Columnists

A chance conversation last week while I was waiting for my food pickup at La Fondita got me thinking about the way those of us who work for a living on the South Fork talk about summer.

It’s getting hard to keep a grasp on what is and isn’t the right thing to do or to permit, with this teenage girl of mine.

So where, exactly, is the popular will most manifestly expressed?

Close to the day in which we are to celebrate the document that almost 250 years ago asserted our unity in opposition to tyranny, we find ourselves confronting it again.

Cerberus was later getting into the water than I had expected this year.

This column debuted exactly two years ago this week. I’m trying to think of what has changed in those two years.

At last, lyrics you could sink your teeth into.

Things are comfortable here, so much so that one wants to stay put.

A goodbye to Little League and its ball field.

Being by the ocean is not, to me, a frivolous pursuit.

Convenience mart food, and food for thought, at a pit stop in the land of plenty.

I’m intrigued by the fact that I’ve been diagnosed with paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia.

It’s important to talk about how social media distorts the digital world we see — and don’t see.

I’m not going to go gentle into that good night.

What’s all this fuss about lawn care?

Countries like Britain, Scotland, Australia, New Zealand, and Canada, all chagrined by mass shootings at one time or another, have all effectively enacted gun safety laws.

When people complain about tape, most times, it seems to me, they are talking about red. But in my case, my beef is with blue, literally.

I have actually considered if I would or wouldn’t bow, if and when I were to meet Queen Elizabeth.

When your kids start going to the movies without you.

Covid worries and pollen aside, I can think of nowhere else I’d rather be at this time of year.

Living where I do down in the dunes past Amagansett, ticks are just part of the scenery.

Is it weird that I think of mortality — transience and permanence — whenever I drive my car on the New Jersey Turnpike?

It can be hard to muster much enthusiasm for N.B.A. players today, when you were weaned on the likes of Larry Bird, Robert Parish, and Kevin McHale.

Did those who died in this country’s wars, who defended an egalitarian, optimistic, forward-looking society, die so that its lawmaking bodies would simply sit on their hands doing nothing, stymied when confronted with issues demanding action?

There is a little-known grave­site in East Hampton where the remains of Nathaniel R. Arch, a genuine United States war hero, lie.

A plea for no phones at the wheel, before artificial intelligence takes over the roads.

Ukraine, though its people’s suffering has been appalling, has decidedly not been an easy toss out. We’re rooting for it.

Spring is a time for paying attention, for noticing things.

The traditional Irish tune “Whiskey in the Jar” is told from the perspective of a highwayman, a bold deceiver and drunken carouser who meets with an English officer, Captain Farrell, on the Cork and Kerry Mountains.

Profundity and solace from an unlikely source.