Opinion

May 17: Maybe that can be another “new normal.” It’d be good to get Tax Day a bit away from a risen Christ and the Easter Bunny.

This week, East Hampton Village and the Village of Sag Harbor both implemented a pay-for-parking system that required users to download a smartphone app. This seems a lot to ask of both residents and visitors alike.

One summer evening in 1943 I ran to Dad with a big request: It was time for a Daisy air rifle.

The high school prom: fun or fraught?

School district elections are Tuesday, and we encourage residents to take part. While there is a dearth of contested school board races, important ballot measures are proposed in Springs, Sagaponack, Sag Harbor, Montauk, and Amagansett.

Memories of heavenly dates at Jahn’s Ice Cream Parlor in Queens trigger thoughts of the recent loss of Scoop du Jour here in East Hampton.

Have you seen the commercial for Extra sugar-free gum, set “sometime in the not too distant future,” in which — as Celine Dion sings “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” — citizens freed from lockdown rush giddily into the streets, pop a spearmint slice into their mouth, and leap into the arms of strangers to make out?

Even in a slow year, there were 12,500 flights in or out of the airport — an astonishing number in itself that should tell you that our kind-of quiet skies are about to get a whole lot louder as Covid-19 restrictions ease.

While it would be nice to write off all state income and property taxes, as we used to, I’m willing to stand the gaff if it means that President Biden’s broad spending plan will pass. The New York legislators who have said they won’t vote for the bill if our state income and property tax write-offs remain capped at $10,000, should abandon that stand in favor of the greater good.

I had a feeling that Tuesday morning was going to be weird. When Weasel, the Lab mix, rousted me around 4:30 to go outside, the peeper frogs in the swamp were especially worked up and a whippoorwill sang from a tree in the driveway so close that I could hear a clicking he made between choruses. Click. Whip-poor-will. Click. I went back upstairs and put my head down on a pillow.

Time spent on the beach with a father, and the details a daughter remembers.

My son, bless his cotton socks, is of a scientific mind.