color

I don't know where to begin about the weekend — it was a such a long, colorful, inexplicable chain of events — that I think I'll just skip it. Not that the boating and boat show and cars and crowds weren't memorable (they were!), but all that fades in comparison to what happened before the weekend technically began, on Friday afternoon, when Mr. Betty and I made a new friend ...

It happened accidentally (as friendships often do). A young man was parking his motorcycle by the curb near our house at the same moment Mr. Betty happened to be riding by on his scooter. Noticing all the packs and bags indicating a long journey and which shouldn't be left unattended — not to mention the spot-by-the-curb featured yellow paint, i.e., it was of questionable legality — Mr. Betty told this young man, just a few years older than Super Son, that he really wasn't in a great spot. Then the two struck up a conversation, by the end of which the bike was parked in our driveway, and we ended up with an overnight guest in Super Son's (empty) bedroom.

What fun — though I can't speak for our guest.

Turns out, Thomas (who is from South Africa) was riding his bike cross-country. He hadn't planned on visiting Newport, but someone on the ferry from Long Island to New London had told him about the boat show. So after he visited Cape Cod — "the Cod," he called it — he backtracked.

We insisted from the get-go that he shouldn't hang out with us; he should go do his own thing. Which happened to be, among other things, appreciating beer. I thought to send him on the brewery tour at Coastal Extreme, the makers of Newport Storm, but only 'til I realized Thomas hadn't been around Ocean Drive. Ocean Drive is pretty special, especially on a bike (motorized or otherwise). So, off he went — shooting several hundred pictures (while driving) along the way — and then we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening and the next morning through lunch-time walking around, eating chowder, drinking beer (too much), seeing James Montgomery play a mean harmonica at Jimmy's, taking a boat ride, going to the boat show, and finally enjoying lunch at the Shipyard, from whence Thomas took off with a breezy wave ...

And why does that happen?? That you really hit it off with some people having known them for five minutes (or less) and you just know you could talk and hang-out with them forever without giving a second's thought to what you'll talk about next even though they're from halfway around the globe and a world apart and you'll probably never see them again. And other people you can know forever, have everything in common, yet never have much to say; you have to think about what to say. It puzzles me ...

redeployment

It always gets stormy just in time for the boat show, doesn't it?? Maybe it's so we'll assess our needs and consider buying new foul weather gear (boats are too expensive) ...

Seriously, I was walking down the hill toward Bowen's Wharf at some point during the past week when the wind picked up and the clouds grew alarming. Combined with the disorienting effect of that enormous flagpole, which looks more like (and probably is) a mast, I was feeling rather ... well ... disoriented. Add to that the sudden unmistakable urge/need for a cup of coffee, for the simple reason that I needed to wake up (!!) despite its being mid-afternoon, and you'll begin to grasp my predicament.

Fortunately, just at that moment, I remembered hearing that a new coffee shop had opened at the bank — People's Credit Union, specifically. Or what was People's Credit Union, though all that remains of People's in that location, along the cobblestones on Thames, is an ATM in the parking lot. The "real" bank (oops, credit union, and could someone please explain the difference??) moved up the hill, up Memorial ...

Anyway, I ventured inside the open doors that had/have been locked for so long, thus walking beneath two great gilt words I must have passed a thousand times before without noticing — ORGANIZE and COOPERATE — and there I found what I needed. Not just words, not just coffee, but two friends I hadn't seen in some time. We had a nice chat all the while glancing around to absorb the new/old scene: inward toward the massive preserved bank vault and outward through those giant freshly-cleaned windows onto the world walking by.

And I felt better. So much so that when I emerged and continued on my way to the end of the wharf, for no reason whatsoever other than to see what I might see, the clouds were clearing, and it was a whole new port ...

Aside (though, in truth, it's below): The name of the bank-turned-coffee-shop is People's, logically enough, but it has yet to add a sign, i.e., one might think it was the Organize Cooperate Coffee Shop. And, like that old building — if I may step outside my usual role/voice/charade for a moment — I'm adapting to a new purpose. By that I mean I have a new job (gasp!). That doesn't mean I won't be here (and here and here), though it does mean I'm figuring out a revised schedule that no doubt will require renewed organization on my part and cooperation on Mr. Betty's part, especially if everything I hope to get done everyday is to get done everyday. Including this. Good thing Mr. Betty's on board (and such a cooperative fellow in general). And, yes, I'm sure we will head to the boat show at some point over the weekend, just to see what (or whom) we might see ...

christmas

I've encountered some unexpected sights over the past week or two, starting with the Christmas Party (on Labor Day) at the West Wind Marina. Then there was the Segway tour on Bellevue. Then there was Viewport ...

