Opinion

Yes, Virginia, even 82-year-olds can freak out.

Laid up with a stomach bug for the past several days, I have had a lot of time to watch what is going on outside.

A simple question for the sellers on those social media marketplaces hereabouts . . .

Purchasing goods and services close to home has some surprising benefits.

Pot? Hey, kids, maybe not before your brain has fully developed.

On Martha’s Vineyard, the way the towns deal with short-term rental properties could provide a valuable example.

With its wide legs, its shapeless backside, its expanding waistline, the sweatpant is the official garment of the borderless, post-pandemic world.

One of the most stirring moments of my youth was the April evening in 1985 when, as part of a marching mass of college-student protesters, I danced up Amsterdam Avenue to the joyful rhythm of the song “Free Nelson Mandela” by the Specials.

The expected forceful objections should not dissuade the town board from addressing a prickly issue and taking drastic steps to curtail parties in public places.

“I don’t want to let him go,” our eldest daughter said of her elder son, who in the not-too-distant future is to go to college, a normal progression you’ll agree, but she can’t bear the thought of him leaving.

Early December would usually be when we got the iceboats ready. A letter writer this week recalled a time, not really all that long ago, when Mecox Bay froze solid enough to race on. Not anymore.

We were excited to learn that adult education might return in the East Hampton School District — potentially offering choices among languages, the arts, and life and practical skills.

A daughter’s streaming of Netflix’s “Wednesday” calls to mind the 1960s reruns of a columnist’s youth.

If you might excuse the cliché, Nathaniel Dominy IV is probably turning in his grave over what has gone on lately with his windmills. 

Pictures of Pelé flashing on TV as FIFA World Cup fever spreads from Qatar to Queens bring back memories of a writer’s sort-of date with him.

Like many men, Ron, a pack-a-day smoker, had gone years without visiting a doctor.

Subconsciously, as has long been the case with Christmas, I may want Thanksgiving to just go away.

Georgians appeared determined to have their say on the runoff between Senator Raphael Warnock and his Republican challenger, Herschel Walker, despite intentional roadblocks to their participation.

Evidently, there is “a more brotherly mood” abroad in the nation than I had thought.

I have a visual memory of the recipe for oysters Rattray in my mother’s handwriting on a piece of paper tucked into a cookbook.

Help with paying for heating by way of HEAP can make lives easier in winter for the poorest residents.

A failed home repair has a columnist fondly recalling life without running water.

Once again, people are asking us what the heck is wrong with Town Pond.

Was it a quirk of history or the hand of God that brought Squanto and William Bradford together?

And now you will be treated, reader, to the boring column in which I describe the circumstances in which I finally caught Covid-19.

A lawsuit on behalf of the family of two women killed in a Noyac house fire in August points correctly to the complicity of local governments in a massive, often unsafe, and effectively unregulated housing economy.

People, it seems, have been voting against their best interests for years, since Reagan proselytized on behalf of trickle-down economics, which turned out not to raise all boats, just yachts.

Cerberus came out of the water last week, formally ending my sailing season.

One giant preservation puzzle remains to be solved: What to do about Plum Island.

It was one all-stater and a strong finish for the Pierson girls cross-country team at the New York State championship meet in Vernon.