Skies grew dark over Bowen's Wharf yesterday, but the storm never materialized ... just a few spitting drops, unlike places farther North that got walloped (with hail, etc.), or so I hear. That's not unusual. We often watch storms build and grow and roll up the bay ... and they just keep right on rolling. Anyway, I'd wandered to the wharf because I could see there was a layer of brightness beneath the darkness, and that stuck me as interesting or colorful or encouraging or something. So I took a few shots (as in snapshots, not drinks), said "hi" to a couple of friends who just-so-happened to be there (and who were having drinks) — there's always a familiar face on the wharf, it seems. Then I ran back home, back up the hill, as I really thought it was about to storm. Mr. Betty had just gotten home, and he reminded me that there was a special showing of the film "Home" at the Pickens, sponsored by Aquidneck Land Trust, in honor of Earth Day. So we raced to the theater (on foot, carrying umbrellas, still unopened) and watched the longest, most-depressing movie I think I've ever seen. Granted, it was beautiful — with endless (endless) amazing footage of the planet — but we're doomed. Really. It was scary. And not easy to watch, or to listen; it just went on and on and on. The movie was even longer, or it felt longer, than the movie (newly released) of an entire circa 1989 Grateful Dead concert we'd seen at the Pickens the week before ... out of interest, both musical and historical, and on a dare-of-sorts from Super Son, who plays the guitar and loves the Dead (what a statement) and said we'd never last (another statement). And we'll never know ... as the Dead movie was cut short about half-way through, in the middle of a seemingly endless (endless) double-drum solo, when the lights suddenly came on and a computerized voice announced, "There is a fire in the building." Scary stuff (the Pickens being the Pickens) — and all the Newport firetrucks came — though, in this case, as one might guess, it was a matter of smoke, not fire. So there we were, back on the sidewalk. Which brings me (if I follow the sidewalk) back to the wharf ... where I'm remembering that the same friend who introduced me to yoga yesterday took part in a "mob dance" right there/here, in this very spot, except it was last fall, in the middle of the Boat Show. And as if that weren't enough — you'll think this was planned, but it wasn't — the boat that caught my eye yesterday evening, under those stormy skies, tied up at Bowen's Wharf, getting unwrapped and polished-up and ready for the summer season, was none other than ...
