Out to Rancho Obsesso for the long weekend. For those of you new to this blog, I share a weekend place with friends on the North Fork of Long Island. (The non-Hamptons.) It's our 12th summer together in various rented houses (not always on the North Fork, sometimes up the Hudson; this is our third year in the house we have now). There's a core of 6 -- Steve, Jim, Hillary, Max, Amy and me -- and some part-timers. Last year Max and Amy had a baby -- Eve, my goddaughter -- so now we have 2 houses, one around the corner from the other. The town we're in has a wonderful Memorial Day parade. It begins at 7:30 in the morning at the cemetery where the Revolutionary War dead are buried, and marches with drums and fire engines to each war memorial in town -- there's one for every war through Vietnam -- laying wreaths. The WWI memorial's near the pier, and there they also throw a wreath in the water for the soldiers and sailors of all wars lost at sea. A clergyman offers a prayer at each place and a bugler, standing right near the memorial, plays Taps. When he's done there's a moment of silence. Then another bugler a block away also plays Taps. This year the morning was cool and sunny, but last year it was rainy and cold, with a thick mist. You couldn't see the second bugler any of the times he played. This year you could see him; both ways, it was haunting.