The Trib

I just can't get past the Albuquerque Tribune-for-sale news. I've been unable to write about it and think I need another 3-day weekend.

My afternoon paper routine is sacred. Seeing it in my front yard at the end of the work day is centering. I pick it up first - before the mail. Because what's in the afternoon paper is more important than what's in the mail.

I follow a simple ritual - removing the newspaper's little raincoat or rubber band belt - like undressing barbie. Then unfolding and flattening it on the counter. I rush through my chores of feeding and watering then plop down on the patio and go straight to the inside - puzzles and Doonesbury. They are always the same delicious page - suduko and the humbling NYT crossword.

If there is time I read the rest. Even scanning classifieds. Saving the front page for last. I contemptuously throw bad news and Jeffry Gardner to the floor. Later, Big dog will take away the puzzle section and chew it up. He thinks he's doing me a favor.

Afterwards I collect and pile them for recycling. But now I just can't bring myself to get rid of the Tribunes on garbage day. Knowing that someday there won't be a Trib is making it impossible for me to throw them out.

So they're stacking up and getting on my tidy nerve.

Comments

[Julie Heinrich]

You couldn't have said it better, Coco. My routine involves my 4-year old running to get the paper every day when I bring him home from school. It's his job. I read it while the 1-year old grabs, wrinkles, and tries to chew on it. I hope there's some sort of memorial service when the Trib goes. Very sad.