Along with cuddling on our new couches, lately we’ve been reading the Sunday New York Times. Way back in the olden days pre-kids, we often spent most of a Sunday lazing about, eating bagels, and reading the paper. That all changed when the kids came. But Cute W and I were talking, lately, about how much we used to enjoy it, plus we’ve had a few newsworthy weeks, to put it mildly, so it’s developing into a new (old) routine.
The only thing is, how are people able to read the paper every. single. day. and still work and take care of their family’s basic needs? It basically takes me the entire week to read the Sunday paper. When I first started writing this post, it was a Thursday and I still had one last section to get through. Part of this is because I do find most of it worth reading. A couple of weeks ago, I was like, “What the hell? Even these articles in the business section are interesting!” Because I’d planned to skip some stuff, and it was tough to choose. Except the book reviews. I really like reading books, but I don’t like reading articles about books. I understand that this is weird.
I can’t imagine even attempting this paper-reading during our previous “Normal Times.” I always read, but it’s usually in bed, and newspapers are far too unwieldy for bedtime reading. And as for devoting the day of rest to the paper–nope. We were hardly ever home on Sundays at all, usually watching a kid play soccer or volleyball or running between multiple engagements. I really, really miss that. So I guess for now I’ll console myself with sleeping in and reading the paper.
The weather these days has been driving me a little nuts. Walking has been a lovely coping mechanism during COVID, but after weeks (Wasn’t it weeks? It seemed like weeks) of gloom and clouds, the sun’s come out to perfectly coordinate with frigid temperatures and wind to create what I call a classic “window day:” when you look outside and think, “I’ve got to get out there!” and then once you’re outside, you think, “Nope, this was a bad idea.”
When I took the photo above, those icicles were actively dripping, but down on the ground, the temperatures were in the single digits, and the stiff breeze didn’t help. And yes, I know, I know: I can dress warmly and get out there, anyway. There’s no bad weather, only bad clothing. But when it’s that cold, it really isn’t pleasant. I’m not asking for much, you guys. Like, 28 degrees would be awesome. Especially because the temperature has to be somewhat reasonable before I’ll try to recruit a friend for a pleasant and stress-relieving walk. Which frankly, would have come in handy in the last couple of weeks.
Because, among other things, M got COVID. She’s fine. More on that next time.