The newspaper and coffee start to my day began when I retired eleven years ago. The habit is firmly entrenched. This business of newspapers dropping like flies bothers me more than drops in the stock market. When one of the Denver papers bit the dust not too long ago, I was upset, even though I wasn’t a subscriber. That Denver paper had always been there, just in case. I want my morning paper with my coffee!
The presses for our local newspaper ran for the last time yesterday. The newspaper, they told us, will live on. Papers will be printed in Denver. The transition should be seamless.
So when I got up this morning, I expected my paper to be in the driveway, just like always. I looked out the window. No paper. Maybe, I thought, it was thrown over the fence, or into the bushes. I went outside and took a closer look. No paper.
I grabbed the phone and dialed the 877 number for my paper’s circulation department. “High volume of calls,” the automated voice told me. Hmm. Not good. “I can manage my subscription online,” she added. I wait for more. “…unexpected production problems,” she finally told me. “…one to two hours late.”
So here I am, having my coffee (and a whole wheat English muffin with crunchy peanut butter) while I write today’s blog. I’m feeling kind of cranky. It’s not the lack of news that’s a problem. I can switch on the television or my computer for that. It’s the feel of the paper as I turn the pages. It’s the way my eyes get itchy if I rub them with inky fingers. It’s the newspaper smell.
Newspapers, like books, are part of my life. I want my newspaper here on time so I can read it while I drink my morning coffee. It’s not too much to ask. Grumble, grumble.