First off I’m very grateful to everyone who has helped to make this residency possible, including the donors, and the generous people who work with the Kerouac Project. Also the Oller Family, and my family in Florida, especially my aunt, Karen McKenzie, who first told me about the opportunity three years ago. I have been looking forward to this for a long time.

I got in on the fourth of June, and everything is going pretty well. The first Friday I was here, two sets of pilgrims came by to see the house, one in the morning and one at night. They startled me a little but I didn’t mind showing them around and telling what little history I’ve learned so far. They were perfectly gracious.

I’m happy to be back in Florida — as a native and a frequent visitor I just have to say she’s never looked better. My neighbor was walking down the street the other day with something wrapped in tinfoil, banana bread or potato chip hotdish maybe, for someone who was sick or just had a baby or something. On Saturday morning I rode past a group of little girls gathered on a porch for a picture. They all had on chef’s hats, looked to be a cooking class birthday party. Sunday I went to mass downtown at St. James’; a few people wore red for Pentecost. The newspaper said everybody wore red at Disney for gay days this weekend. And you know you’re in Florida when you see a job opening at an auto shop: ‘Tinter Wanted.’

I’ve set up my ‘studio’ in Jack’s old bedroom, more because I like the desk and the situation than for any historical reasons. Out the window is a humble but vernal view, you can see a branch of the big octopus oak tree on Clouser, with baby fern fronds growing on it like arm hairs. The spanish moss I’m accustomed to, but not these beautiful little droplet fronds, diving off the branch like two hundred little Esther Williams shallow-end dives.

Anyway, it’s rained just about every day so far, and hasn’t gotten terribly hot yet. Not that it isn’t warm. Every glass of ice water I pour sweats heavily. And I’ve done a little sweating myself.

“You want fame? Well fame costs. And this is where you start paying. In sweat.”
– Debbie Allen