Two weeks ago, I renewed our subscription to the newspaper after a three year hiatus. Little did I know just how much I missed the leisure of my browse through the Sunday paper until I steeped myself in the printed word. Years ago, we spent our Sunday mornings propped on soft pillows, heads touching as we shared the antics of colorful comic characters. Newsprint blanketed our bed with world events, celebrity gossip, helpful hints, and smiling brides. Ads, dressed up in red, blue and green, enticed our eyes and tempted us to dream. Slowly over the years, weekends filled with responsibilities, and the Sunday paper remained rolled on the counter until one of us removed it, untouched like a virgin, to the recycle bin. Eventually, guilt over the wastefulness forced me to stop our subscription and bid farewell to lazy Sundays in bed. Staying late in bed still isn’t a reality, but I missed the ritual meandering through news. In a weak moment, I succumbed to the latest phone appeal to subscribe once again. Yesterday didn’t find me lounging in bed, but the scent of the paper as I sat on the couch triggered memories of those idle Sunday mornings, and I felt content.
Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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