Sunday, April 7, 2013

Extra! Extra!

Yesterday, for the first time in 2013, our temperatures reached the 60s -- in fact, 65 degrees.  The warm air blew in on strong southerly winds, making it a bit less pleasant to be outdoors, but it was, after all, 65 degrees!

I bought a flat of pansies and a couple of Hellebores to add to my front garden.  This section of the yard is inside a six foot privacy fence.  It blocked the wind.  A bit.  I extended the planting bed on the outside of the fence along the driveway in preparation for some climbing roses I ordered over the winter.

And I spread a little bit of composted chicken bedding on the garlic bed.  I'd read that garlic likes nitrogen.  Rain was forecast for overnight, perfect to incorporate the compost into the soil and move some food to the roots.

It felt terrific to be outside working.  I slept soundly.


This morning as the sun rose, I stepped out into the front garden to peruse my work and that's when the feeling swept over me.  A longing, wistful and deep.  An emptiness, colored with nostalgia.  A regret I could not repair.

I miss having a newspaper delivered.

There.  I admitted it.  I am old enough to remember when there was a morning newspaper and an evening newspaper.  When a family's choice of paper shouted their political leanings to all the neighborhood.  I knew boys who rose long before dawn to roll the papers, put a rubber band on them (long before plastic sleeves) and load up the saddlebags on their bicycles.  They had perfected the toss to bring the paper about six feet from the front door -- no chance of breaking a window, or a loud thunk before the family woke up.

Every morning without fail, my father could open the front door and retrieve the Chicago Sun-Times (and twice a week the Park Forest Star) to enjoy with his coffee and eggs. 

For the first twenty years of my adult life, I always had papers at home, nearly always delivered.  In my first apartment after college, my roommates and I had a Sunday ritual.  One of us was responsible for making coffee while another went down the block to the Mexican bakery to buy the Tribune and the Sun-Times, plus a selection of bakery items.  We had no living room furniture, so we would spread out with pillows on the floor, surrounded by newsprint, and immerse ourselves. 

Once I had an apartment of my own, my breakfast table never grew piles of other odds and ends, because I needed room to read the paper.  But when I moved to Michigan I had little money for extras like newspapers when I could read them free online.  Yes, I admit that, too.  I took advantage of the free online versions, participating in the killing off of journalists around the world.

And now I pay to read papers online.  Usually that's ok with me.  It's handy to be able to access the news online anywhere.  The most up-to-date information is always available; the feature sections keep me marking the days of the week.  I no longer have boxes and boxes of old newspapers waiting reuse or recycling and creating a fire hazard in the meantime.


And so this morning when I stepped out onto the front porch, I wanted to see a newspaper waiting for me.  I wanted to bring it into the kitchen, pour another cup of coffee and relax for the next few hours indulging in business and politics, arts and real estate.   Looking at those carefully layed out pages I would discover articles I never knew would interest me -- stumbling across new ideas or interests.

But it is not to be.  Here in this small town one must drive to get a paper.  The gas station is the nearest source, and you can get the South Bend and the Benton Harbor/St. Joseph papers there.  But no bakery goods.  So today I will wait until 9 when the little store the other direction will open.  They even have a limited number of New York Times.  And there's a great bakery across the street.

Then I will have a croissant and the NYT Magazine. 

But it's not the same.


anno said...

After all that hard work, how disappointing not to find the hefty adventure of the Sunday edition at your doorstep (along with a flaky croissant or a crusty bagel with smoked salmon). I agree: it's the not the same at all when you have to fetch it yourself--or worse, delay your coffee until the store finally opens where you can buy one.

But the real loss, the one you mention later on, is that feeling you describe of a Sunday morning adventure, of never knowing what new interest or idea you might discover. Regardless of how widely you might try to read or surf online, the filter bubble imposed by Google or Amazon (or any search engine you might routinely use) makes it harder to find those new perspectives that are just as valuable as any cup of coffee for waking up a person. Sigh. I miss that time. I truly do.

Looking forward to pictures of your pansies and Hellebores. Also the climbing roses. Where did you order them from? And, am I too late to order some for myself?

Johanna said...

I bought from Palatine Roses, because they were the only supplier I could find with the Kordes climbing rose named Laguna. It's a deep pink/red with large blossoms and a light fragrance. I ordered two of them, and one "pinkier pink" called Jasmina.

I'm glad you asked, though, because I had forgotten the fourth rose, a very soft pink named Souvenir de la Malmaison. Guess I need to prepare more planting spaces!

You can see the summary page of their climbers at the link I'm adding below. Looks like it was a good thing I ordered in January -- all the roses I chose are sold out! But if you are looking for something to fit general desires instead of a specific name, I'm sure you can still order. There are lots of online sources.

anno said...

Very pretty ... thanks for the link!

The JR said...

I did yard work on Sat. by myself cause the hubby worked. Then yesterday we worked the hay field. To say I was whooped just doesn't express the depth of aches and pains.

lol....I use to get the paper, they kept throwing it in the ditch that holds water on the road.