We got a new long-term parking service at JFK — our old one went out of business — and hired a robot to give us directions for a 10 p.m. flight. In her stern, almost-pleasant voice, she gave us sensible directions until she slipped her moorings and went to Route #2, called “All the Way ’Round the Mulberry Bush.” READ
This is the sixth spring I’ve looked out my office window at a small open-sided metal box under the eaves with a stiff wire protruding from it. Picture a little gray model of a theater’s stage and you’re close. READ
It’s time for the annual report on how English — the language of Shakespeare, Emerson, Joyce and professor Irwin Corey — fared in 2017.
With Independence Day this week, we are back in the business of bemoaning that Americans are woefully weak when it comes to having any real knowledge of the history of their country.
Well, not actually bemoaning. Maybe a bit concerned? Amused? Anyway, as a great sage — the name escapes us — once said, “Those who forget history are … are …” You know, something bad will happen.
We think. READ
We are living in truly dark times.
Our institutions and traditions, handed down in America through the generations, are now under assault and seem unsteady, not able to withstand the shock of a new authority sweeping away what once we held as inviolable. READ
Although we all are North Fork nationalists, we are part of a larger world. Really. This time of year, with the Glorious Fourth upon us, is a time to remember that e pluribus unum. READ
(Credit: Jo Ann Kirkland)
One morning last week, Glenn Addario left his home in Coram and got to work about 7:45 a.m. His first task of the morning was digging a grave.
At Long Island National Cemetery in Farmingdale, Glenn checked in at maintenance headquarters and picked up a “dig slip” that told him where he’d start his day. The paper had coordinates he’d follow to locate the gravesite within the 365 acres, where more than 346,000 veterans and their close relatives are buried. (more…)
He sat in the middle of the bus, at a window, looking out.
Middle-aged, dressed in a suit, white shirt and tie, he was always there whenever I boarded the dawn bus in Greenport that took us to Ronkonkoma, where we changed for the Manhattan train. (more…)