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Extended family has that wonderful yet terrible ring to it. When we gather with family we may not have seen in years, we get the chance to reminisce, to share details about our lives, and to face the horror of seeing someone who insists on reminding us of something we said or did that we’ve spent years working to forget.

Recently, we gathered with a large group of family and got to watch our children, who are now in middle and high schools, face the same treatment I recall all too well from my youth.

“He’s so grown up and handsome,” is one of the more innocuous statements about my son.

“He has your dimples,” another offered, which would be flattering except that I don’t have dimples. That lady insisted, however, that the laugh lines on the sides of my face were like dimples, to which my son and I blinked our long eyelashes, which he did get from me, and moved on.

“The last time I saw you,” one friend started, “you must have been no more than this high,” she suggested, holding her hand around mid-knee level. “Do you remember?”

No, how could he remember? When you’re that small, you barely remember your own name.

Back when I was a kid, older relatives used to approach my cheeks as if they were fruit they had to squeeze to make themselves prune juice. Between thumb and index finger, they’d grip tightly while spitting into my face something about how cute I’d become. I’d focus on not letting the tears spill down my sore cheeks as these distant relatives couldn’t keep their distance.

Other people’s kids grow up incredibly quickly because we don’t have to take care of them when they get sick at night, drive them to sports or music practices, or push them to do their homework. We don’t have to battle with them when they decide that everything anyone who is more than 20 years old says is absolute nonsense and that they don’t want to live by anyone else’s rules.

We can look at other people’s children as if they are a part of some longitudinal study or as if we are flipping through the pages of a picture book that spans several years.

When I see some of these children who drift in and out of my life every few years, I’m tempted to tell them stories that wouldn’t interest them, about how incredibly shy they were 10 years earlier, or how their laugh used to be like a bubble machine, filling the room with happy suds. For the giggling girl who became the taciturn teenager, those stories are as welcome as persistent questions about the boys in her grade or events that occurred during the day in school.

I can’t stop myself from commenting on how much taller the kids are getting, in large part because many of these teenagers, who I used to get on one knee to see eye to eye, are now towering over me. I even made one of them smile when I asked if he wouldn’t mind bending down to hug me.

At this recent gathering, I asked my son to go around the table and name as many of the relatives as he could. The relatives were aghast at my putting him on the spot but, thoroughly enjoying the day, he recognized the request was a playful prank.

No matter what I say to other people’s kids, I make sure I don’t pinch anyone’s cheeks. Even all these years later, I can still see those feral fingers and thumbs coming at me like talons.

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Firefighters place caps over hearts in memory of those lost during the Setauket Fire District's 9/11 Memorial Commemoration Sept. 11th. Photo by Greg Catalano,

On the 15th anniversary of the terror attacks on Sept. 11, we reminisce about how on that day, and for so many days that followed, we felt united as a country. A persistent theme when discussing the events is that the aftermath of the attacks brought us closer together as a nation. Our editorial staff would argue that 15 years removed means we still reside in the aftermath, and the legacy of 9/11 is still being written.

If we continue to splinter along party and racial lines, ties that bound us together in a time of horrible tragedy will simply be forgotten.

There was evidence that immediately following the events, we grew closer as a nation. Stories proliferated about long lines of blood donors, American flags flew everywhere — on front porches and cars — people took the time to help one another and civility ruled the day. And as we observed memorial events throughout the past weekend, communities still came together in harmony and with pride.

The initial feelings of solidarity as a reaction to the horrific events were real. However, we would hope that 15 years later, this feeling of unity would continue to apply to more issues.

After visiting classrooms and speaking with teachers, some of whom are now educating children who were born after that day in 2001 or are too young to remember it, the theme of unity struck a chord with them as well.

Our editorial staff wonders how America right now must look to those same students. They can turn on the news and witness divisiveness in an unfathomably ugly election season or see an NFL player being both heavily criticized and highly praised for kneeling during the national anthem. Do we still seem united?

While we feel a sense of togetherness on the anniversary of that day, as we recall the tremendous loss of innocents, or remember those who risked their lives to save others and think of those out there fighting to protect this country, there is still an overwhelming sense that we are growing further and further apart.

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Senator Chuck Schumer is taking wireless network companies to task for poor service in areas of Long Island. File photo by Elana Glowatz

Kudos to U.S. Sen. Chuck Schumer (D-NY) for working to improve the quality of life for Long Islanders. He recently submitted a list of more than 200 “dead zones” for cellphones on the Island to both the Federal Communications Commission and to wireless service providers and told them in no uncertain terms to get their act together. Long Island is a heavily populated area, and we deserve better coverage.

