Okay, so I was walking down the street at some point in the past few days (on my way to the post office, if I recall correctly, which I may not) and taking in the scene of general loveliness — brick sidewalks, pristine clapboards, weathered doorsteps where who-knows-how-many feet have passed — and I was having such a nice time (doing nothing in particular, perhaps reflecting on the notion that no picture is perfect) that my walk became a long walk. It wasn't conscious; I just kept walking. And pretty soon — instantaneously, it seemed — I was on Broadway (half a mile away??) staring up at the window of a vintage clothing shop thinking, "Now there's a cool display." Then I looked closely. And I saw something weird. Reflected in the window of such artfully-crafted outfits using any number of elements from past points-in-time, there was the Wanton-Lyman-Hazard House, the oldest remaining residence in Newport (about which I'd heard a lecture recently by an archeologist who excavated the trash in its back yard for years to reconstruct the life of a woman who lived there). And there was just something about the image of that old (seriously old) house, with all the comings-and-goings it has seen over the years, mixing-and-mingling with the vintage clothing (that didn't seem vintage at all, which must mean I'm more-or-less vintage myself) that grabbed me. Can you see it?? Is it just me?? You have to LOOK. And then — then — after going no more than a few steps, as I'd resumed my walk at this point, feeling a general need to get on my way, perhaps toward the Fifth Ward (Newport's historically Irish neighborhood, as one green thought leads to another, and just to see what I might see at the opposite end of town), I looked down and found treasure. A coin on the sidewalk. It wasn't gold, but it was just before St. Patrick's Day, so it seemed to me that there was something oddly lucky about the whole thing, admittedly a little thing. And it made me think about how you just never know what small pleasure you might find — in reflections, or anywhere — when you're doing nothing in particular, looking for nothing at all ...
See the reflection??
And then I looked down ...
Afterthought: I read something in the most recent issue of Newport Life Magazine about the hipness (and value) of consignment. Did that color "my" thoughts?? Hmmm.
