Columnists

I quit Facebook years ago, convinced that, despite the happy patina, it was by and large a medium for meanness, for back-stabbing, name-calling, ganging-up, and worse.

Doing the storms, the worst rot I found was on windows less than 20 years old made of junk wood and not intended to last.

There’s more going on than you’d think at Sunken Meadow come state qualifier time.

In the mid-1970s, Promised Land was like the wilderness of the Bible.

All legislation held hostage? There’s gotta be another way.

I myself don’t believe in specters, but this is a true story.

“What difference does it make, really, when we’re floating around in space in a hostile universe?”

We in the news business have to be sure to walk the information over to where readers are, and not expect all of them to come to us.

Many times over the last 13 years, since my daughter arrived home at the age of 1, I’ve wanted to astonish everyone with my own list of all the tasks and errands I accomplish daily. I can hardly believe, myself, that I wake up by 6:30, and not infrequently by 5:45 a.m., in order to begin the varied and often esoteric chores of momming, from goldfish-feeding to trumpet-renting.

Yesterday, in the throes of a flushed feeling of unease, “a full-body tingling” that seems to occur monthly whose cause has yet to be determined by the cardiologists — that it doesn’t happen every night when the NewsHour’s on can be counted a blessing — I answered “not very well” when asked, casually, how I was feeling.

For many of us, the windstorm that lingered from Tuesday into Wednesday brought to mind 2012 and Superstorm Sandy, which paralyzed the Northeast. Oct. 28 of that year had been still and warm enough that two of the Rattray children had gone swimming at the copper-gold end of the day.

“Us,” the PBS mini-series that ran on “Masterpiece” — every married couple should see it.