Schumer gathered his list of problem spots with the help of folks who know where they are. He established a page on his Senate website specifically for reporting poor service areas and invited residents to provide the information.

Many of us have our own mental catalog of places where our cell phones are useless, and we try to work around those dead zones.

But what if we can’t work around them? What if something happens to us in a place where there is poor service? What if you need assistance right now but have no way of obtaining it?

Sadly, we were not surprised when our requests for comments from the wireless carriers were mostly met with silence.

Just last weekend, we needed access to the many storm bulletins and the latest news in order to decide if we should stay or evacuate as Tropical Storm Hermine threatened our shores.

Our cell phones are no longer just fun accessories. They are necessities that keep us in touch and help to facilitate our lives. So we believe that Schumer is right. It’s not okay for carriers to just woo us with fabulous coverage claims. They must provide service everywhere we need it.

While we think it’s terrific that 200 plus dead zones will hopefully be addressed by the service providers, it leaves us to wonder — what about all the others? As our editorial staff read over the list, we all thought of spots in our neighborhoods that weren’t on the list, but should be.

But this is on us. We didn’t contribute to this poll. As helpful as Schumer’s plan is, it won’t solve the problem unless we too get involved.

We’re sure President John F. Kennedy (D) had bigger problems in mind when he asked the country what it can do for its government. But it fits perfectly in local cases just like this.

Our local government can only help us as much as we help it.

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Do you ever feel lonely? I’m not referring to an occasional time period when you might acutely feel alone. After awhile that loneliness passes as you get busy with making dinner or driving out purposefully to go food shopping. I’m talking about deep-seated, unremitting loneliness, where a person doesn’t leave his or her house most of the time and doesn’t think to call a friend. Perhaps the person is quite elderly and has outlived friends. Or perhaps that person struggles with depression and keeps to himself or herself, exacerbating the loneliness.

From what I have read lately, loneliness is not a good thing for one’s health. Indeed one of the recommendations for longevity is an active social circle. Whatever the age, loners in our society come to be suspect. People need to socialize and interact, or so the thinking goes.

There are statistics that correlate good health with a satisfying social life, particularly as we age. For some, this is easy. If a person is naturally outgoing, the fact that the world is filled with other people presents its own solution. One can get a part-time job, even if retired, and that usually brings along its own social structure, plus a few extra bucks. Sometimes part-time work isn’t so easy to find, but there are always groups that are grateful for a volunteer: hospitals, schools, churches, even businesses. We are forever running a classified ad asking for volunteers who might find it interesting and fun to work at a hometown newspaper, and we are seldom without someone, usually someone wonderful.

Because we live on an island that has many colleges and universities, there are always academic opportunities to avail oneself of, like the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute — formerly known as the Round Table — at Stony Brook University. There are a great variety of courses, including subjects one might have always wondered about but have been too busy to pursue.

Another source of learning and information is the neighborhood library, many of which offer courses, from understanding opera to understanding computers, at a nominal fee. By enrolling in some interest group or subject, one is likely to meet others with the same interests and perhaps strike up a friendship. At the very least, one can become a little smarter or at least a bit more knowledgeable.

That’s just a few social possibilities. But they require active seeking, and not everyone is blithely outgoing and comfortable in new situations. So what then?

My husband was shy pretty much all his life, but he discovered a way for the world to reach out to him. When he wasn’t working, he loved to take pictures. Behind the camera, he could be bold and interact with anyone who might be doing something that interested him. We ran many of his photographs in the newspaper, and readers appreciated the sense of place that the pictures conveyed and also contacted him with comments.

Eventually he was even invited by an art gallery to put up an exhibit of some of his favorite photos. I don’t have to tell you how he loved that and appreciated the feedback from the viewers. Now granted, not everyone has a wife with a newspaper, but it is my experience that most hometown newspapers will eagerly accept photos if they are reasonably good — and free.

Again, though, that sort of hobby takes a certain amount of initiative. Fortunately we live at a time when the need to reach out to those who may be struggling with loneliness has eventuated in a number of help groups, especially in Britain. There are centers in the U.K. manned by people, sometimes volunteers, who are there to lend a kind ear to those who call in to chat. The volunteers provide a valuable service in what has come to be seen as a public health issue. Sometimes these are trained and paid workers. Even fire brigades have been trained to recognize signs of isolation during their fire inspections. We should be sensitive to this most human need and do no less here.

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When we need each other, we come together. That, as much as anything else, is the legacy of 9/11. Its 15th anniversary falls this Sunday.

