The official story of Lyme Disease started near the mouth of the Connecticut River and the deer-filled Roger Tory Peterson National Wildlife Refuge in the leafy village of Old Lyme, Connecticut.

October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month, when communities across the country unite in our work to end abuse.

The purpose of this commentary is to clarify and provide factual information regarding the proposed new Amesbury Elementary School.

Maybe, this is an old folk problem. I don’t recall losing track of time when I was younger and working steadily. But in my later years, it’s difficult to keep track. 

Waking up on Plum Island is a time in which quiet is a noun, not an adjective. The quiet has mass and density. It is invisible fog that’s everywhere. It’s all there is -- not a lack of sound, but a presence that sits on my ear drums and fills my brain with a subtle, singular pressure and sce…

“Slow Learner” was the title of a novel by Thomas Pynchon, with a hefty dose of irony. I never thought I’d apply it to a self-anointed newspaper of record, The New York Times.

Two men were discussing the best actor who never received an Oscar. One said Clark Gable, but the other said, “No, it was our local mortician crying with the mourners at a $12,000 funeral.”

My father was a lifelong and long-suffering Red Sox fan, born too late for Babe Ruth and gone too soon for Big Papi.

Two “50s” occurred recently, half-century anniversaries of events that seem equally to have captivated the public mind.

One was a pioneering female journalist with a deep understanding of the totems and taboos of Washington. Another was a pioneering television broadcaster with a sharp eye for history. The third was a pioneering business reporter with an obsession with detail. All were enriched by a figure the…

As a boy growing up on Cape Cod, I was obsessed with three kinds of arthropods: horseshoe crabs, pill bugs and yes, ticks.

I’ve been called many things in my life, some with a germ of truth and some with a full-blown head cold. But my favorite occurred in 2003, when the late New York Post editor and MSNBC editor-in-chief, Jerry Nachman, welcomed me on his show as “the so-called father of reality TV.”

The Democrats are doing it to themselves, again.

I’ve come full circle here as the recipient of hand-me-down clothing.

Have you ever refused an apology?

Currently, one of the biggest topics of conversation in Newburyport is the Waterfront West project on the river.

Roses are still blooming. The deep blue hydrangeas have faded, letting their white, pink and mauve cousins outshine them now. The purple phlox is standing tall and scenting the front porch with its gorgeous fragrance.

Domestic violence is not a crime “of passion.” It is a crime, full stop.

Our country is experiencing an identity crisis, fueled by a generation more concerned with preserving diversity than promoting the assimilation that once made America unique. Youthful exchanges of ethnic insults that once helped toughen us for the road ahead are now out of fashion. We have f…

On July 12, 2019, Hurricane Barry was bearing down on Louisiana at the same time Massachusetts state Sen. Bruce Tarr was convening a mid-summer meeting of the Northeast Coastal Coalition in Essex.

On the Monday after Yankee Homecoming — and after the shootings in Dayton and El Paso — you could have suffered whiplash reading newspaper headlines at Market Basket’s checkout counters:

The time just flies by. Suddenly, summer is over. I think most would agree with me that it was a good summer.

1969. A half-century removed from today. It was blurry then, and it’s blurrier now.

Some days lately, it feels as if we’re living in an inverted reality, where core assumptions we once relied upon to move forward are under challenge.

The girl lifted her shirt to expose her back. There were dark bruises. In some places, the skin was cut.

The other day I went down a particularly pernicious rabbit hole online. A frequent commenter in a local Facebook community piqued my ire and my curiosity.

I had high hopes for Wikipedia. Having grown up with the Encyclopedia Britannica, I knew that its articles combined a fulsome array of factoids — at least, those accepted in the historical moment in which its entries were written — with a literary flair that gave the reader a three-dimension…

“Say, you look just like … .”

Maybe, he’s drunk on the grapes of math.

I don’t know why this has to happen but every once in awhile, there is a big kick in the butt. It seems as we grow older, it occurs a little more often. No one escapes it as it seems to be a part of life.