While the wind is still fresh on my face and my abdomen is still aching from laughter, I have to take a moment to recollect what was. A rock hop on the beach, with the waves lapping slow on the shore, Marta and Dan on either side of me as we shared a collective experience and collected a shared memory. A reunion of many, introduction of some, as eight willing and eager souls gathered together to embark on an emerging tradition. Many hands make light work. Lazy sods make impressions in the sofa. What is the sound of seven goofballs squished into one Odyssey, with only a concentrated pilot making any sense? Did I mention the vapors? Here a pair, there a trio, solo screeners, group creators in the kitchen, whispered remembrances, revelatory revelations. Two syllables short of a haiku. The beauty of reconstituting leftovers to a culinary excellence not previously thought possible makes old age seem exciting. The abundance of sharing; humor, recipes, loved ones, wishes, dreams, talents, wisdom, money, energy, admiration, compliments, elbows (billandchris), and belly laughs. If this was all there was, it would be enough. But there was so much more.