Every year, we in the news business and, indeed, in society, struggle to know how to remember that terrible day in 2001. Years ago, the editor in chief at the New York Daily News, where I was working, asked me when we should stop running the names of the people who died that day, when 9/11 should no longer be on the front page, and when we should respect the day but give it less coverage. I told him I couldn’t imagine that day.

Those of us who knew people that died think about those people regularly, not just on an anniversary or at a memorial. They travel with us, the way others we’ve lost over the years do, in our hearts and in our minds.

Those first few days and months after the attacks, people in New York stopped taking things for granted and saw the things we share with each other as a source of strength.

This year, in particular, seems a good time not only to remember what makes us and this country great, but also a time to reflect on who we want to be and how we want to interact.

We have two candidates for the White House who seem intent on acting like impetuous Greek gods, shooting weapons at each other and describing each other’s faults and weaknesses to us.

Debate and disagreement are part of this country, just as they were in 1858, when Abraham Lincoln and Stephen Douglas famously debated across Illinois. And yet, despite their disagreements and their passion for office, they held each other in considerably higher esteem than the two unpopular candidates who now want to be president.

How can the two parties that seem so intent on running in opposite directions today, and the two candidates who genuinely loathe each other, work together, come together, and inspire us when they are so obsessed with their animosity?

This Sunday, and maybe even this week, we should remind them — and ourselves — about all the things we Americans felt and did on those days after 9/11. Certainly, we mourned those we’d lost and we wondered aloud about our enemies.

But we also visited with each other, made calls to friends and family, checked on our neighbors, and offered support wherever and however we felt able. Some people donated to charities, while others gave blood, time or energy to helping the survivors and the families of those who lost loved ones.

Yes, we looked to protect ourselves and to understand who and what we were fighting, but we the people — the ones our government is supposed to protect, represent and reflect — became more patient in lines and became less upset over the little things. We looked out for each other.

It’s easy to imagine a boogeyman everywhere we go. Generations of Americans have pictured and envisioned monsters from within and without our borders, intent on destroying our way of life.

We can’t let fear and hatred dictate our actions. I don’t want to hear Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump shout about how unqualified each of them is for office. I want them to reflect a respect for all Americans, their opponents included, on this solemn day and during this solemn week. I don’t doubt that each of them loves America. Instead of telling us how they’ll be great leaders, demonstrate it to us by coming together.

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Those of us along the North Shore and particularly in Setauket, who routinely live with tales of the local spies, might be especially interested in the life of Doris Sharrar Bohrer. One of the few female spies for the Allies during World War II, she died earlier this month at the age of 93 and was not publicly recognized for her extraordinary work until this century.

A Class of 1940 graduate of Montgomery Blair High School in Silver Spring, Maryland, she applied to take the civil service exam and was for whatever reason assigned to the Office of Strategic Services, forerunner to the CIA. There, after typing for a year, she was sent to photo reconnaissance school, where she learned to interpret aerial maps and photographs. Few women in the OSS rose beyond the typing pool. A posting in Egypt followed, where she would make 3-D balsa-wood relief maps from the aerial photos that helped prepare the Allied troops for the invasions of Sicily and then of the rest of Italy. Soon she was moved to Bari on Italy’s Adriatic coast, advising where to drop and to pick up OSS agents from behind enemy lines.

In examining aerial photos, she was able to see closed cattle cars with passengers heading east, and her group located the Nazi concentration camps. However, she told The Washington Post in 2011, “we were too late” in finding the concentration camps. “We kept wondering where the trains were going.”

During the war, she packed a Browning pistol in a shoulder holster but was denied the right to carry a hand grenade as a female Yugoslav partisan co-worker could do. In fact, some of her male counterparts were condescending and even outright hostile to women intelligence agents, calling them “the girls.” These included her superior officer who denied her the grenade. So she had an engineer friend fashion a dummy grenade that she carried into the mess hall where some of the other agents were having lunch. When her superior officer reached across to grab it away, she picked it up and smashed it against the table.

The boys scattered “out the windows,” she told Ann Curry of NBC News many years later. “They just disappeared. And I sat there and ate my salad.”

After the war, Bohrer was assigned to Germany, where she spied on the Soviet Union. She interviewed German scientists who had been detained by the Soviets in order to find out for the CIA as much as possible about the state of Soviet science. This was during the lengthy Cold War.

Bohrer retired from the CIA in 1979 as deputy chief of counterintelligence, training U.S. officers on tactics of foreign espionage operatives. In effect, she spied on the spies. She married Charles Bohrer after World War II and after retirement became a residential real-estate sales agent in the 1980s and ’90s in the Old Town section of Alexandria, Virginia. She also bred and raised poodles, some of which won ribbons and prizes. Her husband retired as director of the CIA medical office.

