systems integrate with the rest of the house, so the protective membrane remains intact in high winds," he said.

"They are architecturally unobtrusive, and far from threatening Old Town's historic treasure, they could actually help preserve it in the face of a deadly storm.

"I think it's imperative to protect life and property within Old Town without changing its historic appearance."

In the pink

That's how I felt after meeting this afternoon with Clayton Lopez, our city commissioner. We went through various strategies about windows throughout Old Town, not just at our house, and by gosh he persuaded me we were going to prevail.

This bromeliad, meanwhile, is blooming in front of our apartment. It looks as splendid as I feel.

- - - -

Just for the record, here's the letter I sent him (and the mayor, and the rest of the Commission, and which Clayton is passing along to the city attorney:

Dear Commissioner Lopez:

A year ago, the builder rehabbing our house in Old Town made a mistake – but it’s one that I hope can lead to increased protection for the lives and property of thousands of residents.

His mistake? Installing windows that meet tough storm codes but not Historic Architecture Review Commission guidelines -- not because of their appearance, but because they’re made of metal. HARC wants us to tear the storm-safe windows out. Of course we’re ready to comply, but first we’d like to raise a question of storm-readiness that the city should consider.

Those of us who live here take hurricanes as seriously as San Franciscans regard earthquakes. We know the question isn’t if a big one will hit, but when, and we look to the past to strengthen us for tomorrow.

Andrew is a case in point. After it struck in 1992, killing 64 and wreaking $24 billion in havoc, Florida became the first state in the nation to strengthen its building codes to address the extreme wind conditions tropical storms bring to coastal regions. The state mandated an array of improvements to armor structures against deadly design pressures. Since then, manufacturers have stepped up to offer a wide variety of products that provide structural protection -- including impact-rated windows in pleasing architectural styles.

Yet despite this history, and despite increasing warnings of more volatile hurricane seasons to come, Key West’s Old Town might as well be trapped in 1892, a century before Andrew. Wind protection required elsewhere in Monroe County is explicitly denied here, because of HARC guidelines.

HARC currently requires that replacement windows be made of wood -- period -- though unobtrusive window systems of metal and impact-resistant glass offer extraordinary protection for life and property, and insulation from skyrocketing wind insurance to boot. Our agent says wood windows will increase our wind-insurance premiums by $3,000 a year.

To show the depth of the problem: At a recent HARC meeting, one Commissioner even mused that perhaps only putty-glazed wood windows should be allowed under the guidelines. How far out of touch with protection of life and property is that? HARC can’t trump fire-safety codes; how can it continue to deny wind-safety requirements?

At that meeting, the Commissioners agreed that the issue needed study (indeed, the guidelines haven’t been updated since about 2001). Thus I respectfully ask that the City Commission order HARC to develop a list of wind-rated windows that conform to historically appropriate forms. If you’d like to see some, just take a look at my house. The lone HARC Commissioner who did look found the windows perfectly acceptable in appearance and moved to approve them.

They are widely available, from such manufacturers as PGT, Marvin and Andersen, and are a far cry from the armor-plated look of earlier styles, whose thick muntins made them obvious from the street. They are architecturally unobtrusive, and far from threatening Old Town’s historic treasure, they could actually help preserve it in the face of a deadly storm.

I am eager to work with you for this change, so please don’t hesitate to call me about it. I think it’s imperative to protect life and property within Old Town without changing its historic appearance.

Sincerely,

Opening doors to windows

I've been chary to post anything substantive about our window problem, but . . .

Clayton Lopez, our city Commissioner, set up a working meeting with me later this week, and as luck would have it the Historic Architecture Review Commission has a community-input meeting set up for April 16.

He was not shy about my problem: "I am behind you all the way on this," he told me after I sent him my letter pleading for sanity on building codes in Old Town. "There is no reason in the world you have to tear those things out.

"And by the way, what kind are they? I want to put them in my house."

Clayton had walked by our house -- prompted by his assistant, Virginia, whom I'd buttonholed after one of our neighborhood-watch meetings.

"I went up to the gate and took a good look at them," he said. "I can't understand how anyone would find them offensive at all," the Commissioner said. "They're so beautiful."

