Guestwords

Every week I hike a Pennsylvania nature trail named for my late friend Jere Knight. It’s my thank-you to her for trusting me to write the first biography of her late husband Eric Knight, the English-American author of the novel “Lassie Come-Home.”

I had received an upgrade to ride the Hampton Jitney’s Ambassador coach, and was looking forward to a snack and some relaxation to the old-school music of my iTunes playlist. No such luck.

The New York governor’s persona intrigues me, and I draw on my love for Italian cinema to explore my fascination with him.

This year I finally planted my victory garden. My coronavirus home farm, inspired by the victory gardens of World War II.

With my hat, sunglasses, and N95 mask, I’m even more invisible than a middle-aged, gray-haired woman usually is in America. Not that I mind all that much.

President Trump’s three main economic initiatives — tax cuts, tariffs, and deregulation — have turned Washington, D.C., and the country upside down. How has this worked out? Here are some outcomes.

A memorable excursion into independence at Loon Lake in the Adirondacks.

On Sept. 20, 1970, the Free Life took off from Springs on a trans-Atlantic attempt, and something about its story has captured our attention ever since.

A chance meeting in the summer of 1975 changes the trajectory of a young man’s life.

After months of struggling to do it, I asked my brother to come get my sailboat — not because I do not love the beauty of it and the worlds it promised me, but because at some point I have to face reality and not just my dreams.

When it comes to statues, I would like to advance the idea that the Confederates are in a class by themselves.

A few recent painting experiences have brought me around to a new way of seeing what contemporary art is telling us about the disappearance of the open landscape.

Two veteran journalists overcome all manner of obstacles to put together a program to celebrate the centennial of women’s suffrage, while taking a fresh look at the latest threats of voter suppression.

The coronavirus amplifies many of the inequalities in our society. The wealthy can afford to self-isolate; the vulnerable are more so than ever. This extends to far too many children — the most innocent among us.

My success at underachieving is undoubtedly my extraordinary ability at staying supine on the couch. During these difficult days, what more valuable skill than the ability to put in long-term couch time.

I have a question about the plans for a new park in Wainscott, at the site of the memorable, irreplaceable Club Swamp.

The passing of Carl Reiner reminds us of an era when perhaps 80 percent of leading comics were Jewish. The passing of a style of humor we might call earthy, clever, slapstick, and/or Jewish.

In recent years, while I migrated to South America, a multinational Latin American community has established roots here, and as I drive around town, I find myself becoming reacquainted with a new East Hampton.

It’s a rough job. The entire time driving the pumpout boat the operator is thinking, Once I get done pumping out this boat, I am going to tie this stinkpot up and offer my resignation.

Fifty years ago, on June 28, 1970, my husband, Rick, and I took our vows at the Jewish Center of the Hamptons on Woods Lane. Ours was the first wedding held at the Jewish Center, which 17 Jewish families, including mine, founded in 1959.

In the three months since we started home schooling our children, the global pandemic has made me feel like a 1950s housewife, sequestered at home with her colicky newborn, while also being a failing schoolteacher and homesteader.

What holds a nest (a nation?) together? Strands of material chosen with intelligence and heart. Our species has practiced — for centuries — with the tools to build “a community of care.”

The members of our Sag Harbor Women’s Golf League were happy to be out playing again but at the same time aware that unseen microbes could be emanating from flagpoles, cups, balls, and other people.

George W. Bush and Barack Obama both made use of a White House office to prepare for public health disasters. But when the Covid-19 pandemic hit, the office was no longer functional, and valuable time was unnecessarily lost.

To some, spring means cleaning, courtship, or crocuses. To the baseball addict, though, spring is the end of that dark, languid void of silent suffering between October and April. Not this year.

When the pope suggested that the coronavirus might be the Earth’s response to the man-made climate crisis, was it magical thinking? Or was it a sound, even useful, metaphor.

Popular culture has appropriated the traditional philosophical term “existential,” and the new, fashionable usage clouds philosophers’ contributions.

As Americans, we don’t consider “holidays” a given, but if there is any one idea that unites us, it is our shared experience of summer’s pull. We anticipate summer with the hunger that precedes a much-needed meal.

After a few days of the new regimen, you may begin to start wondering what’s going to kill you first, the coronavirus or being in such close proximity for so long.

The similarities between Covid-19 and climate change are striking. In both cases, it isn’t too late to make it less bad than if we do nothing, and “less bad” is as good as it gets.