In 2013 two high-ranking CIA women directors thanked Bohrer and Betty McIntosh, another CIA operative, at the Langley, Virginia, headquarters for their service.

Bohrer’s work had remained secret until The Washington Post discovered in 2011 that she and McIntosh, the author of two books, lived at the same retirement home in northern Virginia; McIntosh had carried out propaganda work in China. Both women had not known each other during the war but had become good friends. Bohrer, whose husband died in 2007 after they were married 61 years, is survived by her son and his two grandchildren. McIntosh died in 2015 at age 100.

Bohrer had wanted to learn to fly to defend the U.S. after the 1941 Pearl Harbor attack. She never did take up aviation but found looking at aerial photographs “an interesting way to look at the world. It was almost as good as flying,” she told The Washington Post. Like the Setauket spies, Bohrer and McIntosh went unheralded for many years but their stories are now told to the world at large.

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We are a step or two ahead of the dogs from that famous Russian scientist Ivan Pavlov, who discovered that his canines salivated when he entered the room, even if he wasn’t about to feed them.

We can and do anticipate all kinds of things, counting down the days until our wedding, the start of school, a winter vacation, a new dog’s arrival, the day we retire, the start or end of another sports season.

There’s an electricity in the air that changes the usual Sunday through Saturday routine, when we otherwise might just check the calendar to make sure we didn’t miss a dentist appointment, renew a registration for a car or pay a bill that’s coming due.

These bigger events — birthdays, surprise parties, New Year’s celebrations — are like larger waves on the ocean. We ride the regular waves up and down, but the bigger waves can give us a higher high, a lower low and take us further, generally, than every other wave.

What do we do to get ready for these big moments? If we’re anticipating a reunion, we might lose weight because we want to look as fit and trim as we did 25 years ago when we graduated from high school. We might make 100 calls to make sure that all the small details about the place settings for the wedding are exactly right, that everyone’s name is spelled correctly and that no one is sitting with an ex-husband she can’t stand.

We’re often aware of the date of these bigger occasions months or even years before they arrive. A mandatory retirement at the age of 60, for example, could be on the calendar for 15 years or more, as both a liberating experience and a journey into the unknown.

The training for these experiences starts early, when our parents describe how our birthday is coming next month, next week or even tomorrow. Sometimes, the anticipation is so great that sleep the night before is almost impossible, as our minds have already jumped ahead in time, putting us at the front of the room where we have to make a speech or torturing us with a range of what-if problems, as in, “What if my pants rip?” or “What if I forget what to say after slide three?” or “What if I don’t like anyone in my class this year?”

When we’re young, we read books that we know will end. We could tell that the ending was coming because we had only a few pages left before the characters we loved would leave us for the evening, until the next book, or until the next time we read about Horton and the Whos, those brave little folks he would not want to lose.

Our anticipation can magnify any of our senses, turning that orange leaf into a harbinger of a pumpkin carving competition; converting the sound of the shower into the calming splash of the ocean as it gently laps along the shore; or recasting the scent of freshly cut grass into the exultant shouts of parents and teammates amid a walk-off hit at the end of a tightly contested baseball game.

Surely, there are countdowns some of us dread, like the start of the new school year — I didn’t say it, I just wrote it, so I didn’t violate my promise to a few kids I know. While there are responsibilities to honor, burdens to bear and hurdles to jump, there are also joys and bigger moments, like a dance, a birthday celebration or a Thanksgiving with family, that all keep the carousel turning.

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Veterans salute a memorial in Northport Village on Memorial Day. Photo by Victoria Espinoza

Assimilating back into everyday life is one of the hardest jobs that we ask of those in the military. Returning home to a normal routine can’t be comfortable for anyone who just spent years in a combat situation, having to kill — or assisting those who are wounded. Unfortunately, incidents like the one at the Northport Veterans Affairs Medical Center, where a veteran took his own life in the hospital parking lot, are not uncommon.

Thankfully, events designed to gather as many veterans in the same place in an overwhelmingly positive setting are also becoming the norm. Army veterans Frank Lombardi and Chris Levy paddled kayaks from Bridgeport, Connecticut to Port Jefferson Aug. 27 — a 22-mile trek — in the name of raising awareness for veterans with post traumatic stress disorder. On the same day, the Veterans Comedy Assault Team hosted a night of stand-up comedy performances to benefit a veteran and her family who needed some extra assistance.

That comedy team is the brain child of a 501(c)3 nonprofit called Project 9 Line, which is an organization dedicated to reintegrating veterans back to civilian life and helping those suffering from PTSD.

