Columnists

My mother, Helen Selden Rattray, has the longevity genes of the Greenland shark. She will be turning 90 years old on Sunday.

Rediscovering the pleasures of AM radio.

There is a certain kind of camaraderie that occurs at the counter of the beer store that I believe happens nowhere else.

I learned from a cheap book I read once on dream decoding, back when we read books, that if you dream of swimming or of the sea that what you are really dreaming about is your subconscious.

Someone who grew up in Bridgehampton (this columnist, for one) might think all there was to Leonard Riggio was Minden, his vast and venerable Ocean Road estate. But his passing calls up more.

As the recreational boating season hurries to a close here in the Northeast, my ideas of a summer spent at least part of the time afloat on Cerberus slip away.

One of the indignities of getting older is having hair that will no longer express your personality in a way that adequately represents who you think you are, deep down. Our hair betrays us with age.

When a county investigator instantly “gets,” and appreciates, a just-deceased family member.

We get a lot of questions from readers here. It is, after all, a local newspaper.

Good times on the jumbotron as the New York Metropolitans get the ballpark rocking on $5 Tuesday.

If she becomes president, Kamala Harris could be the last of the baby boom generation to occupy the Oval Office.

My ballet teacher was Gordon Peavy, who had his studio in the Odd Fellows Hall on Newtown Lane, above what is now the Chanel store.

Happy happy joy joy! It’s hard to shake the Games of Paris.

From where I sit with a view of Main Street, two things about this summer strike me: the numerous westbound traffic backups and the people peering in The Star’s front windows.

The addicting thing about Disney World is that it is as complex and elaborate an alternate reality as a video-game artificial universe like World of Warcraft or Legend of Zelda.

When insects attack.

And it was not even particularly good coffee.

Notes from the East Hampton Library’s Authors Night.

A Joe Jonas sighting conjures Disney’s immortal “Camp Rock 2: The Final Jam” — and a sleepaway camp reverie.

As this wild blackberry season looks to be a good one, please note that making jam is not as intimidating as it sounds.

The older I get, the more I appreciate the power of beauty. The faces of the old Hollywood stars.

Never mind the bluster. That’s entertainment.

I cannot remember the last time the full set of window screens went up at the Star office. There simply are too few flying insects around anymore to bother.

I’m a single mom with two teenagers. Let’s discuss.

Just when you needed an emphatic voice on the side of sanity, here comes Billy Bragg.

Waiting on a new diesel engine for Cerberus, my sailboat. And then waiting some more.

The “Noyack” spelling has strength, certainty. It amounts to a tribute, and it looks good.

The marsh has been underwater more often this year than the last. I suspect that sea level rise has a lot to do with it.

The water table is very close to the surface here in much of the village and, as the climate changes and the rains increase, it’s only rising.

A dip at Noyac's Long Beach gives rise to thoughts of where a guy's been, and what's been happening on the South Fork over the last two decades.