In all honesty, I've no time to talk today ... if talking is what I'm doing here. And I've no time for a lovely walk to the beach, or along the Cliff Walk, or out on Ocean Drive, or any such marvel. I've barely time for a telephone call, as I scurry around dealing with the impending holidays and questions about work and family dilemmas ... just like everyone else, right??
But the wild assortment of architectural sights — from colonial to opulent to functional to forlorn, all mixed up on the same street — never ceases to amaze. I always notice some old/new thing (something old that's new to me) even as I sneak out of the house, away from my chores, down the hill for a cup of coffee.
Along the way, I pass the oldest brick house in Newport ... or I've been told it's the oldest brick house in Newport. If I manage to get out of my own frazzled head and look up from the sidewalk, I might see friezes (on this freezing cold morning) and details I never noticed. I might wonder about the people who thought up and executed these details: who they were, how they lived, what they did, how they did it, and why.
Foundations and construction, in other words. Maybe even style.
But not today. I'm just thinking about all I have to get done ...
