Headed home from The Point the other day — as I walked along Washington Street from Battery Park, with its semi-circle of sunset-facing benches, then toward Storer Park, with that never-ending game of hoops in play, and encountering not one not two but three friends along the way — I couldn't help marveling at the riches. Of the surroundings, yes, and so much wonderfully-public access to the surroundings, but more at my own riches. Really, my cup (nest??) runneth over ... to the point of being overcrowded. This weekend anyway. Super Son is home along with Super Girlfriend and her two super dogs. Darling Daughter is home. Mr. Betty is home (from a business trip). Grandma Betty is coming over with her super-cute puppy. Then there's Bodacious Brother — I just made that up — and Proud Pop (my dad??). They're coming over, too, with their own Super Girlfriends. There's so much going on in town, in life, in general. From music to dancing to Black Ships. Yes, Black Ships. I just heard a celebratory cannon blast — BOOM!! — in nearby Touro Park. I'm so lucky (it really hits me at times!!), though I nearly jumped out of my chair.
In that light — not blue, but yellow (might a yellow mood be considered sunny??) — I'm thinking that's a very cool if rather beat-up, decaying anchor at the State Pier ...
And, no, I did not pick up the beat-up, heads-up lucky penny I saw on the ground after investigating the rusty, barnacled anchor. But, if I had, I would have taken it to the bank — Bank Newport, of course — for safe keeping.
