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.

At first, Eugene Bourdon was annoyed when he saw what his worker had done to the metal tube. The tube was in the shape of a spiral and it was to go into a laundry machine they were building in Bourdon’s shop.

In 1989 when we started our business, The Lovely Marianne asked me what I was going to do to make money for her and our four daughters. I told her I was going to write books, but it would take some time to do that.

I’m 69 years old and my hair is as brown as it was when I was a teenager. A bit of it, mostly around my ears and the back of my neck, sneaks in as gray, but some Russian barber just buzzes those stray hairs away and I’m back to being a young fella again. I like the Russian barbers.

We live on The Isle of Long, which means that if you throw a rock you’ll hit a large, chrome-plated diner. These palaces of gastronomy have just about anything you could want for any meal of the day and the food arrives on the table seconds after you decide what you want, and often even before.