I was riding my bike along Wellington past the harbor and King Park on Saturday when I stopped short to avoid a trolley. In so doing, I noticed an ongoing art installation, i.e., it was in the process of installation: Viewport, from which one can view the port (of course). With so many people busy in so many ways on that perfect-if-cool day, the scene reminded me of that old song "Saturday in the Park" by Chicago. And, no, I didn't really care what time it was ... remember that one, too??

Seriously, there was yoga — at least I think it was yoga. Frisbee — no question about that. Moms (and dads) sitting on benches and/or bent over their young ones. I even saw an old tree that somehow had kept growing (what else could it do??) over a street sign, though I really couldn't see what the sign said.

Not to be confused with what "the man" said ... oops, that was Paul McCartney.

Then I saw a friend — I hardly recognized him behind his sunglasses, beneath a black hat. I teased him about it: the look and the hat, which he said his kids had given him.

Those were the days (my friend) ... or were they??

(don't) fall

It's chilly all-of-a-sudden. It's like it happened over night. I almost made the move from shorts to long pants over the weekend ... but I couldn't do it. Not quite yet.

The kids are back-to-school; I don't mean mine (though it's true of Darling Daughter) or all the little ones but the students at Salve, who returned over Labor Day. I saw cars everywhere — throughout campus and in-town — stuffed with bags, boxes & bicycles.

Milk crates, too; so many uses for milk crates.

And so many families milling about saying temporary good-byes.

The water's still perfect — that's one of those cool (but not cold) things about September: disrobing in the chill then realizing the sea feels like a big blue bathtub if you're brave enough to jump in. Unlike summer, when even tip-toeing in (especially tip-toeing in) can feel so cold, particularly in the mid-section.

Mr. Betty and I saw a whole gang of kids (relatively speaking) jumping in last weekend (or was it the weekend before??). They were walking the plank — a boom, actually — aboard a vessel that was unfamiliar. Perhaps it was in-town for the Classic Yacht Regatta. Or perhaps it's always here/there, and I never noticed it. In any case, they had let the main sheet waaaaay out and secured it, so that the boom was very nearly horizontal to the hull, as if they were running downwind. But they weren't. They were running — that appeared to the best approach — out along the crimson canvas as far they could go without losing their balance, then finally falling in to much fanfare from their friends, who all clambered out to do it again and again (and again) ...

time

On my way to grab coffee the other morning, I walked through Touro Park. There's always the great (internal) debate: Which way to walk around the tower? Clockwise or counter-clockwise? And which way around the flag pole? The same way, or the other way? Better to be consistent, or to mix it up? Then there's the debate about the tower itself (the "Old Stone Mill"): Who built it? When? And why? A new museum — The Tower Museum, at the top of Mill Street (appropriately named) — entertains the latter questions. I've seen the proprietor/curator engaging visitors with potential answers all summer long.

Anyway, back to the quest — the coffee quest. As I headed up the hill, a youngster was riding his bike around the tower. Round and round and round. His sister, still on training wheels, was less willing. She'd disembarked. "Dad" looked on. And there was just something cool about it: all that young energy, happy and sad, around that old structure.

Then, on my way home, energy (caffeine) in-hand, there was a different-if-similar scene: two young boys on skateboards rolling around the tower, again with "Dad" looking on. He occupied the one black bench that currently sits by the tower; the old green wooden ones were removed when the sidewalks were replaced. And it got me thinking a little further along the same lines: about everything that had been seen in the park over the years. Not by me, not by the dad, not by that relatively-new-if-quasi-historic-looking bench, but by the tower.

How much it had stood through: time-wise, history-wise, mystery-wise.

How much it had withstood, if you will ...

Then, wouldn't you know?? Later that same day, someone was playing (practicing?) the bells at Channing, on the other side of the park. It wasn't Sunday, i.e. there was no congregation, around that lone bench or otherwise. But it was a tune I recognized — I'm pretty sure anyone would recognize it — and it really fit the scene ...

N.B. The bells play for a half-hour-or-so every Sunday morning at 9:30. Or they have been all summer. Anywhere in the park is prime listening ...

sand

I walked past a few things (and a few people) at Third Beach a few days back: some reminiscent, some futuristic, some just plain dreamy. There were scattered tools & toys for digging, some of them dug-in firmly after a long day's or summer's use. There was a hatted cluster of (slightly) older women engaged in a watercolor class; they were painting (what else??) the water. There were mermaids — I nearly tripped over them. You never know what you might stumble upon at the beach ... or anywhere else for that matter. Then, a bit farther along — past Peabody's, toward Crab Town — I lay down on the warm sand and actually dozed off for a bit. When I woke (with a start), there was a kayak pulled up on the beach rather close to my feet. It wasn't there before I closed my eyes. Gee, I'm glad no one tripped over me ...

p.s. As I've said before (and, no doubt, will say again): you can click on any image to enlarge.