Newspapers and Books.

Since we moved here, we've been bombarded with newspapers - the weekly paper, the thrice-weekly paper, the daily paper, none of which we ordered, or want. They go directly from the mailbox into the recycling box. This drives me bonkers, since I am a great lover and admirer of trees.

I started out by putting a small, polite sign on our mailbox, which read, "No papers, please."

That didn't work. I tried blocking off the metal curly things beneath the mailbox, so they couldn't put the paper there - they lifted the lid, with my nice polite sign on it, and stuffed the paper into the mailbox itself.

So now I have a much larger NO PAPERS! sign taped directly to the mailbox lid, and that seems to be working - we had a newspaper-free day yesterday.

My spouse joked that I was assuming that whoever was delivering the paper, could also read the paper, and by extension, my sign. That brought me up short; I don't like to think that kids are passing from grade to grade through school, remaining functionally illiterate.

Reading was and is, my great pleasure and escape. I've taught myself how to do many things using books as reference. One can enter any world through the pages of a book. I've laughed so hard reading a book in bed, that I awakened my spouse, who smilingly asked if I might read something serious, so they could sleep?

My favourite magnetic bookmark has a quote from Charles W. Elliot: "Books are the quietest and most constant of friends."

I was only recently introduced to magnetic bookmarks - what a marvellous invention - I've had the same one now for ages. Unlike their paper counterparts, they don't slide out, get bent or folded, and unlike the dart kind, don't ruin the pages.

Where was I going with this? I've gotten sidetracked, and forgotten. No matter, the sun is shining, and I'm going outside to enjoy it.

May you have what a friend's small son once declared, "an excellent Saturday." He used to make these sorts of pronouncements accompanied by a firm nod of the head - he's a foot taller than I, now, but I can still see him in my mind's eye - wandering our rear yard, with my dog following in his footsteps, ever hopeful that he'd throw the ball he clutched so tightly in one hand.