Early December would usually be when we got the iceboats ready. A letter writer this week recalled a time, not really all that long ago, when Mecox Bay froze solid enough to race on. Not anymore.

One of the most stirring moments of my youth was the April evening in 1985 when, as part of a marching mass of college-student protesters, I danced up Amsterdam Avenue to the joyful rhythm of the song “Free Nelson Mandela” by the Specials.

“I don’t want to let him go,” our eldest daughter said of her elder son, who in the not-too-distant future is to go to college, a normal progression you’ll agree, but she can’t bear the thought of him leaving.

With its wide legs, its shapeless backside, its expanding waistline, the sweatpant is the official garment of the borderless, post-pandemic world.

Marijane Meaker
Springs
December 4, 2022

Dear David,

I wish to add to the fine obituary of Marijane Meaker in the Nov. 24 Star. I was one of the original members of the Ashawagh Hall Writers Workshop that Marijane organized and led, from September 1983 through May 2014. In addition to her many accomplishments as a writer, she was an excellent teacher, skillfully leading the workshop. We met every Thursday evening for two hours upstairs in Ashawagh Hall through the academic year.

Industry watchers, look here for the latest moves in South Fork real estate.

Happenstances comical and contentious, ripped from the pages of Ye Olde Star.