It's hard to know how or why one thought winds it way to another ... sometimes. Other times, it's not hard at all. Like the other night, when I was standing before the bow of an Oldport launch dressed in winter finery (the launch, not I) in the parking lot behind the Clarke Cooke House. It was all too easy to remember taking a launch (one of the older ones, probably Can Do), its driver dressed in summer finery, to a mooring. I remember marveling, as I always do, over the expertise of the too-young-to-be-expert driver taking us precisely where we needed to go — though I will admit to feeling puzzled and maybe even a tad unsure about the fancy shirt-tie-belt ensemble, as it was a departure from Oldport-in-Newport attire ...
