According to the news, the world is in crisis and people have their “hair on fire.” My dilemmas are insignificant in comparison but let me mention three situations I’ve recently experienced.
Imagine my surprise when I received a letter from Dow Jones in early March informing me that as of April, I would no longer receive the printed newspaper. I would be transferred to a “digital” subscription. I called Customer Service. I protested.
For most of my adult life, I have read the Wall Street Journal. As a political science minor in college, I became a political junkie so found it interesting to keep up with the domestic political landscape. Early in my career, I taught geography, civics, and social studies, and the newspaper helped me with some of my work. Later in my career, it became important to read book and theater reviews. Even later, we took the paper for the office. It became a habit. I often shared news clippings with family and friends, often snipping articles or the “Salt & Pepper” cartoon. At Thanksgiving and at Christmas, it was usual to enjoy Vermont Royster's articles, which they run every year.
I was told that the Wall Street Journal could no longer be delivered in my Zip Code. The person explained it was a matter of “not having a carrier.” I explained my newspaper came by US postal service. Let me investigate this, the person said. Later, I was told again that no one in my Zip Code would be receiving the newspaper in print form. That was final. Moreover, there were places in other states facing the same situation. To make a long story short, I cancelled my subscription. I was contacted again and asked if I wanted to re-subscribe. They offered a special rate. The paper would be in digital form. No. So, I read local papers, which are getting so thin they barely qualify. Americans now rely on the internet, social media, and podcasts. Very little is “in-depth.” Much is from Associated Press ad nauseam.
So, I went out to do some gardening and discovered some foul smelling things in the mulch. It looked like sprouting red snakes coming up from a nest of oval white eggs. Snakes? Salamanders? Lizards? These looked like they had died in the sun. The smell was horrid. Naturally I did my research. The answer is: Stinkhorn Mushrooms! I dithered about the matter, then decided I would dig them all up and seal them in a bag and toss them in the garbage. I think I got all the “witches eggs.” (That’s what they are called.) I certainly learned about fungi. Just ask me! I’ll refer you to the internet!
On top of that, Sheba has taken to sitting on the deck railing just below two birdhouses. Finally, after not having any Carolina wrens last year, a couple came this year chirping and a-chattering. Sheba studies them studiously, and I don’t know how to warn them. The birdhouses were placed there before we acquired the cat. To make matters worse, another cat – I call him “Shades”-- wandered through and also parked himself on the railing to study the birds. While I was watching last evening, a raccoon came up on the deck to peer inside. I love living here, but there is much commotion. Wild turkeys traipse across the back yard, and we have deer. They nibble everything in our garden on a regular basis. No roses. No pretty flowers here. The hedges remind me of green toothpicks.
Perhaps I should forget all this, watch the Kentucky Derby, and let the dandelions blow. All these little dilemmas are insignificant, but they do make life interesting.
Imagine my surprise when I received a letter from Dow Jones in early March informing me that as of April, I would no longer receive the printed newspaper. I would be transferred to a “digital” subscription. I called Customer Service. I protested.
For most of my adult life, I have read the Wall Street Journal. As a political science minor in college, I became a political junkie so found it interesting to keep up with the domestic political landscape. Early in my career, I taught geography, civics, and social studies, and the newspaper helped me with some of my work. Later in my career, it became important to read book and theater reviews. Even later, we took the paper for the office. It became a habit. I often shared news clippings with family and friends, often snipping articles or the “Salt & Pepper” cartoon. At Thanksgiving and at Christmas, it was usual to enjoy Vermont Royster's articles, which they run every year.
I was told that the Wall Street Journal could no longer be delivered in my Zip Code. The person explained it was a matter of “not having a carrier.” I explained my newspaper came by US postal service. Let me investigate this, the person said. Later, I was told again that no one in my Zip Code would be receiving the newspaper in print form. That was final. Moreover, there were places in other states facing the same situation. To make a long story short, I cancelled my subscription. I was contacted again and asked if I wanted to re-subscribe. They offered a special rate. The paper would be in digital form. No. So, I read local papers, which are getting so thin they barely qualify. Americans now rely on the internet, social media, and podcasts. Very little is “in-depth.” Much is from Associated Press ad nauseam.
So, I went out to do some gardening and discovered some foul smelling things in the mulch. It looked like sprouting red snakes coming up from a nest of oval white eggs. Snakes? Salamanders? Lizards? These looked like they had died in the sun. The smell was horrid. Naturally I did my research. The answer is: Stinkhorn Mushrooms! I dithered about the matter, then decided I would dig them all up and seal them in a bag and toss them in the garbage. I think I got all the “witches eggs.” (That’s what they are called.) I certainly learned about fungi. Just ask me! I’ll refer you to the internet!
On top of that, Sheba has taken to sitting on the deck railing just below two birdhouses. Finally, after not having any Carolina wrens last year, a couple came this year chirping and a-chattering. Sheba studies them studiously, and I don’t know how to warn them. The birdhouses were placed there before we acquired the cat. To make matters worse, another cat – I call him “Shades”-- wandered through and also parked himself on the railing to study the birds. While I was watching last evening, a raccoon came up on the deck to peer inside. I love living here, but there is much commotion. Wild turkeys traipse across the back yard, and we have deer. They nibble everything in our garden on a regular basis. No roses. No pretty flowers here. The hedges remind me of green toothpicks.
Perhaps I should forget all this, watch the Kentucky Derby, and let the dandelions blow. All these little dilemmas are insignificant, but they do make life interesting.
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