Opinion

It’s been a year since I began writing “The Shipwreck Rose.” This column is number 52. Only 49 more years — not columns, years! — to go before I match the record set by my grandmother Jeannette, from whom I seem to have inherited my typographical verbosity.

In the run-up to Tuesday’s primary, East Hampton Town Democratic Committee-backed candidates benefited from a sizable campaign finance loophole.

What happens when you compete in a 10K when you’re not ready to compete in a 10K?

Every March fills me with a false hope that spring is right around the corner. The inevitable rebirth of the new season is always painfully incremental. Glacial. The coldest winter I ever spent was a spring in Springs.

Many here on the East End might not have known it at the time, but Tuesday’s late-day rain was a reminder that hurricane season is well upon us.

It is difficult to know what is worse, that because of latent racism, East Hampton did not put out American flags for the very first Juneteenth national holiday or that public officials and veterans groups whose members often are the ones who do the actual work did not know about it.

The father of two young boys who are very good swimmers said at a family gathering the other day that he far preferred youth sports, such as swimming, golf, and tennis, in which incremental self-improvement was the chief goal rather than winning.

Aboard Cerberus, my 1979 Cape Dory, even a minute or two’s inattention could have put me in the path of one of the many very expensive pleasure boats roaring east or west across the bay.

It’s become popular in recent years to complain about the State of Main Street, but many local people have been harping on this subject for 30 and more. We have a solution to offer. Or, if not a solution, a mitigation strategy. Introducing, the Anchor Society of East Hampton Inc., whose mission is to raise money to buy a building that will serve as a general store in the Village of East Hampton.

If Democratic primary voters are still undecided about whom to back for supervisor, consider East Hampton Airport.

A father’s work is never done.

When I was 40 I began the previously forbidden search for my birth father.

Kathy said she was beginning to get depressed by the news. I asked her what she was reading, and she said, “The New York Times, The Guardian U.S.A., The Guardian U.K., The Washington Post, The Daily Beast, the Huffington Post, Politico, Axios, Raw Story, The Los Angeles Times, the Atlanta Constitution, the Miami Herald, the Austin Statesman, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Alaska Daily News, The Boston Globe, The Portland (Me.) Press Herald, Corriere della Sera, Salon, Slate, and Vanity Fair.”

And this all before 6 a.m.

The East Hampton Town Board is picking on kids. It is not intentional, to be sure, but in sticking with the idea of allowing an emergency-lite medical facility to replace a pair of side-by-side baseball diamonds and offering an insufficient replacement near the far western edge of the town, it sure looks that way.

Monday, which was a bit of a surprise. The boat mover let me know the evening before that he had a spot in his schedule to take it from behind the office to Three Mile Harbor. What I expected was that there would be space in the boatyard to put it up on stands for a few days or a week before it could be launched.

My friend Antonia once said that she loved riding around with me in the white Chevy van that The Star used to use for newspaper deliveries. I would borrow the van on weekends in the 1990s, when I lived in the city and didn’t own a car of my own, barreling around to late-night beach skinny-dip sessions or afternoon Bargain Box runs with WLNG blaring. These were the days when the newspaper van had a Star logo, “Shines for All,” in mid-blue on either side panel. “In this van,” Antonia said, “I feel like you get to be both super-local but also respected by the city people.

James Larocca’s record as a member of the Sag Harbor Village Board and his previous career suggest to us that he is the right person to pick up the fight for the future of the “unHampton.”

“My, how you’ve aged . . .”

June is L.G.B.T.Q. Pride Month, presenting an opportunity to celebrate and reflect, causing me to ponder if my awkwardness playing team sports was intensified because I was a gay kid.

Usually I can sleep forever, but not lately. There’s an ache in there, around the gluteus medius, that builds until there’s nothing to be done but get up.

If Democratic voters do not bounce the supervisor from the ballot, we can expect months more tension until the general election in November or even until 2022.

It is hard to know how well the point got across Tuesday evening after work, when I tried to explain — in Spanish — East Hampton Village’s leaf blower law to a nice young man using one to tidy up the driveway behind The Star.

Where have all the parties gone?

Tuesday’s flare-up among members of the East Hampton Town Board was unusual only in its intensity; sadly, we have gotten used to a certain level of steam when the group gets together.

Naomi Osaka first said that she’d be absenting herself from media interviews at the French Open, and then promptly passed on the whole shebang. Wringing of hands ensued.

I read the sign’s words out loud: “Grand Army of the Republic Highway,” adding, “I love that about America. You’re never far from our history, and we’re still fighting the Civil War.”

I was telling Mary that I’d dreamed of a former boss dressed in a Santa suit, and she asked if I’d asked for a raise. Dream on, I said.

A confluence of events on the retail scene has many people in and around East Hampton talking about what exactly is the nature of this community.

Lately I have been leaving the house early to get to the office by 6 to write before the distractions of the day begin.

I may have mentioned this before, but I enjoy walking in the middle of the road.