Odd customs, these right-coasters. I recall much of the pomp and circumstance from my youth. Reminded by etchings in a bunk bed my nephew now occupies. The things we've handed down....comes to mind. There is always a grounding feeling, to watch Quinn ride his bike across the rickety bridge, or ask about the 'Hairy Hand' or things of the sort. I never feel time more acutely than when I observe myself, and my family in Point'O'Woods, some 48 years after my first trip across the bay to the small patch of sand. That acceleration of time, is slowed, only by the universal hoot of someone paddling into something, dropping into the Atlantic waters and riding current sand energy that helped shaped the island. That feels pretty universal. And pretty priceless. And pretty life - giving.