Almost too good to be true today; clear skies, the ocean blue-green, Trade-like southwest winds over long fetch bringing Caribbean warmth and humidity.  We’re due to hold like this for the next few days, then cool off a little, but just back down to the mid-seventies for highs, instead of eighties.  I guess we can live with that.  The last two winters have been funky here, say what you will.  Early freezes, followed by inordinately long stretches where we couldn’t break sixty.  Used to be we’d have a day or two of that then bust through the eighties again.  Damn dipping Jet Stream; needs to stay up where it belongs.  Not sad at all to see February check out.  We’ve been off and on sick with one thing or another since December.  Need a little warm healing time.  March is traditionally windy and frequently gray, but not the cold and depressing heaviness of February.   Did I say I’m not sad to see February go?

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The radishes are up!  Probably should stop there.  Everybody could be a successful gardener if all you tried was radishes.  I barely got back up to the house after putting in the seeds and they were poking through.  Have potatoes sprouting as well, and put in cucumber, cantaloupe, yellow crookneck and zucchini squash seeds yesterday, along with bell peppers, Jalapeno, and  Habanero plants.  Need rain now.

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Awakened by the sound of drama from the sidewalk very early this morning.  Woman sobbing, cursing someone; certainly a man.  Not an infrequent occurrence, actually, making it a phenomenon worth a little discussion.  Didn’t bother to get up to look at this event, guided mostly by the trajectory of her vocalizations–she was moving more quickly than most– but did listen until she was out of range.  He really sounded like he deserved every bit of it.  It is something of a stage out there, is all I can figure; wide open; big dome of sky; dramatic back-drop ocean scenery.  This one was a soliloquy, if you will, but we have had a number of intense dialogues.  There is one that is rather a serialization, the same couple hurling invectives to and from the convenience store every few nights.  Beer must figure in there somewhere, but I haven’t nailed that down yet.  There’s another–and I have gotten up to look at this one–where there is some distance between the two, again, repeated often enough to have a pattern.   She stands at one end of the sidewalk, just within view from the house, and he is walking away (but never seems to completely disappear down the way).  Every few steps he turns and tells her he’s done; he’s had enough; it’s over.  I don’t know about her, but I don’t believe him anymore.

One morning, before dawn actually, one little drama actually came to the door.  We heard some shouting, then a pounding on the front door.  I flipped on the porch light, and there stood a frazzled young woman crying her eyes out.  Beyond, on the sidewalk, stood a burly bearded man.  She implored us to call the cops, that he was going to kill her.  He, of course, couldn’t have been more kind, sympathetic, and understanding.  No, no, he said.  She’s just a little drunk.  I wouldn’t hurt her.  I told her to have a seat on the deck, and then I called the cops and waited until they arrived and had a discussion with the gentleman.

I think this is what you call, in theater parlance, Revolving Repertoire.  Oh, and a few days ago, I saw Crazy Ray and the Saxophone Man (see old post “Some Locals”) actually talking down on the beach.  Love to have heard that conversation.