Every fall, along about November, when winds begin to buffet my brain and scatter its leaves like gold shimmer, I make a trip off-island after long absence from the mainland and buy something stupid. Last year, it was a $36 spatula;

Is it worth it, leaving the island? No. Emphatically no. If you can’t find what you need on the island, which means if you can’t find it at the grocery store, the drugstore, the hardware store, the consignment furniture store, the consignment clothing boutique, a yard sale or, better yet, at the Exchange, where even rich people poke around in garbage, you don’t need it. Because I promise