Guestwords

Tired. So tired . . . I want to lay my head down. So heavy. 

It’s 1947, a hot, late-summer afternoon in Bethesda, Md., where I’m in first grade at Bradley Elementary (named for Omar, the World War II general). I’ve walked my bike home on the path through the woods, past the spot where we kids hunt and eat wild strawberries at recess. Too weak to pedal. I’ve made it home by holding on to the handlebars and lying across the seat. A few steps. A few more. Another.

Every year about this time, I would go through the same litany of worries. That gosh-darned turkey gave me no end of heartburn. But this year is something else entirely.

My father was pretty good-looking, with sharp blue eyes and a wash of curly hair that held high on his head throughout his life. What my father wasn’t was a sharp dresser.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s first big job was filling his cabinet, and this year’s large Democratic field of candidates offers Joe Biden a chance to emulate him.

Every week I hike a Pennsylvania nature trail named for my late friend Jere Knight. It’s my thank-you to her for trusting me to write the first biography of her late husband Eric Knight, the English-American author of the novel “Lassie Come-Home.”

I had received an upgrade to ride the Hampton Jitney’s Ambassador coach, and was looking forward to a snack and some relaxation to the old-school music of my iTunes playlist. No such luck.

The New York governor’s persona intrigues me, and I draw on my love for Italian cinema to explore my fascination with him.

This year I finally planted my victory garden. My coronavirus home farm, inspired by the victory gardens of World War II.

With my hat, sunglasses, and N95 mask, I’m even more invisible than a middle-aged, gray-haired woman usually is in America. Not that I mind all that much.

President Trump’s three main economic initiatives — tax cuts, tariffs, and deregulation — have turned Washington, D.C., and the country upside down. How has this worked out? Here are some outcomes.

A memorable excursion into independence at Loon Lake in the Adirondacks.

On Sept. 20, 1970, the Free Life took off from Springs on a trans-Atlantic attempt, and something about its story has captured our attention ever since.