I took a trip back in time last weekend. In truth, it was only a couple hours by air, but it covered far more distance than the literal 650 miles that lay between Long Island and my alma mater.
I was not binge watching bad TV. I was taking part in a reinstated Southampton Town program that connects civilians to the inner sanctum of police work.
When the sun set on another successful HarborFest, my thoughts shifted to a mate of ours who is largely responsible for the whaleboat racing we enjoy today.
What’s that you say? You don’t remember Hurricane Cristobal in August 2014? Of course not. That's because it was never more than a category 1 storm and didn’t even come close to making landfall in the U.S. But in the last week of August 2014, I wasn’t in the U.S., I was in Iceland
Surprise, disappointment and even shock followed the news last week that East Hampton was cancelling its varsity and junior varsity football seasons.
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.