I can remember when my husband and I (and even before he was my husband) used to go to Store 24 (member those?!), or a particular New York Korean Market on 63rd & 1st, late on a Saturday night and buy the Sunday New York Times, so we’d have it in the morning. It was like gaming the system, somehow. It felt a little decadent and I loved it.
Now, it’s delivered to my door. And if it’s not here quickly enough for my reading desires, I can always open up my computer and just read it there, in the middle of the night, if the spirit moves me, in fact. While there is something fun about this, I also miss that trip to the store for the paper. That was an activity filled with anticipation and sometimes bacon, too. And let’s face it, BACON.
Anyway, I have a Times Style Section sized amount of gratitude for those days, and these, when I get my paper any way I want it. Today, it’s in bed with a giant cuppa joe, wishing an unfond farewell to one of the country’s shittiest years.