Columnists

Believe it or not, there was a time not all that long ago when the surfing scene looked very different around here.

Thoughts on the Fourth after missing out on the Fourth.

Every moment’s a poem.

Each year, a new source of vehicular irritation gets my attention — this year it’s the black Audi.

The supernatural Saharan skyfall of 1994 was on my mind last month when we were visited by the first heavy haze from the Canadian wildfires.

Words of unity at a graduation ceremony on Pierson Hill.

Giving it all at a Little League game.

Lessons learned in early employment.

On John Romita, the smooth illustrator who remade Spider-Man and the entire look of Marvel Comics.

I was called an “idiot” the other day by a doubles opponent, and I couldn’t entirely disagree.

It had been missing for nearly a year, so when I found my wallet at the bottom of a bag of life jackets earlier this week I felt like a dope.

When a certain body type is irresistible to parasites.

I am unworthy . . .

Nostalgia is a funny thing when it is wrapped up in an object, in my case a favorite cooking utensil.

In Sag Harbor and in the unenviable position of envying East Hampton its diner and pizza parlor.

From good news (the Fox settlement) to bad (a departed tennis partner).

Taking Cerberus out for its first sail of 2023.

Family war stories.

The more oblivion looms, the more you want to pay attention, the more you want to listen and learn, the more you want to do things as well as you can.

Considering how many osprey one can see around here these days, it is hard to imagine that not all that long ago they were thought to be in danger of extinction.

The ravaging rays, the dermatologist’s knife.

I’d like to recommend to you Rich Mothes’s show of paintings at Clinton Academy. I knew him back when he was coaching East Hampton High School’s boys tennis team.

Previous calls for summer-season civility did not go so well.

I am devoted to my Crown range. It was my grandmother’s, an inheritance.

The pleasure and pain of the all-nighter.

Maybe if I were less attentive to bed-making, my other attempts at tidying up might rise in estimation.

The spring rush can also be seen in the letters to the editor of this paper.

What we need around here is a hedgerow movement.

Dispatches from the SUNYAC outdoor track championships in Oneonta.

A requiem for newsrooms? Not so fast.