In front of me, neatly packed away last night, are my altar cloth, candles, drums, sweetgrass, abalone and turtle shells, feathers and wings, tingshaws, Tibetan bowl, medicine bag, and wedding shirt. Under the waterfall of the tailgate, I cannot envision a solstice ritual without candlelight, smoke tendrils, and dancing with sound-waves. No way! Ah, but if by the magic of ‘there are no accidents’, against the front seats rests my large blue Swiss exercise ball. It is obvious there are only two things impervious to water here, me and the ball, so we go to the beach for sunrise; hoping to return for our ritual’s props when the weather lets up. After all, solstice isn’t till 9:24.