The newspapers appealed to me from an early age. In summer, I tied up a kitten with my home from the day, even if I knew that my mother was terrified by cats, I placed the cat in gold and white in a shoe box lined with newspapers and I covered it with my camp t-shirt.
With the kitten happily hidden in the closet of my room, I liked thinking of her huddled in the news, surely a safe place.
At the time, we had two newspapers a day, the Virginian pilot in the morning and the Norfolk Régorn-Dispatch in the late afternoon. I sat on the concrete steps of our house, while waiting for delivery early in the morning, and again in the afternoon after school, I would wait for subsequent edition. I had the crush on the morning delivery man, which was a shame because to date I have the disorder at 6:30 am
He cleverly chuckled his bike paper in the upper stage where I was perched. I secretly hoped that he did it because he loved me, but later learned that he had targeted all his deliveries to the upper steps, to better win big advice at Christmas. Or maybe it was just a time to do a good job was second nature.
As soon as the newspaper reached the steps every day, its ink scent prompted me to open it and read the news.
My father had told all his children the importance of just taking a look at the headlines. “You have to read the whole story to find out what’s going on,” he urged us. In fact, I was the only one to have followed his advice; My brothers were more in sport than the newspapers, but I forgive them.
In the summer of which I obtained my graduate diploma, I was interviewed by our local newspaper for a story they made on hopes and dreams of graduates of the elderly. At the time, I said that I wanted to be a foreign correspondent for the newspaper. Some might say that me – a girl raised in Virginia – I got my wish: California, where I ended up spending more than half of my life, was indeed foreign.
This rainy Sunday morning, when I went out to get the newspaper, I always felt this little pinch of excitement while waiting to read it.
No cute boy on a bike was roughly. Do not try to catch the paper by sailing in the air towards me. I went down the steps of the front porch, through my small courtyard and my courtyard before from Gopher hole to the aisle where I found my paper on Sunday protected in plastic from the rain. After all these years, I always pick it up with anticipation.
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California Daily Newspapers
