I hate to think my reflections are limited to holidays, but it sure seems like that's been the case of late. My thoughts, in fact, have little to do with St. Patrick's Day, which is not to say Mr. Betty and I weren't right there in Washington Square watching Saturday's parade roll by ... and it rolled for quite a while! There were so many firetrucks in particular, much to the delight of several young men in green hats sitting directly in front of us on the sidewalk. I wondered aloud why the parade had so many firetrucks, and Mr. Betty informed me that it had to do with the likelihood of Irish immigrants pursuing careers with the fire department, to which I replied that firetrucks appear in parades celebrating all occasions, not just St. Patrick's Day, but that's neither here nor there. The point is there we were, in Washington Square — coincidentally known in early Newport history as "the parade" — along with hundreds if not thousands of other onlookers and participants, many sporting moustaches, green and otherwise, as that was the symbol of this year's event. Seriously. I guess it had to do with the Grand Marshall being George Jones, an Irishman with notable facial hair and a retired Newport firefighter to boot. I tried to keep an eye out for this gentleman, but I'm afraid I missed him (like so many things). I did manage to spy a few moustaches of interest amid the mix of assorted dignitaries and characters lining the parade route ...
The naval officer wanted to trade hats.
The kids said, "No thanks."
See the moustache?