Rhode Island is a state. Not just a geographically divided area based on natural barriers such as elevations and waterways, and founded on lines created by old colonial settlements and forgotten trade routes. It is a matter of being, it is a way of life. There is something which hardens when you are constantly reminded that you are the smallest, the runt of the union, the weird little offspring born from an outcast of your larger and more well-known commonwealth of a neighbour. And while we might not be anywhere close to being the biggest, we have our fair share of cities and wide open spaces in equal measure. Whatever you are looking for, you can find it somewhere in these 1200 square miles, even if some of it you may need a watercraft of some sort to explore. The experiment here is still lively; It continues it’s quest for a unique freedom you can’t find in the water of Massachusetts Bay or the Long Island Sound. It’s one with the ocean, as far and wide as the Atlantic across it’s many miles of coastline we have received as the greatest of natural gifts from the recession of glacial sheets a literal ice age ago, and the years of tidal and seismic waves smoothing and cracking it’s exterior. The flora and fauna may mostly be the same regional variety as our neighbours, who surround us in every which direction, but what grows here is different for the very sake that it’s roots are set here, no matter how deep they may be. What was once the conclusion of a long journey when you could walk across the Bering Strait, even the people of the Narragansett, Niantic, Nipmuc, Pequot, and Wampanoag tribes (among others) knew they were someplace special. There is something different about these fields and marches, the soil and sand here. Nowadays this great Providence is welcome to anyone who wishes to find their own little freedom here, whether their way east lands them in Westerly, or if they set their anchor in Newport, or their big move finds it’s end in Little Compton. There is always going to be hope here, it’s even stitched on to our state flag. I think it’s great to be somewhere so small, but bursting at the seams with a personality you don’t find anywhere else. You see it every time coworkers get together and talk around the bubbler. Or any day that starts with a coffee milk. So if you ever find yourself on your way in to Providence and see a big blue bug, be sure to give Nibbles Woodaway a wave. The Ocean State waves back. As for me, it’s not goodbye, it’s see you later. The tide goes out, but it always come back in.
It was during my second stint in the behavioral health unit at Newport Hospital when I finally came to the conclusion that, possibly, episodes of psychosis might not be for me. The multiple bruises on my arms from what only could be graded as amateurish IV placements, and the remnants of adhesive from dozens of EKG leads were nowhere near the style of fashion found on the runways from Paris to Milan this season (or any). The bright yellow wristband alerting those in close proximity to my person that I am very likely to be a fall risk is something I may continue to accessorize with, however. An earnest warning to those around me of my clumsy nature, and also a statement piece that will add to any outfit a certain je ne sais quoi; If only it came in a Tiffany blue. The fare was adequately acceptable, if a bit predictable after a few days. The Michelin guide may miss it, for good enough reasons, the plating alone is more assembly line than artisan. But, as with most cuisine in need of a little something extra, it was nothing a little salt and pepper couldn’t fix. The accommodations would be, at best, described as spartan. The long twin mattresses in each room covered in sheets with a thread count hovering somewhere in the double digits. The synthetic material were obviously chosen not for it’s luxurious comfort, but for their protective properties against any accidents which may occur around those with impaired cognitive abilities. Entertainment offerings were mostly confined to dual television rooms in each of the main hallways.One is in a larger common area with plenty of less than comfortable seating options, and large windows overlooking the harbour with a view of one of the main thoroughfares of the city. The other, a much smaller room offering half of the number of equally ergonomically-lacking chairs, but often times a respite of solitude in the often well-populated unit. The view offered by the single window as the first light of dawn touches the many church spires and treetops as it makes it’s way down to the gables of the houses making up the mostly residential neighbourhood of North Broadway is a life-affirming way to start the day. For the remainder of the daylight hours, however, the view of a liquor store parking lot and one of - if not the - least appetizing pizza establishments in the city is little to write home about. But being on the top floor of the highest structure in the city definitely has it’s perks come the hours around sunset. The window at the end of the first main hallway has an unmatched view of the Claiborne Pell Newport Bridge. From twilight up until the last light of dusk, the lucky few viewers who situate themselves in that alcove are treated to a slow burn of dazzling colour changes as the sun, clouds, ans atmosphere combine to put on a show with unparalleled uniqueness every time the last remains of the day fall below the horizon. The evening brings a sparkling display of lights on the bridge, with it a peak and slow wane in the ingress and egress of traffic between Newport and Jamestown. It is also around this time that the floor itself livens up, with visiting hours bringing smiles and hugs from outside these walls, breaking up the doldrums of the routine conversations and behaviors of the inhabitants of the unit, no matter how long or brief their stay. As the evening fades, some make their way to an early slumber, some continue the conversations of the day, and other look forward to a televised show or sporting event for the remainder of their night. The still of these late hours only broken up by regular safety and wellness checks by the nurses whose step counts easily reach twenty thousand in a shift. The quiet remains until the break of the next day’s morning starts the going on with the floor all over again. I can only give my most highly esteemed rating and recommendation, because I am still here. And I am very glad to still be here. Thank you. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
I have come to believe that the hardest part of the end of a relationship, and leaving a shared living space, is not the big huge things which are a mountain on their own. The one who has to go out and find a new apartment. Figuring out where the relationship goes from there, if and when you can begin to be friends again. Deciding which of the items which were for some length of time “ours” are now one or the others. Those are big things, and you go in to them knowing they are big things, they don’t sneak up on you. The most difficult part is the hundreds and thousands of small things which pile up and make mountains from what amounts to pebbles or grains of sand. You find them hours, days, or months later in a spot that may hurt sharply or it may feel like dull pain. Like having a rock stuck in your shoe, or an unfamiliar movement which strains a muscle.
I have to pack up all of my belongings in the very near future, and when I unpack them again I will need to buy things to replace the items I no longer have. I was clipping my nails recently with the great pair of nail clippers my partner purchased a long time ago, they are the best nail clippers I have used in my life. I am going to have to take a trip to a store some time after I move, when I realize my nails need some care, and purchase a pair of nail clippers to call my own. Of course, holding on to the nail clippers we shared would only build resentment when my partner realizes I am still carrying them with me, and it wouldn’t be good for me to be reminded of the person I stole them from every time I use them. There will be cheap ones which will seem like a decent purchase at the time, but they will work poorly from the start and most likely break shortly after. That wouldn’t be prudent to have to go buy another pair so soon after purchasing the first one. I will have to decide whether or not I want to spend the extra money on the similar pair, if I can find them where I usually shop, or make a special trip to somewhere I don’t usually venture to find exactly what I am looking for. It may cost me more than I was originally planning on, but if it lasts as long as the pair I last shared with another, it will show it’s worth over the years.
Split American Lobster, shown at the Maine State Aquariuam in November of 2015.
(from Wikimedia Commons)
A patch of California poppies in cultivation outside their native range, open on a sunny day.
I donated blood earlier this week. I like being a blood donor, the feeling I get from helping someone else fills my heart! I go whenever I am eligible, and have been a regular donor for years now. Because of that, I have become familiar with all of the staff at my local donation center. There is one technician who is almost always there, she is a lovely woman with a great big personality and a southern accent which she has held on to even though she has lived in the northeast for years. She was doing my pre-donation testing that day. She pricked my finger for the hemoglobin test. After the test was completed she looked at my results, then the chart on the wall, and back at my results. “Welllll, you just made it. Are you usually low?” she asked me. “No, sorry,” I replied, “I know I haven’t eating well enough lately.” “Oh, why’s that?” she inquired. “Just dealing with a recent breakup.” I said. She suddenly looked very sad.
