On Sunday at dinner time, the evening before All Hallows Eve, my son, who just turned 13, decided he wanted to wear a costume for the first time since he was small.

This would be a good Hallowe’en to be visited by ghouls and ghosts because the Mohs surgery I’ve had lately has prompted Mary to sing “My Funny Frankenstein” from time to time.

There is, as you may know, homelessness in East Hampton Town.

The Group of 7 has decided to cap the price it will pay for Russian oil. There may be lessons for that challenge in U.S. history, from World War I to the coal wars of 1922.