On entering the office one recent deadline morning, I was told that the electricity had gone out and would be out for the next six hours.
Since I had one more story to write, not of much moment, but nevertheless a story that needed to be done to fill out the page, I thought, for the first time in a very long time, of manual typewriters and how they would — for me at any rate, because I don’t have a laptop — save the day.
It really was a steam laundry. Of course you already knew that if you were a Laundry restaurant patron during its 25-year run on Race Lane dating from 1980. The large industrial washing machine on the patio was a good clue.
A good friend called during work hours early this week and said he had something important to discuss. Immediately, I thought that he was calling to say he was engaged now that New York is about to allow same-sex marriages.
As it turned out, he was calling about an idea he had for something entirely unrelated and of a less thrilling nature. I love a good wedding, and my friend, if and when he decides to marry his long-term partner, would probably throw one hell of a party.
After the divorce, I had to rent my house each summer in order to keep up with expenses and somehow get myself through college
Trouble on the beach of one sort or another is inevitable once the days get hot and the water reaches a swimmable temperature.
Not even the Kona, that magical coffee bean, could rouse the sleeper, and by the time he did wake up, the external shell of me was ready for bed.
Somewhere in the archives here at The Star are stories about how the Atlantic sturgeon was caught here and made into caviar.
Back to school catalogs have begun to arrive, and summer, the season that when you’re young you think will never end, has barely begun..
“They’re more scared of you than you are of them” was simply not true when it came to me versus stinging, swarming, flying creatures. As a Woody Allen-esque city kid dragged to the Hamptons on weekends or for vacations, those insects — bees, wasps, hornets — were lumped into one scary interchangeable species.
If I heard the dreaded, low-pitched buzzing noise, I would proceed into a series of swatting, hopping motions that came to be known by friends and family as Bridget’s “Izzitonmee” dance.
Hold on to your hats! Extra, extra, hear all about it! The U.S. Open is coming back to Shinnecock in 2018.
I greeted the news (remember, you read it here last) with utter dread, and wondered if I would be retired and/or dead by then.
Before I left Long Island with an educational delegation to the U.S.-Mexico border in Arizona in May, I thought I knew everything about the problems that immigrants face in the United States. But I could not have been more wrong.
We’ve heard so much about the border — the fence, the violence, drugs — but we’ve managed to forget the real story.
Family life in the digital age has added a dimension of complexity to battles over how much television and other distractions parents allow their children. In our household, we do without regular TV in favor of using online alternatives to give us a measure of control over what the kids watch and to avoid the intrusive commercials.
Summer again. Salt on my tongue, sand in my suit, sun on my shoulders. It takes me back to Napeaque, to a new A-frame on a vast expanse of bare shore, dunes covered with storm fencing. A pristine playground for a lucky few in the early ’60s.
Tuesday started off well enough, I suppose, until I was reaching into the refrigerator at my mother’s house behind the Star office and the lights went out.
I walked down to the office, concerned about a blackout. It was just after 9 a.m. on the most hectic Tuesday of the year so far, and we were out of business.
Out in these parts almost everyone has a fish tale. I have just one, but it’s a whopper. And to this day I hold the record for catching the biggest flounder ever on the Lazy Bones fishing boat in Montauk. It’s a feat I’m not quite sure I’m proud of.
When the Emirates plane landed at J.F.K. on Saturday after a 23-hour trip (with 18 of them in flight), my daughter and I were filled with both joy and relief. Her second child and my seventh grandchild was now a citizen with the promise of a good life. Besides, we had fallen in love with him.
Hold on to your hats! Extra, extra, hear all about it! The U.S. Open is coming back to Shinnecock in 2018.
I greeted the news (remember, you read it here last) with utter dread, and wondered if I would be retired and/or dead by then.
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Driving home from the office on Tuesday evening, I was surprise to notice that I was in what amounted to a traffic jam...
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A beautiful afternoon in New York is a holiday for me regardless of why I’m there. It brings back the years when I was single and living and...