Today, people, oh people, was a crappy planetary day….  earthquakes, tsunamis, storms, and now…. five nuclear power plants are in trouble in Japan as a result of this mess.

Edwin Lyman, a senior scientist with the Union of Concerned Scientists said in an interview this evening….  “It’s just as bad as it sounds.  What they have not been able to do is restore cooling of the radioactive core to prevent overheating and that’s causing a variety of problems, including a rise in temperature and pressure with the containment (buildings).”  Holy glowing atoms Batman.

When one of the official spokes people at the news conference says…. “It is just as bad as it sounds.” …. well, you know it is as serious as a screen door in a submarine.

There is simply a real feeling of helplessness in times like these.  Who knows what it will ultimately mean for you and I, but it can’t be good on any level.  Seriously.

I am not so funny in my writing today…. or even interesting.  Just genuinely concerned.  I wish I could hear no evil on this one.

I believe in magic.  I do.

Like…. Finding little little trinkets among leaves, or on the tops of city dumpsters.

Sometimes there are hidden treasures in life.  They could be big….. Or very small.  But no matter the size, when you are lucky enough to have one visit you, no matter how briefly it may be…… these things should be held as…….truly magical.

If I ever quit believing in magical moments, I hope the Big Mamma Fairy Godmother Helga comes down…. pours her bowl of breakfast oatmeal with honey over my head…. and smacks me up side the ol’ noggin’ with her heavy-gauge wand….. The one with the extra big star on top.  I hope she knocks some magical sense back in to me.

The thing of it is… I’ve seen photos of the Big Momma Fairy Helga. Don’t mess with the BMF. It would hurt if she were to smite you or something.  I don’t really care to meet her.  No indeedy.   Or to have her thump me with her sparkly golden baton, for that matter.  So, I do believe in magic, I do.

“That’s the thing with magic. You’ve got to know it’s still here, all around us, or it just stays invisible for you.”    – Charles de Lint

There seems to be a Chick-Thing down here.  Not what you would think.  I mean, the obvious “Chick Thing” is the endless stream of “Spring Breakers” who have the mindset of infallibility, and immortality.  No.  Not those Chick Things.

There is an entirely different Chick-Thing in these parts….  the legion of colorful chickens that stroll the streets, camp out in back yards, and loll about in restaurants and taverns. Some 2,000 to 3,000 of these feral chickens inhabit Key West.  Some people like the chickens, some do not.  There are Chicken Rescue Groups, Chicken Catchers, Chicken Whisperers….. and of course…… Chicken Dinners.

(How many of you know that boy chickens are called Roosters?  Girl chickens are Hens.  Baby chickens are called cute.)

The average hen lays 265 table eggs each year.  A female chicken doesn’t need a male chicken to produce eggs.  I’ve been learning tons of information about chickens.

A rooster will usually perform a special waltz or dance in an attempt to attract a mate.  From time to time, I have imitated this dance, just for the heck of it.  I call it the Rooster Boogie.  Some people do the Chicken Dance at Weddings.  Very similar, but not quite the same.

Back to the controversy…. like the chickens, or not like the chickens?  ….Mostly, I find that I enjoy the chickens.  Tastes like chicken.  I like the eggs too.  With grits and biscuits.  Right after I’ve done a whole bunch of Barnyard Boogie-ing.

This is Karl Frederick Ivan.  Karl is a Key West Kitty.  He has six toes.  Not six total… but six on each foot.  Karl is a direct descendant from the great line of six-toed cats here on the island.  His great grand-daddy (about 40 generations back)….. was Ernest Hemingway’s first feline.  Also six toes.  (Not Hemingway, but the cat.)

Ernest’s cat was name Klyde Vincent Warren.  They went every where together.  Drank coffee together…. lapped it right out of the bowl.  When Hemingway wrote “The Old Man and the Sea”…. his six-toed cat Klyde was with him constantly.  The cat in the book, named “Kevin Harold Neil”, is supposed to be loosely based on Klyde’s furry life.  Well, actually, all nine of them.  Having six toes on each foot leads to a lot of personal injury accidents, and also to some crazy-go-nuts dancing moves.

At any rate, I asked Karl, the Key West Kitty I saw on Fleming Street today… for an autograph.  I explained to him that I had been to the Ernest Hemingway Museum, and blah, blah, blah.

It was obvious that Karl was all hopped up on Kitty-Katnip. You could smell it on his breathe.  He wanted two bags for an autograph.  I didn’t do it.   Catnip abuse is a growing problem in our nation, especially with Celebrity Cats. It really needs to be brought into the realm of public awareness. Remember, only YOU can talk to your cat about catnip.