I gave him my boilerplate line about not wanting to change the character of Old Town, and being willing to switch to wood ones -- though they'll cost us $3,000 a year in added wind-insurance premiums. . . .

"Don't even think about changing those windows," he said. "We're going to make this all right."

All right!

Upward and onward

Dave's working on the landing here Wednesday afternoon. Deco's been shaving the treads and risers below him to fit ever so tightly and beautifully -- and we're all loving the way it looks untrimmed.

We already have cove molding in hand to cover the screws that will secure the backs and sides of the treads.

Nobody wants to use that trim. We love the clean lines. So: Do we go only with liquid nails -- which are engineered to be just as strong as nails or screws after all?

I'm inclined to see how that works for a month or two. We can always add screws and trim; it's awfully hard to subtract 'em.

■ ■ ■

Oh, you wondered about my little time with the judge.

HARC appeals are the last on his agenda (he deals with Code Enforcement first -- zoning violations, bad permits -- and I'm not going to be at the back of the crowd at a certain Duval Street restaurant during a concert soon; I'm just saying); so I sat for 90 minutes or so waiting my turn.

I'd watched him lose his temper a bit, so I wasn't optimistic when I wished him a good afternoon and asked for a continuance. He asked me why. I told him that my problem seemed not to be with HARC, but with its guidelines, and said in my most confident and optimistic tone that I planned to change them. I smiled.

He adopted a bit of the manner you might use with a benevolent madman, and told me gently it would be an uphill battle, but one worth fighting if I had the energy.

He gave me 60 days to show whether the energy was moving anyone on the Commission. At that point I can abandon the appeal, argue my case or seek another continuance. Worse things happen.

The wheel squeaks

Decko and Dave were busy flooring closets in the den Tuesday. Roy was back painting shoe moldings -- little strips of wood to be placed along the regular moldings between the floor and the walls, to hide the joints. I was busy sweating:

Wednesday's my date for an appeal before the city's special magistrate, and I'm going to ask him to defer his decision while the legislative process works to change the HARC guideline that requires us to tear out seven of our windows.

Three possibilities:

-- He'll defer his judgment.

-- He'll rule against the windows for the record.

-- He'll be so dazzled by the original argument I submitted to HARC that he will rule that the windows can stay.

No. 3 is about as likely as him sprouting wings and flying from the courtroom in Old City Hall -- but it's Key West, and stranger things have happened.

The demons at 5 a.m. -- a rerun

There I was, kept from sleep again by waking nightmares of the historic commission, when I flipped the TV on in predawn desperation and flipped into -- a rebroadcast of the HARC meeting, on the city's cable channel.

I looked grayer, balder and wearier than I'd hoped -- but nothing like the poor soul in the great Goya etching "El sueño de la razón produce monstruos: The sleep of reason brings forth monsters." At least my voice was strong.

The overhead camera captured the exhibits well, and in my biased way I thought the whole process captured my horrible predicament all too well indeed, though it missed the howling owls.

I filed the appeal Friday, and I await word from the city's special master about the hearing. Sleeplessly.

How the HARC hearing went

Pietro Perugino, St. Sebastian, Musée du Louvre, Paris

Then again, I don't think Sebastiano had a lawyer.

I hate to engage in that sort of thing -- in my entire life, I have never been in court, for anything at any time, except as the subject of a case when my parents adopted me -- but within moments of the end of the hearing, I called the local lawyer with the best batting average for HARC appeals. After all, the commissioners had encouraged me to pursue my case. So we'll take our plea before the Special Master -- a magistrate who handles HARC appeals and zoning disputes.

I asked our architect, Dennis, to estimate the cost of replacing the seven windows in question. I doubled the figure he gave me, and that's my tentative budget for that hearing, as well as an appeal to the Board of Adjustment or the Circuit Court, if they're needed. I might as well use up my lifetime litigation budget all at once.

- ■ -

Here's a question: FEMA, the State of Florida, Monroe County and my insurers all tell me I need to armor my homestead against hurricanes. What role do non-storm-safe wooden windows take in that?

When in doubt, be Dorothy

Tuesday is my appearance before the Historic Archi- tecture Review Commis- sion about our windows, 3 p.m. EST.

