march

I looked out the window at some point this afternoon and — realizing it was a beautiful day — set out on a walk (a march?). Sometimes it's necessary to force oneself out the door. Or window, as it were. Out, shoo, git.

I didn't git far: just from town down to First Beach, where I sat with my back against the wall in a sheltered spot on a rock thinking it felt almost warm enough to shed a few layers — hat and mittens anyway — and be reminded that spring would/will come again.

About the time I was convinced — to the point of loosening my scarf and unzipping my jacket halfway — a torn, brown leaf fluttered down out of nowhere and landed on the thigh of my jeans. It surprised me actually. Where had it come from? There weren't any trees around. Yet there it sat. While I sat. Amid the wreckage of tumbled rocks, aspiring sea glass, mangled clam shells and empty egg cases as cars whizzed past, heard but not seen, above and behind me on Memorial.

I'll admit to being relieved when the leaf finally blew off, at which point I got up and marched back home again ....

mystery

There's so much I don't understand: how (and why) things get where they are, happen the way they do.

Why there was a whole set-up of barstools and chairs on Bannister's Wharf on a frigid February morning, for example. Had people been partying outdoors as if it were mid-summer when in fact it was even colder than frigid the night before??

Or why the shrink-wrapped "Tree of Life" settled in for the winter at Bowen's, the next wharf northward, when there must have been warmer (cheaper) options at her disposal??

The same applies on a grander scale, of course: the whole world seems poised/posed in particularly precarious and not-entirely-logical spot at present. Yes, I realize that's an outrageous understatement. But issues of powers — and abuse of power — aside, it's nice to think goodness prevails (isn't it?). That it must prevail? That there's even a reason for everything? That there's always an okay way out?

I know that's absurd, beyond naive. That it displays an alarming propensity toward blue-sky thinking and a refusal to root one's feet on the ground. I have no idea what I'm talking about. Or why. Or, least of all, why I find it encouraging that a few clumps of tired snow on First Beach manage to survive the tides surrounding them ...

blue

I was standing in the parking lot at Surfers' End (where Purgatory meets Paradise) the other day pondering the last few crappy weeks. The sun had set, the moon had risen, a few well-insulated paddle boarders were heading out to meet the waves. And it occurred to me that — despite everything — it's still (always?) beautiful here ...

corner

I was standing at the corner of Thames and Prospect Hill at some point recently — thinking I'd never noticed the schooner sailing across the street sign (do other signs have it?) — when it occurred to me that we've turned our own little corner, Mr. Betty and I. We're in a different place, parentally and otherwise, with different prospects (and hills) facing us ...

Take this past weekend, for instance. First I drove Darling Daughter back to college, where we arrived rather late (by my clock): pushing midnight. The school sits, as most do, atop a hill. And when we pulled up to the dorm to unload several trash bags (who needs suitcases?) full of clothes, shoes and ski equipment (just in case the opportunity arises), it became apparent immediately, given the roar upon opening the door, that there was a party underway.

I offered to go around. To take my (DD's) trash bags and trudge through the snow to another entry, lest she be mortified at having her mom in tow. Nothing doing. She didn't care (!); we marched straight through. And no sooner were we inside than some REALLY BIG GUY pulled my little baby girl into a way-too-affectionate welcome-back-to-college (drunken) hug with cries of, "DD!!"

Well, I just stood there, feeling pretty old — even though "college" felt so close at that moment it almost could have been my own dorm, my own party, but here I was holding my nearly-grown daughter's trash bags, though I have no idea (really I don't) how that happened — until the guy-in-question finally looked up over DD's shoulder, and I dragged myself back to the here-and-now fast enough to say, "Don't mind me. I'm just her mom."

Whereupon he set upon me with the same uber-hug treatment and exclamations of: "DD's Mom!!"

Mind you, I'd never seen this guy/kid/man in my life.

So, when we finally made it to DD's room, I asked (of course), "Who was he?"

"Oh, he was in one of my classes. He's ..... outgoing."

And then, after driving home (solo) the next day, I regrouped with Mr. Betty and we loaded up our own winter gear (in duffles) and headed North to join Super Son, Super Girlfriend and a gang of their college friends amid another party-of-sorts involving another hill-of-sorts: a ski weekend. They wanted us to come. Seriously, we gave them every out, every excuse, and they just kept saying, "We really hope you guys can make it ... "

So, now that we've turned whatever corner that is (rounded the mark, perhaps?), we need only hope for smooth sailing from here on out, or as smooth as possible, at least for a little while, with nary a thought about looming bridges let alone the inevitable downward spiral ...

calm

Perhaps there's no good reason (excuse?) for wandering around by the waterfront — behind the always-antique-filled Armory next to H2O — on the day before the big storm, during which I really wonder how the Rose Island Lighthouse and its keepers (if it's "kept" at this time of year), who travel back and forth via Starfish, fared ...

But such senselessness is far preferable (isn't it?) to going the other way, i.e., uphill — away from the seeming security of lines, cleats, moorings, pilings — instead past peelings and signs (of neglect) I'd never noticed before, and thinking, in light of recent events (in the news, I mean), that I really just want to turn tail, tuck in, and hide ...

Just a reminder: Any/all images get bigger/closer with a click.

skating

I was walking around downtown the other night — I never know quite where I'm going 'til I get there — and came upon, well, not much of anything. The streets were deserted: no traffic, few people. Lights were still lit (lighted?), but they weren't shedding much light or warmth or anything upon anything, given there wasn't much of anything upon which to shed light (yes, I realize I'm going in circles here). Seriously, there weren't even any skaters skating round & round at the Skating Center on America's Cup (sigh). Just some tracks-of-sorts indicating that the zamboni had finished its circular (or, more accurately, ovalesque) business for the night.

There's something sad about lights still lit, or just hanging around, after it's over (isn't there?). After the holidays are over, I mean. And the skating, too...

Which reminded me of something. Of two things, actually: one past tense (click to see), one more recent, but both somewhat gut-wrenching in their reminiscence of a certain after-the-fact feeling of unplugged emptiness and renewed loss (if there is such a thing) around here ...

It's a pair of skates ... get it??

(Sorry, couldn't resist.)

spike

Once upon a time — way back in the Old Year, as opposed to the New Year — Mr. Betty and I stopped in at Chaves for some sort of Christmas necessity. Boxwood roping, perhaps? We were too late (as usual); it was sold out. But that's not the point. In so doing, just being there, I remembered something: April and May. Not the season so much, though that's part of it, but the dogs. There are two dogs at Chaves named April and May. And I wanted to say hello to them, in a manner of speaking. To get a doggie fix, a lick, a wag, something. But, as it turned out, April and May weren't "at work" that day. There was a new dog on duty: Spike. He was doing a great job — retail is the perfect life for a dog, don't you think? So I got my fix, if not my roping. Then we went on with our day(s) ...