It wasn't just rainy over the weekend (and for days on end) ... it was windy. With gusts up to 60, or so I was told. I spied a few tell-tale signs on my wet walk down to the wharf for coffee Sunday morning ... a puff on the water, though it was more than a "puff" (nearly pushing me off the pier, really, as I was standing too close to the edge) ... a blown-in window (wind-ow??) on Pelham ... and any number of done-for, done-in umbrellas ... but those were yesterday's news.
As Sunday (Sun-day??) wore on, the wind died (how awful), and I enjoyed a few sunnier moments ...
Like meeting two sweet dogs named Plum and Cherry — "the fruit dogs," their master called them, although it was happenstance as much as intention, as is so often the case. One was named for P. G. Wodehouse, whose nickname was Plum, and whose fans are called Plumheads (I admit to not knowing that before looking it up). The other was re-named Cherry despite his/her original name of Brandy. Et voilà ...
Like passing by the Jane Pickens Theater, where a man was putting finishing touches on information pertaining to that evening's showing of "Summer Hours" (a French movie; the kick-off to this week's Tournées French Film Festival; we saw it; excellent). At first I thought he was posting the theater's summer hours, but I guess that would have been jumping the gun ...
Like staring up at the fallen flagpole (victim of the wind or of Saturday Night??) at the Cooke House and having a stranger — a man in foul weather gear I'd seen earlier at the coffee shop — walk by, shoot the breeze for minute, then say, "May I ask why you're taking a picture of that?"
I tried to explain, but found myself talking in circles ... just a mad whoosh of hot air. To which he replied, and it blew me away (it's as if he knew me), "You need a bit more structure, my dear."
