“You’ve met everyone!” Durell Godfrey exclaimed last Thursday, just after the editorial meeting and moments before the bombshell tossed by TMZ, the celebrity-gossip website, landed in the office: Prince was dead.
If you happen to come across a key chain with a medallion from East Hampton’s sesquarcentennial — that is, 350th — anniversary hanging alongside an ordinary brass door key and a Honda Civic ignition key, give me a call. For some reason, among all the items in my little old Coach shoulder bag when it went missing, the key chain’s loss is the most...
The animal dynamics in the Rattray household got weird this week when our in-laws’ Chihuahua-mix dogs arrived for a several-day stay. Actually, the lives of our varied house pets are weird enough on any given day, but the addition of these two little darlings put things over the top.
Through no real fault of my own, I recently found myself needing to find a new place to live on the South Fork. It only took me about five weeks to find a rental, which might as well have been the equivalent of five minutes in Hamptons housing time. It was pretty terrifying out there, but I made it.
All of a sudden, in synchrony with the weather, the sports scene here has brightened, just when I thought it would be yet another silent spring.
Because I learned to play Monopoly in Atlantic City, and to a lesser degree because I grew up in New Jersey, recent news about the city’s financial crisis and the fight between its mayor and Gov. Chris Christie over what to do about it drew my attention. Bankruptcy looms.
Each morning at the hotel we stayed at in Mexico, a question appears on the daily calendar screen, and, serendipitously, the question the first morning was, “How old is the earth?”
I took down the ancient whale rib from the mantelpiece on Sunday. The housepainter was to arrive the next day, and it, and other cherished objects, most from my family’s past, needed to be put away.
The conversation quickly turned to cats at the East Hampton Library as the winter came to a close.