If you have energy to channel, send it. Billie Burke will be on my shoulder, but I will very much be John the small and meek.

Going down the road, I'll try to bring as much sense, heart and courage to the presentation as I can.

On my way up to Old City Hall, I could stop in Flying Monkeys for inspiration -- and a pair of these.

Dorothy: Weren't you frightened?

Wizard: Frightened? Child, you're talking to a man who's laughed in the face of death, sneered at doom, and chuckled at catastrophe. . . . I was petrified.

Noncomformists

These are the old guest-room windows from a year ago. Click on them if you want a frightening look at what used to be there.

Trust me, this is going to be part of the photographic evidence the Historic Architecture Review Commission gets when we make our case for mercy in terms of window materials.

I hope you'll forgive me, but I haven't been quite right since Friday's shock about HARC. (Actually, I've been sleeping like a baby, as the old joke has it: Waking up every 30 minutes to cry.)

In addition to the points I listed Friday, this argument from analogy took form:

A few months back, Sullins, our architect friend, mentioned an oddity in HARC regulations. Owners of a building that's "nonconforming" by HARC standards -- not historic, not "contributing," perhaps a concrete block structure with aluminum windows -- are allowed to replace it with another nonconforming structure, rather than one meeting historic design standards.

What's the chance that windows conforming neither in style nor material nor wind-code compliance can be replaced by windows that conform at least in style, and up the ante by adding incredible hurricane safety? I'm just asking -- and looking at every window I see in the Historic District.

I'm devastated

This is the way our house looked a year ago, and there is a good chance that the Historic Architec- ture Review Com- mission prefers the way it looked then to the way it looks now.

The problem is our hurricane-resistant windows, and in the worst case we may have to rip seven of them out.

This all came up today when I went to the HARC staff director, Diane, to ask whether it might be possible for us to use aluminum shutters -- which really do look just like the "real" thing, wood, which HARC has always required.

There's a shutter maker in Key West who has done all he can to emulate the look of painted wood, and he's had some success getting his things approved in Truman Annex, and he keeps trying to get his products approved in Old Town.

One topic led to another -- since hurricane windows don't require shutters, I thought perhaps the question would be moot -- but then Diane said our metal frames are unacceptable to HARC and would have to go.

When she told me that, I had to sit down rather suddenly, and it took me a few minutes to collect my thoughts.

I went back to the house, told Shawn and Arnold what the problem was, and retreated to the apartment to assume the fetal position.

- - -

So now I'm filling out an application for an appearance before the full commission to seek a revision in our plans -- to wit, approval for metal frames because:

■ The windows we inherited were bad, storm-unsafe, relatively new, un-historic aluminum, many built smaller than the historic window openings. Our windows, though not compliant in materials, far better reflect historic architectural standards, are storm-safe and are true to the sizes of the building's original openings.

■ Before his untimely death, our builder installed the windows in good faith and in strict compliance to structural and hurricane codes. It would be unfair to penalize those of us who survive for his error.

■ Our neighbors along the street enjoy a wide variety of window materials -- some wood-framed, some vinyl, some aluminum (even jalousies). Ours at least show a historic style. Is it fair to penalize us for making our windows both congruent to historic style and safe thanks to new materials technologies?

■ Though their interests are obviously different from historic preservation, the city building inspectors who approved every stage of our project over the last year never alerted us to the possibility of a problem, despite their experience with projects in the Historic District.

(If you can think of other, better arguments, or refinements in these, or ANYTHING, please -- please-- don't hesitate to share your insight in comments or e-mail. I need all the help I can get here.)

At any rate, Diane says she'll search out variances that may tend to support our case. After seeing my faint and hearing the circumstances, she became quite sympathetic.

Also, our architect, Dennis, says he will be there with me in late February to make the case before HARC. If they deny us, we'll have recourse to the Board of Adjustment, to seek a variance on appeal. If the BOA denies us -- well, I guess we'll have to post a sizable performance bond to get our certificate of occupancy, and then special-order seven windows, along with seven million antacids.

I will look at this as an opportunity to invite HARC into a new era, to help it realize that technology and architectural preservation can coexist. I hope the commission can look ahead in hurricane protection, as well as back in history.