Depression and suicide among veterans is a significant societal problem. Events like the two this weekend serve a major purpose, though they cannot be the only plan of attack. It is the responsibility of all citizens of this country to keep an eye on their neighbor, friend or relative to make sure they don’t feel like they’re alone. Military operations are always carried out by teams. Better treatment of veterans returning home should be a team effort among those they protect.

For more information on veteran support organizations:
www.project9line.org
www.sailahead.org
www.vocwny.org
www.facebook.com/dwyerproject/

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As we count down the days of summer on our hands and feet and we prepare for yet another tour around the academic merry-go-round, some of us are squeezing in leisure activities that become increasingly harder to do amidst trigonometry tests, English exams, soccer practices and musical rehearsals.

Some summer revelers go to amusement parks, where their bodies travel in directions that defy the typical linear motion from our beds to our cars to our offices.

What is it about those moments when we fly around the corner of a roller coaster, or when we tilt back and forth in a machine that moves incredibly quickly that people find so thrilling? Is it the feeling of our stomachs moving inside our bodies, the moment when we experience something completely new and more akin to that which another animal, like a bird, might feel — or is it something more basic?

The answers depend on who you are and what you consider fun. I think, however, at the base of these wild rides is something we share in different degrees and circumstances. We enjoy the moment between when we exercise what we feel is the usual level of control over our lives, and that instant which balances between thrill and terror when we give up control.

Yes, I know there are people who crave control to such a degree that almost all the decisions they make seem rooted in the power to influence each element or variable in their lives. To return to a scene from childhood, they are holding a crayon in their hand and carefully staying within the lines of life’s coloring book.

Maybe I wasn’t enough of an artist, or maybe I just enjoyed the entropy that comes from my universe which always seems to be moving toward a greater state of disorder, but those undirected marks outside the lines always seemed so liberating. The lines were the equivalent of someone instructing me to, “Do this, stay here, do that.” My squiggly and nonrepresentational lines were enshrined in my response: “No, thanks.”

Recently, my son, brother and I went sailing in a strong wind. My brother, who captained the small boat, delighted at the sudden surge of speed as we flew across Port Jefferson Harbor. We were flying through the water at speeds that rivaled nearby motorboats, leaving behind a bubbly, foamy water trail. After several trips back and forth, the wind picked up enough strength that it submerged half of the boat. We heeled so far that my brother and son were heading toward the water. Still planted on the higher side of the boat, I reached for my son’s life jacket and held on, trying to use our combined weight to keep us from capsizing.

Seconds before we reached that tipping point, however, my brother let the sails out, dumping the wind and righting the ship just in time. While the outing was enjoyable up to that point, it reached a whole new level of excitement, especially for my son, who couldn’t wait to tell his cousins about how we started to tip. Naturally, their reaction was to put on their bathing suits, grab their life jackets and head for the boat.

So, what is it about those out-of-control moments that are so enjoyable, particularly in the retelling? Maybe, it’s just that — for the precise instant when gravity seems optional, when our routine experiences aren’t enough to allow us to predict the future with certainty the way we can with so many other things — anything is possible. And our minds, like our bodies, jump into the excitement of the unknown.

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A professor and student at Stony Brook University School of Medicine look at a medical scan. File photo

Two major power players in the field of medical help and research have come together to form a new partnership.

Stony Brook University School of Medicine and Mount Sinai Health System, of New York City, have joined together to create more academic research opportunities to streamline and expand clinical care initiatives.

While they are not the first school of medicine to connect with a health system on Long Island — Hofstra University’s School of Medicine works with Northwell Health — this certainly means new breakthroughs are on the horizon in Suffolk County.

Dr. Kenneth Kaushansky, senior vice president for Health Sciences at Stony Brook University said that each institution will be bringing its biggest strengths to the table, thus making each other stronger.

Mount Sinai’s Icahn School of Medicine has strong biomedical, clinical research and health policy expertise, while Stony Brook University boasts programs with advanced mathematics, high-performance computing, and physical and chemical science departments.

Combining math and science programs together will help students become well rounded, and open up the possibility for new programs.

A press release said Stony Brook students will also be able to gain experience in areas of medicine that the university doesn’t currently offer, like observing and learning from heart transplants and other pilot programs. And students from either institution are now welcome to take classes at the other.

But this liaison is going beyond students.

Kaushansky said this partnership will improve patient care at both Stony Brook University Hospital and Mount Sinai Hospital by allowing patients to easily seek services from either hospital.

This is a great endeavor that should be encouraged and supported by the community. Not only does this teaming help students get a more in-depth education and give professors more opportunities for expanded lessons, it will in turn help the residents of the North Shore by improving the care that the local hospital can offer through the new discoveries and breakthroughs the new partnership will make.

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