One blustery weekend I was strolling with my little boy on an Atlantic beach. We were scaling clamshells into the onshore wind and watching them curve back to us. I don't know why this was fun. But on that morning scaling clamshells seemed like the best of all possible things to do. After awhile I looked at my watch. It was lunchtime. We left the beach reluctantly. Only after we sat down to eat did I wonder why had I stopped the game. What is so important about noon? Why must we be hypnotized by the clock? My boy and I went back to the beach after lunch, but the mood was gone. The clamshells and the wind did nothing for us now but blow sand in our eyes.