Sorry, Paper Person

Today is Saturday. Our paper has a couple of big sections—fashion, art, theatre, books—you get the idea, and we both love to sit at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, eating breakfast and reading. But this morning the front path was cushioned in snow and there was not a single footprint to indicate a visit from the paper person. That's pc, because today the paper boy of the past drives a car and, I was convinced, belongs to a union which won't allow delivery when there is more than a certain amount of snow on the ground. In spite of our handsome Christmas tip.

I went in to the kitchen to make the coffee and we had to spend breakfast discussing abdicate vs. resign when it comes to popes. Sigh. After that scintillating meal I grabbed the snow shovel and broom and went out to clear the porch and the front walk. I shoveled and swept the porch and made my way down the front two steps. And lo and behold, on the bottom step, swaddled in a red plastic bag and covered with an immaculate layer of snow, was the newspaper. I felt bad for the paper person I had impugned.

Hardly a post here because I wanted to follow up my last two entries, but it will mark the date of what is hopefully the last snow of the year.