Opinion

I’ve roamed 23 South Fork graveyards, from Southampton to Sag Harbor. I dig surprises, and what has more surprises per square foot than a cemetery?

I told O’en on our walk the other night that I thought winter was finally over, but he was too preoccupied with the evening’s effluvia to give the matter much thought.

Unlike us, it seems all the same to him whether the weather is fair or foul. He is just as happy to roll splayed out on the snow as he is upon the leaves or grass. He is the most temperate soul in our menage, an avatar of amity, a friend to all, regardless of race, class, creed, gender, age, or political affiliation. We who tend to compare and contrast would do well to learn from him.

At a moment when the country may finally be emerging from the Covid-19 crisis, New Yorkers cannot risk having the state’s top elected official embroiled in a lengthy investigation.

It has been some years since I pulled the iceboats out of the barn. The last time there was enough ice to sail was an early March, the third, I think. Late in the day, a friend and I took the old batwing boat out as heavy clumps of snow came down. It was as if we were sailing among stars.

There is something humorous about having launched a newspaper column of personal musings during the doldrums of a pandemic: Shall I write about how I procured a can of dolmas (stuffed Greek grape leaves) without going inside the grocery store, or shall I thrill the reader with the antics of the lone-ranger raccoon who frequents my backdoor trash bin?

A February break doing nothing much at all can get you thinking . . .

We have a new president. The virus cases are receding, hospitalizations and deaths, too. What is keeping me from yodeling in the streets? Could it be Post-Traumatic Virus Reprogramming Syndrome?

Five hundred people, from a population of at least 22,000, have been vaccinated locally in East Hampton Town for Covid-19. This is far from enough, and allegations are that other parts of the region are faring better.

A shovel brigade was summoned to East Hampton High last Saturday to clear snow from the track, the turf field, and from the baseball field and tennis courts, too, for the new sports season.

The America we live in today did not begin in 1776; it grew out of Anglo-European colonization in which the exclusion of the land’s indigenous people was from the start routine.

True confession: I am a flower thief. I know it’s wrong. I have no moral compass when it comes to flowers.

It is unfortunate that the East Hampton Town Democratic Committee decided to throw Councilman Jeff Bragman overboard by not nominating him to seek another term for asking too many questions.

Time is running out for East Hampton Village to get things right with a looming summertime fiasco over parking.

Last spring, after the Black Lives Matter protests had begun, the New York Legislature voted to change a portion of civil rights law that had blocked police disciplinary records from public disclosure. The section of the law, known as 50-a, had made the records confidential, meaning that even the most serious repeat offenders might be shielded from scrutiny.

In the last week, the shiny halo that many New Yorkers had thought hovered above Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo’s head may have dulled a little as it became clear that he had withheld data about Covid-19 deaths in nursing homes and then refused to answer questions about it. More than 15,000 people have died from Covid-19 in the state’s nursing homes and long-term care facilities. At one point last August, when the Legislature and state attorney general asked for information, Mr. Cuomo decided to keep the toll secret.

What to do with a troubled dog? Or should that be trouble-ing? A family pet who isn’t much of a pet or all that family-friendly?

Though alone since my husband passed away this year, I don’t feel lonely inside this lovely snow globe.

In an ordinary year on the day of my birthday, I told Mary, who brought me coffee and the crossword in bed this morning, she would have already claimed two palapas for us on Las Brisas’s half-moon Pacific beach in Mexico.

News that the Shinnecock Indian Nation had renewed plans for a casino development on its land may have come as a bit of a shock to some this week, but it was a long time in coming. The small community has a minimal tax base, which leaves it chronically lacking the kind of amenities enjoyed by residents of the nearby towns and villages. These include some basics, like roads and other infrastructure and social services. Income from a casino — and the tribe’s two giant illuminated billboards alongside Sunrise Highway — could fill that gap.

Covid-19 test diagnoses have fallen to nearly none in East Hampton Town in the last week. Where two or more positive cases were found in each hamlet or village a day, now the figure might be zero for days at a time. I am closely aware of the figures, preparing the semi-daily reports The Star sends out by email.

My children do not speak like native eastern Long Islanders, or even like citizens of the old New York. Their pronunciation is the same as that of my Amagansett nieces and nephews: that is, generic mass-entertainment pronunciation. I don’t know if the received Netflix pronunciation is a Californian inflection or a Midwest thing, but they will persist in pronouncing orange (which to me is are-inge) as ore-inge; and avenue (aven-nyew to me) as aven-noo; pure (pyure) as pyer, and coupon (kyew-pon) as coop-on.

Memories of “Go for 0, Tampa Bay!” and thoughts on the vagaries of N.F.L. fandom.

My introduction to the art of Prudence Punderson came in 1976 in Connecticut, when I took up embroidery and checked out a book on the subject that contained an example of her work. But an East Hampton connection? That came as a surprise.

The other day, when Brett, one of the pros at East Hampton Indoor Tennis, noted that Jon Diat, The Star’s fishing writer, and I, its sportswriter, were among the few who wore masks when playing there, I said we did so because “we’re tyrannized by our wives.”

In East Hampton, if you had a street named for you before the 20th century, odds were that you were an enslaver.

Peak movie-going, for me, came in the late 1970s and early 1980s, when — a tangle-haired child of that unruly era — I was handed a 10-dollar bill and left to my own devices for entire weekends at a go.

A victory handed to a group of Napeague homeowners associations in the State Courts Appellate Division will almost surely have ripple effects elsewhere in East Hampton Town.

The position that a president or any other government official could avoid conviction simply by resigning is indefensible, both in terms of historical precedent and common sense.

A decent snowfall for a change brings thoughts of yesteryear’s less-than-safe outdoor activities.

A two-mile stretch of road between two ponds in East Hampton has provided Treasury secretaries for F.D.R. and four Republican presidents in the 20th century, and now a secretary of state for Joe Biden.