Tuesday, January 26, 2010


Equality and park(ing) ... two big issues, here as anywhere. There's no point whatsoever to my saying that; I just thought I'd point it out. And, while I'm at it, I'd like to point (or direct your attention, as that sounds better) to the Colony House, where it's so cool to look up and imagine the reading of the Declaration of Independence, although the reading on July 20, 1776, took place on the front steps, actually, while the announcement of King George II's death and the ascension of King George III in 1761 truly did take place on the balcony (that fact courtesy of the Newport Historical Society). And, while I'm

at it, here's another pointless point and/or questionable query: "It's a free country." What does that mean, exactly?? Usually, I think — as I play the soundtrack of people issuing the retort in my head — it suggests defense of a position. Someone says or does something surprising or controversial or just plain stupid, then says, "Hey, it's a free country." In fact, it's not a free country — or a free town, for that matter. It's rather expensive, or it has that reputation. But I still go out for coffee in the morning. Just coffee, no muffin. Times are tight. And I know, I know: I've mentioned this time and time and time again, and now I'm mentioning it again, and I'm no doubt boring you to tears at this point — does anyone really shed tears of boredom?? — but when I headed out yesterday morning amid rain and considerable wind in pursuit of happiness in the guise of a cup of coffee, the woman behind the counter smiled and said with great enthusiasm, "Nice day out there!" I smiled in return at her cheerfulness (which was a bit much, honestly), but she wasn't joking. "Really, I love the rain, " she said, as she looked longingly toward the water-streaked windows to the cars with swishing windshield-wipers and head-bent people (a few) bustling by on wet bricks, so treacherously slippery. I didn't pursue the matter further. But today, this morning, another wet one, I headed back, cup in hand, to the same coffee shop to ask this woman why she's so clearly sincerely fond of rainy days ... only to find her little shop was closed — horrors! — and I had to go elsewhere. Perhaps the proprietress is/was out singin' in the rain, doing what she longed to do yesterday. Hey, it's a free country ... and the good news (for you, too, as I'm about to stop) is that in the time it took me to get my coffee, drink my coffee, pour my cereal, eat my cereal, and ponder the true, obvious, underlying, potential goodness in rainy days ... the sun came out. Now what??