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You can almost taste the end of summer. I can no longer complain about the ridiculously early back-to-school sales, even though I have yet to buy a single No. 2 pencil or accordion file.

Every time there is a shooting—yet another shooting—I feel so helpless.

I’m not very easy to surprise.

Once upon a time there was a boy who loved to fish. He dreamed about fishing. He talked about fishing. He couldn’t get enough of it—even though he had only caught one fish in three years.

What a vacation it was. We went fishing and explored the area and ate ice cream every day and swam and played.

When we decided to visit Long Island this summer, we did our research. My sister found an ice cream parlor. My husband thought it would be fun to see Sag Harbor. I wanted to go to the Big Duck.

Last weekend we decided—somewhat spontaneously—to head into Manhattan to go to the American Museum of Natural History.