“What profit hath a man for all his toil, in which he toils under the sun?”, expressing that the lives of both wise and foolish people all end in death.

I’m not about to dwell upon the obvious peculiarities of old age, like the daily handfuls of pills, that the bathroom is your favourite room in the house, that you cannot sleep soundly longer than two or three hours, that you can’t get out of bed before not less than nine hours, that your physical complaints cover endless biological issues. No, I’m talking about things like forgetting what you forgot to do when you initially remembered to do it.
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From yesterday’s fecund rains has blossomed a bouquet of circumstance and events. The effervescence is precisely the mundane fodder of life which cheerfully animates our temporal flavour. Long ago I have surpassed the unrealistic drama of space travel or comprehending the meaning of a myriad of technological expressions.

To begin, today was an inexpressibly lovely day – absolutely clear blue sky, dry air, a cool breeze and of course drenched in a syrup of yellow sunshine. As I savoured my afternoon swim, I floated on my back, gazing into the limitless azure sky surrounded by a margin of green and sage trees and the flashes of sunlight through the palm fronds.

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No matter where one happens to be, if it’s raining it’s dull outside. Such is the grey picture today, a rainy Sunday on Key Largo. The earth on Key Largo must be but a rind upon the coral reef beneath. Everywhere is evidence of the stony impenetrable coral. Miraculously the vegetation survives and thrives though there are signs of distress reflected in the twisted and hardened limbs of the rude trees. No doubt the abundance of vegetation is due in part to the frequency of rain throughout the summer months. Thereafter from about November until May the weather is predictably dryer. Except that is upon these relatively infrequent and fleeting occasions of rain.

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“It will accumulate: moreover, it will reach a head; for the first of all Gospels is this, that a Lie cannot endure for ever.”

Excerpt from:
The French Revolution
by Thomas Carlyle

The most spectacular recollection of the French Revolution is the guillotine; and in particular the beheading in 1793 of Marie Antoinette, French Queen and wife of absolute monarch King Louis XVI.

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In Greek and Roman mythology, Elysium was the place of rest for the dead who were blessed by the gods. It was also known as the Elysian Fields or the Elysian Plain. Originally only heroes whom the gods had made immortal went to Elysium.

The fantasy developed a more proximate appeal by overcoming the prerequisite of death.

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One might usefully add to Baron de Montesquieu’s aphorism noted above,

“Stillest perseverance were our blessedness; not dislocation and alteration – could they be avoided.”

Excerpt From
History of the French Revolution (1837)
Thomas Carlyle

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OUR STORY

In 1971, Louie Signorelli’s oceanfront Victorian home was transformed into Louie’s Backyard. The original restaurant seated only 12, and had one lone waiter. In 1983, Phil and Pat Tenney purchased and lovingly renovated Louie’s – with special attention to the maintenance of the buIlding’s historic integrity – and transformed it into the architectural delight it is today. Their efforts earned it a placement in the National Register of Historic Places. Today, Louie’s is a gourmand’s playground, a café-style restaurant with an oceanfront background setting – a must-do experience which has become a Key West tradition.  Phil Tenney and his son Jed Tenney are at the helm, steering Louie’s Backyard into the future with its long standing traditions and excellence.

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I don’t like Tucker Carlson. And I am quite certain he would not like me. What disturbs me about this projected mutual ambivalence is that it characterizes the very thing I dislike about Carlson; namely, that so much of our global social currency is founded not on intelligence but upon the animal attraction of tribalism and contempt.  The variance of reported opinions of Carlson is so patent that the only predictable theme of his divergence is self-advancement for personal interests, unmistakably nothing to do with moral and legal fundamentals. In short he is a stage performer with an understandable hope for attention (he’s reputedly a 53 year-old worth $40M).  It explains his incremental descent over time from cerebral commentary to comic nightly entertainment. It governs how he thinks and talks, neither of which is learned, both of which are appetizing to those devoted to obloquy as a relieving OTC prescription. He’s the cheap medication for self-approbation without having to know or ask the ingredients.

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After completing our early morning grocery shopping at Publix today we ventured along Harbour Drive past Fisherman’s Trail onto Ocean Shores Drive to Key Largo Fisheries Market · Café · Marina on Ocean Bay Drive. We bought stone crab claws for dinner tonight.  The server cracked the claws and stored them on ice in a plastic bag. This constitutes the primary element of this evening’s festive meal which will include – or so I am led to believe –  pasta, garlic, double cream, butter, Parmigiano-Reggiano and Italian parsley.

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With Christmas only weeks away, and having spoken this morning with a Canadian friend who is enthralled by the Christmas spirit (though selectively only for snow on Christmas Eve and morning), I find myself drawn to the festivity and reminiscing about a childhood journey to Florida over the Christmas holidays when I was eight years old. We then lived at 4412 Edmunds St NW in Washington DC. Before our departure from home to our destination we had exchanged gifts with our cook named Dina.  She lived on the third floor of our house so we were like family.  I don’t recall what we gave Dina but I distinctly recall what she gave me. It was a snow globe with two or three goldfish swimming about. I remember this especially well because my hobby at the time was collecting tropical fish. I carried the snow globe with me to Florida and back. However upon arriving home, and in my gusto to exit my father’s 4-door Oldsmobile to greet Dina who stood awaiting us in her grey dress with crisp white front, I dropped the snow globe on the concrete garage floor. I don’t need to tell you what ensued. I have no doubt it broke my heart as well. I loved my snow globe; and I knew how kind it was of Dina to have bought it for me. 

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