Opinion

Is there something special about a place that can be captured through its symbols and stories? That is the question I set about trying to answer by researching Oxford’s coats of arms.

When a tragedy like that at the Pittsburgh synagogue occurs, we don’t see an increase in hatred, rather we witness the opposite. In the wake of the shooting, the Jewish community has welcomed an outpouring of support.

As I got older and J.F.K. stood frozen in time after the assassination, Eisenhower and I were becoming closer in age, and he looked better and better. Then I saw the Ike pin in the antiques shop. I had to have it.

The Expanded In-Home Services for the Elderly Program now limits my homemaker aide’s trips to shop for my food to supermarkets only. And for no good reason.

At the Brett Kavanaugh hearings there was more at stake for many victims of sexual assault than whether or not a seat on the Supreme Court would be filled.

Why the hell isn't Mick Jagger ever thought of as a great lyricist? Another singer-songwriter makes the case.

So much good can be found online in a flash, yet there is a fundamental virtue being damaged. Patience.

A 1946 photograph triggers a flood of happy memories of summer days at a former East Hampton Village mayor’s camp on Three Mile Harbor.

When women began to vent in print and in public about their not seeing themselves in Roth’s women, I wondered why they thought they should. Then I was asked to respond to the attack.

One night after a day walking the Napeague dunes, I stumbled across a rerun of the first episode of “The Affair,” which opens, lo and behold, at Napeague’s landmark Lobster Roll, where I ate my first lobster roll and met my first lover.

Having never hosted raccoons, I do what any logical man would do — slowly back out of the kitchen, locate my smartphone, and ask Google: “How do I get rid of raccoons?”

Late summer is gazpacho season at our house, which gets me thinking about one hot summer night in 1970 at the Bridgehampton home of Hal and Flo Williams, pioneers of organic gardening on the East End in the 1960s.

After decades of being invisible, all of a sudden I was seen again. The sense of emitting an electromagnetic force beyond my control recalled my first experience with the male gaze.