It’s getting to be almost commonplace.  Our little unnamed, all-night outburst of last Sunday did more damage than any of the named storms that cruised by offshore through the summer.  The unnamed ones tend to sneak up on you; there’s no panic, because the weather guys are caught off-guard just like the rest of us, but there’s no preparation either. We kind of smelled this one and got the shutters down in time, but it was close.  It formed very quickly just off Skinny Island after lolling about as a weak low down in South Florida, and took down a great many palm fronds here, as well as two sections of fence and a gate. At first blush it appeared the beach and dune had not suffered any significant damage, but later in the week it became apparent there had been changes which will take months to undo.  This was the biggest blow we’ve had since the three hurricanes of the famous ’04 season, which carried an enormous amount of sand off the beach, and it took until just last spring to return the beach to its normal width.  This little ruckus of last week did much the same.  The ocean has moved back in.  The tides are much higher, even at low, leaving only a narrow band for walking and biking.  It’s going to take a while to replenish.   That’s the way it goes.

Once the storm cleared the weather for the remainder of the week was picture perfect, as Fall motorcycle mania, otherwise known in these parts as Biketoberfest kicked into gear. This event, along with its older and bigger brother, Bike Week, is not one of our favorite invasions.  We prefer jellyfish and locusts, so the less said the better.  In summary, they all feel the need to cruise A1A often and loudly, and this year, the weather was perfect.  The whole shebang culminates over the weekend, so we grasped a well-timed opportunity and fled.

Fled and were faced with a damage assessment of another sort.  We attended a multi-class high school reunion.  Classes graduating from 1963 t0 1976 were represented.  The people who looked like our grandparents were us, the people who looked like our kids could have been. It was at once inspiring and numbingly depressing.  We took no pictures.  But we spent quality time with wonderful folks, cementing old bonds and forming new ones.  I was struck, yet again, with what an exceptional group of individuals I had the good fortune to attend school and grow with, what wonderful stories, tragic and triumphal, their lives have been.  I love you all.  Live long and prosper.

And just as we have cranked up publication of the Post again, we announce yet another brief shut-down.  We are headed off to Spain for a few days, and the dollar being what it is, it’s just too damn expensive to publish from the continent.  We will keep a journal, however, and publish when we return in November.  Spanish boots of Spanish leather, anyone?