A few years ago, an engineer who works with older New York City buildings started to email me with good questions, mostly about steam heating. 

Comfort is a funny thing. When we have it, we’re usually not aware of it. It’s just there

It’s a good price and they’ll assemble it for us,” The Lovely Marianne looked up from her iPad and nodded. “This is a good deal. 

When I knocked on the doctor’s front door, a dog on the other side went nuts. And this being my one and only visit to the doctor’s house, I took a healthy step back.

When our daughters were small, we would wake them before dawn on Thanksgiving morning and drive into Manhattan to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade from a spot on Central Park West, just across the street from The Dakota (the apartment building where John Lennon lived and died).

A guy I don’t know emailed me a question. I get a lot of that because I’m easy to find on the internet.

Twenty-five years ago, I wrote a story for this fine magazine. I titled it, “Only Gus Touch.” Over the years, many people have told me they still remember that tale and ask if I can send them a copy. Sure, why not?

No more double windows!” That was the title of an article I read in the Chicago Evening Post. The year was 1911 and the page was yellowed with age.

Here on the Isle of Long, if you throw a stick you’ll probably hit a Target store. I don’t have a problem with that because I really like Target stores.

Mr. Alfred G. King, it’s so good to hear your voice, even though you’ve been dead for quite some time.