This is your cat’s brain on drugs:   I LOVE you. Humans are awesome, but dogs RULE!

Stop the madness.

The feeling of waking on Christmas morning…. or… the excitement of a kid in a candy store.  Waiting for the magician to pull his hand out of the hat….all magical moments.  You wait, and you wait, and you hope……

“Hope is the dream of a soul awake.”
– French Proverb

I hadn’t given up, oh no.  Not at all.  But there wasn’t exactly a constant and steady stream of anticipation either.  But TODAY it happened…..

Charles FRIEND-ED ME on Facebook!!!  Hope of all hopes.

Imagine my surprise.  The utter joy of IT!  For one, I know NOW, that Charles is OK.  Okey-Dokey-Smokey!  I don’t have to worry about him or his lost name badge.  (  In case you missed it…..  “I am worried about Charlie” appeared on February 18th….  http://www.kronytown.com/368/?p=166 )

The other thing is… well…. it restored my faith in the human condition….  AND……it is JUST plain fun.  It makes me feel light as a feather.   Giddy.  I wrote him a personal message about the blog, and how I found him….. and  (can you believe it???) ….. HE friend-ed me.

“Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to”
– George Seaton

Who knows who’s name badge I might find tomorrow.  But I hope I do.

This might explain a great deal to some of you.  I was born into a Catholic family…. baptized and raised Catholic.  There were a lot of Latin masses when I was little….. seems like it was just about every morning.  The priest would stand at the altar, and proclaim things like:  “You da jelly belly… we da jellllliiiieeeeee belly… I’m a nabisco, you da nabissssscoooooo, we da nabisco.”    At least….. that’s the way it sounded…… like a foreign language to me, or something.  I didn’t much understand it back then.  Certainly not any clearer now…I’ll tell you.  Yet…..I sorta’ liked the way it sounded.  But I’m getting away from the big event of the day.

Growing up, we had a replica statue of the Infant of Prague in our house.  I loved that darling little statue.  It was so intriguing to me.  My Mom made different sets of clothes for him, that coincided with the various religious holidays.  Seems like he would wear purple every now and again, which was a great color on him, I thought.  But…… today as we are walking up King Street, we passed an antique store.  Low and behold…. what is in the window but The Infant of Prague.  My brother (who is visiting from the rainiest of states)…. and I….. fell off our chairs laughing with excitement (and we weren’t even sitting down).

He was jubilant.  “Look Polly….. The Infant of Prague.”  I was jubilant.  We were jubilant together right there in the middle of King Street as we reminisced about our little fella’s wardrobe and his indelible perch in the dining room of our childhood home.

Our friends looked through the window of the store with energetic curiosity…. which then shifted to suspicious and bewildered glances in our direction.  Our good pal Lisa finally put forward….  “Uhhhhhmmmmm……I’m not seeing it.  Did you say you grew up with the Infinite Frog?”

Latin.  We were speaking Latin to her.  “Infant of Prague. You da belly.  We da belly.  Jelly Belly Dominisco, Nabisco….”

Which translates:  Infinite Frog.   Unending Hoppy-ness.

The entire incident unfolded late in the day, on a sultry afternoon in July.  The year was 1943.  The day, to be exact, was the 15th.  A Thursday.

Janice McGurty removed her wedding band to wash up some dishes from the noon meal.  Unfortunately for Janice (everyone knew her as “Bunny”)…… the ring had fallen off the edge of the sink, rolled the bottom twice, and proceeded to vanish into the hole in the drain.  Gone.  Bunny panicked.  Her husband would be furious, and she just couldn’t stand yet another one of his rampages.  Quickly (…. and ……always thinking on her feet)  Bunny dialed Lapinsky’s Plumbing.  They’d be right over.

The owner, Saul Lapinsky, showed up at the McGurty Household within the hour.  As he approached the front door, he could see that Janice was visibly shaking and upset.   (Saul had distantly admired Janice for many years now.  They went to grammar school together.  Fairenhold Elementary.)  As Bunny told Saul about the tight-spot she was in, he began to comfort her.  One thing led to another and……. And…….  holy crap…THIS IS MORNING INTERNET… that part of the story better be for a different Night at the Blog.

They finally got around to removing the catch pipe, and finding the ring.  The diamond was a bit mucky, but nothing a little warm soapy water wouldn’t fix.  Saul saved the day and Bunny would be forever grateful.  But she vowed that the symbol of her marriage would never go down the drain again.  The Plumber could never ring twice.

