Monday, May 30, 2011


At some point last night — after a long day of shrub trimming and flower planting and bike riding out & around Ocean Drive despite recurrent fog and considerable traffic — it occurred to me that words don't matter much. Seriously. It's more about sights, sounds & sometimes just colors and what they evoke with or without lots of syllables ... right?? I mean, there are some good lyrics: to songs, days, life. And some things worth remembering, like Dewey Bunnell of America's comment during their show at the historic Casino Theatre last night (to benefit the Tennis Hall of Fame). He was trying to direct traffic to the band's website — — and in so doing advised fans: "Do not google America. That doesn't work."

I'll bear it in mind ...

Saturday, May 28, 2011


Oh, how I wish there were a few more places I could go on my bike ... we're a bit island-locked in that respect. Not that the available destinations are bad. Sachuest Point is particularly lovely, and one never knows what (or whom) one might see ....

A few days ago (Thursday maybe?), as I was locking my bike at the parking lot before continuing on foot to my favorite deserted rocky beach, I saw a familiar guy get out of his car and start jogging down the trail toward the Sakonnet. He wasn't going too fast — he's about 90 years old (seriously). A friend's dad. But he had definitely tipped his body slightly forward and was pumping his arms back and forth as he strode — he was running.

I managed to catch up and say hello. He used to do a full circuit of Sachuest every day, he said. Now he does a half-circuit. Which is awesome. "I sure hope that's me at his age" is all I could think ...

Anyway, I left Friend's Dad to his half-circuit and followed a little path to the rocky shore, where I saw .... rocks. Lots. And then a TALL one, part of a cairn-of-sorts left by someone playing balancing games. I dumped my backpack as I moved in for a closer look. It's a stupid backpack, more of a sack, purple with the words "Know Thyself, Dude" emblazoned on it. Something Darling Daughter got as a freebee on a college orientation trip in '09. She wouldn't dream of using it herself — but it's super lightweight, handy, not-too-big. And I wear it backwards, so no one can see the words, so it's just plain purple.

It works for me.

Anyway, after checking out the balancing act and satisfying myself as to how it was accomplished — not that I could ever do it myself — I lay down on the warm rocks (backsack for pillow) with waves splashing/crashing not-so-far from my feet and exerted no energy whatsoever except to look left at a cormorant gang on the rocks, right at a happy-looking couple posing for pics, straight ahead at — wait, what's that?? — a cracked-open egg then a flash of darting yellow on the rocks. A yellow bird??

Hmmm, I suppose.

I didn't think about it further 'til I was headed back to my locked bike and saw a sign ...

Monday, May 23, 2011


I set off to the grocery store earlier this evening with that perennial question in mind: What's for dinner?

I never know 'til I get there, but then — more often than not — I arrive at the same answer: fish.

It was a gray walk to the store, I must say — this has been quite a gray stretch. And I was feeling rather blue, if you'll excuse one more reference to color, just because I feel the need to do SOMETHING to brighten things up around here ....

Anyway, fish in hand (or bag, to be precise), I was headed home when I felt a strange vibration or buzz in my pocket that turned out to be my cellphone, for which I fumbled unsuccessfully, and by the time I found it — my jacket has too many pockets! — it had stopped buzzing. Lo and behold, however, I had a text message from a friend and sometimes-walking-companion, who must have been walking past my home (where I wasn't) at that precise moment.

It said: "Your pink dogwood is beautiful."

To which I replied, painstakingly, because mine is a decidedly un-smart phone: "Thank you!"

And then I felt better ....

OK, I admit it: that pink sky wasn't tonight — no such delight in sight. And the pink-tongued pup? That's Snooter; he's frequently tethered outside the grocery store waiting for his person. I included Snooter because of the dogwood (get it?). And just because ...

Monday, May 16, 2011


As I was picking up Mr. Betty's shirts at Del Nero's not long ago, I had the lamest thought, i.e., it's so strange how we walk the same paths again and again (and again) doing who-knows-what without really thinking about it, and in so doing time passes WAY TOO FAST — in the blink of an eye, as they say.

Seriously, wasn't it just last week that the crocuses (croci?) popped up? Then the first daffodil? Then LOTS of daffodils? Then, poof, they're gone. Or, rather, they're just husks. Entire fields of husks — along Memorial Drive and/or the corner of America's Cup and Farewell, between the cemeteries — with specific instructions warding off aggressive lawn-mowing practices, lest all those sunny daffodils not pop again next year.

I dunno — it's just sad.

It makes me want to try really hard to concentrate, to really NOTICE each thing I'm doing, each step I'm taking (fat chance), so they don't all blend/blur into one another without leading anywhere in particular ...