To O’en, when he’s on the move, everything is new — the quotidian becomes all-absorbing. I envy him that.
To O’en, when he’s on the move, everything is new — the quotidian becomes all-absorbing. I envy him that.
Deer do not read The Star. As best as I can tell, neither do the rabbits that ate my parsley last summer.
A summertime afternoon with the Hamptons Collegiate Baseball League.
Vietnam was my war, even though I never served there. It framed my youth and I longed to see the country. I finally got there at age 69, in early 2020, just before Covid hit.
Getting away from the week’s distractions would not be as easy as I had expected.
Whenever Mark Shields would ask Judy Woodruff during his Friday evening discussions with David Brooks if he could say just one thing, Mary and I would come to the edge of our seats, she on the small couch, I on the recliner, knowing he was about to speak from the heart to our better angels.
A chance conversation last week while I was waiting for my food pickup at La Fondita got me thinking about the way those of us who work for a living on the South Fork talk about summer.
Lawrence Block’s hard-boiled romance of the down-and-out.
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