Forty two summers ago we planned a honeymoon to Little Dick's Bay in the coral blue, balmy waters of the Caribbean. We cancelled two weeks before the wedding when it became obvious that the $11.98 balance in George's check book would not cover travel and lodging. Plan B was enacted. We did a road trip to Bar Harbor, Maine and took a ferry to Nova Scotia. The first realism of our wedded bliss was, when it pours every day for seven straight days, even the raging hormones of two twenty something kids in love succumb to Maine's Rains. I recall looking out the car window back then and seeing a dreary vista of endless green trees and gunmetal gray that reached from sky to sea. It was exactly the same as it looks today. I doubt anyone could return the same compliment to us as we roll up Coastal Route 1, the slowest road in the USA that connects sassy travelers from Miami with Moose in Caribou. Today the western world rejoices with the birth of Britain's royal heir. He immediately contributed continuity to the human experience by making it possible to know the name of the future king of The United Kingdom that will probably rule into the next century (the Windsor's are born with nearly eternal batteries). Two items of mine make it possible to intimately connect to a time before the birthing of my brood during the last quarter moon of the past century. The first is a picture taken of me at a cheap hotel in Bar Harbor on my honeymoon. The later is the contents of my suitcase opened this morning in a somewhat less modest motel. The first had bugs in the shower stall. The present had a free breakfast Buffet. In the fading photo a skinny 20 year old college kid (between junior and senior year) with long dark hair and freckles is wearing a tight pair of salmon colored jeans, a multi-striped tee shirt, flip flops, and a broad brimmed floppy hat. In my parrot decorated canvass bag you'll find a pair of salmon capris, a navy/white striped long sleeve jersey, flip flops, and my 5 o'clock wide brimmed sailing hat. Fortunately, the same loving man is willing to snap a picture. Some say there are two types of people. Those who are always evolving with the times. They tend to be open to change and flexible. The rest are stuck in some moment of their past that defined their sense of self. That pretty much sums up the stereotype of a New Englander. That moment is some time between whenever a dominant ancestor walked off a boat into a new life and the last time the Red Sox won the World Series. As for me, it must be that the times they were changing as I came of age and my life long preference for stripes and preppy clothes reflects that era. Stripes contrast what is and what's not, and prep is a preference for an enduring clean cut, hopefully not snobbish perspective. It is a costume for someone who rides with the changes but keeps some things in life on an even keel. Its nice to celebrate the Prince's birth in a place populated by descendants of people who long ago revolted against the crown who profess deep affection for the Royals. May his grandpa and daddy preserve and protect this baby's future as a gilded age of Pax. Long live the King.