Opinion

I don’t mean to idealize our boy dog, but here is love . . .

It’s funny, but when you’re looking for something, something else, something that you had given up looking for years ago, turns up.

Black History Month has been busy here in recent years, since The Star and the East Hampton Library began looking into the history of slavery in earnest in the summer of 2017.

Facebook is more interesting in Nova Scotia.

What could be the largest ever land development project in East Hampton Town is under consideration for a site off Montauk Highway in Wainscott.

On the roads the layer of snowpack and slush was an improvement, quieting the traffic, for once slowing the heedless drivers, adding adventure to the school drop-off routine. 

Do you know how many rejections we have received of this potential classic of world literature? It could be something like Fyodor Tolstoy’s “Crime and Peace” or Joseph Conrad’s “Fart of Harkness.”

East Hampton Town should never have gotten itself into the public storm it now faces over a plan to install artificial turf playing fields on a site off Stephen Hand’s Path.

Rather than kind acts, it’s the failures to act kindly that I tend to remember.

Road rage: Nine out of 10 people say they don’t have it. Actually, I have no idea if that’s true; I just made up the statistic to get your attention. But the subject has been on my mind a lot lately.

My career on the stage was short and inglorious.

The new curve-topped trash bins adorning the East Hampton Village business district are frankly ugly.

A sobering new study of the East Hampton shoreline has shown significant degradation.

A happy memory of a trip to a micro brewery, and an unhappy realization that now all bottled beer tastes stale.

On a winter drive with my husband one Sunday afternoon, we started to list all the people we’ve known from the neighborhood who are no longer here — their absence struck a powerful note.

A couple of weeks ago things were so garbled on the sports page that Mary thought some readers might think I was senile. “Don’t worry,” someone in the front office said. “People have been saying that for years.”

We are extremely pleased that the momentum for a new Dominy museum has returned.

We are in a housing crisis on the South Fork. No one seems to have found the right solution.

Why I gave my 9-year-old son a BB gun for Christmas merits a bit of explanation.

With the airport private, the town in theory could just say no to certain kinds of aircraft and commercial flights or limit the number and timing of takeoffs and landings.

A proposal to double the number of affordable residences that could be built per acre in certain zones could go a long way toward easing the housing crisis in East Hampton.

A father and a daughter, playoff football on the TV at a snow-swept B&B, and the glories of western New York.

The surprising connection between home design and phobias.

Having fallen kersplat on a particularly unforgiving sidewalk near Starbucks the other day, I knew it was time to trade in my sneakers.

No rink can compare to the joy of gliding on wide-open surfaces with the wind at our backs.

Birds’ cries are full of mystery.

Times have indeed changed regarding East Hampton Airport, but so far, not all elected town officials appear to have taken notice.

Those 18-wheeler trucks carrying boulders in an eastward direction can be seen as a symbol of things to come.

A tough row to hoe for the college bound.

Brent Newsom, in memoriam.