The sun danced, the wind caressed. The Monterey Bay hotel doors were wide open. Oh, the relaxation. Oh, the pssssssttttttt.

Beware of nature's bounty polluted by a scented air-freshener. In the land of no-smoking, where salt air cleanses the lungs, smell-merchants still get the final say over what's in the air.

Christmas trees are coming. The spray-painted, the forest-moldy, the chemically preserved.  And the scented magazine ads and come-hither direct mailers are multiplying.

At least I can move ahead -- the doc said I could take my braced, bum knee out to the driving range and roll back the clock to pre-dislocation.