09/08/19 8:00am

Courtesy Photo

The weather was perfect, in the mid-70s, no humidity, light breezes and blue-black skies above the lights of Citi Field.

I was where friends tell friends, “I’ll meet you at the Apple,” a plaza centered around the big red structure that once rose slowly beyond the centerfield fence of Shea when a Met hit a home run. Waiting for Dr. Z., who was running late, fighting traffic, I was the smart one, driving to my sister’s place in Queens, parking the car, and taking the 7 train to the ballpark. Getting onboard, I was already at the ballgame, with the train packed with Blue and Orange fanatics. (more…)

03/10/18 8:00am
James Bornemeier

James Bornemeier

For the past few years I’ve had the privilege of picking up my grandson, Max, from school.

I say privilege because at a recent funeral for an old newspaper colleague, as I was leaving for the train ride home from Boston, my colleague’s parents, whom I had never met, and I spoke about this matter of picking up a grandson from school. The deceased never had kids, let alone grandkids, and his parents drilled home how fortunate I was to pick up a grandson from school. You are an extremely lucky person, the mother said.

I had never thought of the task in that way. (more…)