Opinion

While my first-born child is in town on his almost month-long leave for the military, there’s been a whirlwind of trying to visit everyone and anyone he hasn’t seen since his leave from last summer.

The rule is “Only buy oysters on the half-shell in months with an R in them,” but I took some relatives to dinner Friday and shelled out fifty bucks for a dozen shells of not much, which is truly dumb for a man my age.

Last week I received a handwritten, unsigned note in my mailbox expressing unhappiness about one of the columns that appears on this page regularly.

A glorious Friday night at the Met Museum in New York, the great halls packed with thousands of teenagers for Teen Night, admission is whatever you care to drop in the box, a couple bucks, the change in your pocket, high school kids mobbing the joint, the Picasso lady, the naked Venus, the Rodin folks, a 15th-century lady, the naked man with a sword, all looking down on rivers of youthful energy, and a teen gospel choir sings in one marble stairway and a brass jazz band plays in another and a dance troupe from India performs in a gallery — everywhere you look, something is happening.

This week my first born arrived in Granite Falls for his month-long leave from Fort Drum, New York.

I spent 12 hours in a New York ER last Saturday and upon discharge was given ten pages of test results and now I have more information about myself than I know what to do with.

I’m learning that my to-do list may potentially never actually be entirely cleared at the end of any given day.