“Don’t eff it to death.” That was what the late Sandy Bainbridge said to me one day long ago while we were getting a new bookcase into former Treasury Secretary Pete Peterson’s oceanfront house in Southampton.
One can be exceedingly buoyed by the aura of good will that exists here, but, for the most part, in order to revel in it you’ve got to arise at first light, which I have been doing for a number of weeks now.
East Hampton Town officials, having pulled a bait-and-switch on unsuspecting buyers of nonresident beach parking permits at Ditch Plain in Montauk now need to do the right thing and waive at least the first offense of anyone ticketed for using the main lot.
While not traditionally thought of as a flash point between conservationists and conservatives over threatened and endangered plants and animals, the East End has its own deep connections to the 1973 act of Congress that President Trump and his allies now seek to undermine.
I may have been the winner of a spelling bee when I was in second grade, but now that I am above a certain age my spelling prowess is diminishing. It’s hard to stomach the fact that I sometimes have to consult a dictionary these days before committing a word to prose. (I was about to say “to paper,” but thought better of it.)
The Ladies Village Improvement Society fair is Saturday, an annual event that I have enjoyed since I was small and my grandmother took me to the Mulford Farm grounds to play pint-size games of chance and get my face painted. But it was not the fair that had me thinking about the L.V.I.S. early this week; rather, I had no swim trunks in my truck, and I badly wanted to break up the day with a dip in the ocean.