As Saul Lapinsky was leaving he turned to get one last glance of Janice… and THAT IS WHEN it happened….. the entire point of this story……

His wrench fell from his tool box, and directly into a section of concrete in the freshly poured sidewalk out front.  He was totally unaware of it.  Saul would never see his wrench from that day forward…. nor would he ever lay eyes on Janice again.  Sadness hung in the air like a pair of plumber’s pants.

For Saul…… A tool and his Bunny are soon parted.

He always wandered what happened to both of them.

One of the things we do in our culture is observe birthdays and anniversaries.  Funny, really.   I mean, defined….. an anniversary is……  the date on which an event took place in a previous year. Same kind of deal with a birthday.  Second verse, same as the first.    I like it.  I am glad for them.  Not knocking them in any way.  You get ice cream and cake and presents… get to wear funny hats and blow up balloons.  Pin tails on donkeys and such.  It all oozes frivolity.   It is just sort of an oddity, if you really think about it, though.  I mean……who defined the year?   The calendar we “observe” is the Gregorian Calendar.  Who exactly is this Greg?  What makes him the calendar guru?

There are lots of different calendars out there.  Buddhist Calendars…. Julian Calendars, Lunar, Solar, Chinese, Islamic, Thai, Kurdish, Romanian, Mayan….. if you need a divergent calendar…. there’s got to be one out there for you somewhere….

But back to anniversaries.  Today’s date is the one day of the year that actually tells you to do something.  March 4th.  March  Forth. Kind of Neat-O-Guido, I think.  Conversely….say your birthday was September 23rd.  You can’t tell someone to “September 23rd” something.  “Hey you…..Go September 23rd.”  See… it just doesn’t work so well, does it?  But you can certainly tell someone to March Forth.  3.4.  It is an Inspirational Tony Robbins kind-of-date.

Today is a special birthday for me.  Not the day I plopped from the womb…. no.   But a different kind of birthday.  So I march forth.  Inspired.

Creepy.  Defined.

This place is the kind-of-scary that will make the elastic in your underway lose its formability.  That much I’ll tell you.  The Old City Jail, it is.  Parts of this building date back to 1738.  Old.  But during the year of 1790, this structure began serving as a jail for criminal offenders, as well as an asylum for the mentally challenged (including the serial killers Lavinia Fisher, and her husband John…….heeeeerrrrrreeee’s Johnny!)

We visited on a bright and sunny day, just walking the exterior of this place.  I got the goosiest of bumps all over!  It is supposed to be very haunted.  There were a few doors open… with workers inside doing renovations and such.  I passed the “DO NOT ENTER” sign and just meandered down the back a hall a little bit.  I am already over my “Trespassing Quota” for the entire year….  so I decided to back it up.  As mentioned…..lots of hauntings reported here… if you believe in spooks, ghosts, goblins, and those sorts of things.  Many people have attested to being shook, nudged, bumped, and a few have made claims to being choked.  There are also frequent sightings of a guy walking the halls, all bedraggled, and of course, see-through.

None of this….. not one bit….. had anything to do with my NOT trespassing.  Really and truly.

I’m not sure about these sorts of things either… but my camera quit working after this particular day.  These were the last photos I took before it went kaput.  I had to send it off for repairs this afternoon.    I’m just glad I quit trespassing when I did……

This is the old Jail Wagon.  Equally as spooky…..  Redrum.  Redrum.

Someone mentioned to me this morning, that our little chats here were more fun than reading the daily horoscope.  With that said…. I’d like to give this horoscope-writing-thing a try.  So here it goes….

Today is March 2nd.  You’ll probably be reading this on March 3rd, but hopefully the planets won’t shift too dang much between now and then.

Your day will be filled from start to finish.  Expect surprises late in the afternoon, although, the stars may catch you off-guard early, and then you would be truly confounded.  Mars is currently in Jupiter’s House (illegally, I might add)…… which means you should eat an early dinner in a restaurant.  Now may be the time to volunteer.  Raise your hand.   But take a long walk before you do.  And don’t be tempted to start a newspaper article, gosh darn it.  This would be hasty on your part.  As Venus jockeys for position, remember to brush three times before the cock crows.  It pays to floss.  Resist the temptation to order the Veal.  Planting a nice garden should take precedence over emptying the trash.  Unless, of course, you change your mind, and go to the dance instead.  Be happy with your good taste.  It will pay off in the long run.

No Uranus jokes.

I like Pluto better than Goofy.

Let’s face it.  I can’t carry a Neptune in a bucket.