This community of ours has brought together incredible people, and just like spokes on the wheel of life, we need each other to keep our world turning.
South. What exactly lay that way? I mean directly south — across the water of the turquoise Mediterranean. North Africa, for sure. But which part?
Remember “I Dream of Jeannie”? Well, probably most of you don’t.
Our School District administrators are in a race of their own, shopping for new personnel to replace staff that retired or moved elsewhere in the last year.
Yes, as weird as it might sound, I travel with my own box fan. It's llght-weight, packable and I sure as hell was not going anywhere without it — certainly not un-air conditioned Europe in August where testing ones survival instincts in hermetically sealed rooms is an endurance sport.
I’m sure you’ve seen him — Joe Markowski — pushing a stroller about town every day of the week, every week of the year, for five years.
Summer People is what we were called when we would come out to Sag Harbor after school let out in the 1960s.
Joe and Esther were able to buy their first home on Jermain Avenue in Sag Harbor from Harold McMahon for the price of $15,000.
“You should have seen the size of the rats that used live down here,” said my husband, Adam, using his hands to indicate the length of a three-footer in what I suspect may have been a slight exaggeration, just like some of the fish he’s caught over the years. Or maybe not, based on my memories of the ye olde New York City back in the long gone days of the 1980s.
My father is an ice cream addict. He is also diabetic. So when his doctor told him a few years ago he had to give up his ice cream, his response was swift.
My daughter turned 16 this past weekend. Among the presents she received for her birthday was a new bike (which I’m not sure I’m going to let her ride around here now that Memorial Day has arrived) and a DNA testing kit.
Mrs. Rita Smith, who at 92 shines like the sun, remembers the prayer she once sent to the heavens. “I said to God, I always want to live in Sag Harbor."
“I wish to declare myself the painter from Maine,” wrote Marsden Hartley in an essay that accompanied his 1937 exhibition at An American Place.
It served its time well, and was much loved while it lasted. But alas, last week, it finally met its demise. “It” was the trampoline that has lived in our backyard for the past several years.
Once upon a time there was a sand box. It was a small box, but it was cute and clean and soft and warm, especially when the sun was out.