This entry is one of bereavement, eulogy, and a bit of a cry….


I discovered through blog-land Big Ruby’s Guesthouse in Key West Florida has closed. This makes me sad.

I first went there in 1990; I was young and anything was possible. I returned nearly every year. As a consequence I have accumulated so many memories. I’ve met most of my long time friends there. It is in Key West I was inspired to make shirts. Some of my best memories with The Best Friend are from these trips.

And of course, this is where I met Someone. If we were to marry, Big Ruby’s would be my first choice.


Like a lot of places with so much joy, I wanted it to stay still and unaltered, waiting for me when I next needed it. And now it is no more. I doubt I will ever go back to Key West. It feels closed.

It touches upon the real issue, which is the passage of time. Big Ruby’s wasn’t a merely a resort, it was a symbol. It contained youth, love, life’s potentials, and so much more. Its demise is another shake up things fade and do no last. I am growing old. Friends I met there are also aged and disappearing on me. And there is nothing at present that has this magic.

After some bereavement I will focus back onto the present and move on. I will try to carry Big Ruby’s with me as I try to live life as well as I can.


I will end this with Mr. Gilbert’s poem “The Lost Hotels of Paris”


The Lord gives everything and charges by taking it back. What a bargain. 

Like being young for a while. We are
allowed to visit hearts of women,
to go into their bodies so we feel
no longer alone. We are permitted
romantic love with it’s bounty and half-life
of two years. It is right to mourn
for the small hotels of Paris that used to be
when we used to be. My mansard looking
down on Notre Dame every morning is gone,
and me listening to the bell at night.
Venice is no more. The best Greek Islands
have drowned in acceleration. But it’s the having
not the keeping that is the treasure.
Ginsberg came to my house one afternoon
and said he was giving up poetry
because it told lies, that language distorts.
I agreed, but asked what we have
that gets it right even that much.
We look up at the stars and they are
not there. We see the memory
of when they were, once upon a time.
And that too is more than enough.