Sunday Newspaper

A friend told me the other day that in five years newspapers will no longer exist. The actual paper thrown on the front walk, because of cost and lack of audience, will not be printed.

My jaw dropped. No.

She works for a newspaper. Big one. She said she thought it would be ten but people have started to shift their projections. Five years.

They said that about books, I scoffed. You can never replace a book.

But I knew, from my previous job doing research on stocks, that newspapers do not make money. Without a serious shift to online media, there was no way to make a profit.

Five years.

I cannot imagine Sunday morning without the newspaper. It was a mark of true adulthood to me, being able to have the paper delivered and read it in bed with a cup of coffee. It meant having a real job, my own place and time, on Sunday, to read.

I remember- vaguely- being in bed with Jeanine on Sunday mornings reading the paper. Having sex, reading, napping, more sex, more reading, more napping. Those were the days.

Then we had children and for a long time, the Sunday paper remained in the plastic bag, untouched. I get to read the paper now, rarely in bed, and usually at the end of the day. There is something about the crinkle of the paper, flipping and folding of pages, I find comforting. I read many articles online but still prefer the paper in my hands.

I have my routine. Comics first. I can't help myself. Then the editorials. Book reviews and straight to the Travel section. The Arts section. Sports- I have read the sports section of newspapers since I was very young.

There has always been a newspaper in my life. Except in college when the choice was a six pack of Utica Club beer or a week of newspapers. Please. No contest.

You’re a dinosaur, my friend said. One of the few.

So even though Jeanine is away this weekend, and the kids were running around wild, unwilling to go outside? I read the paper in bed this morning.

I’m going to savor it while I can.