Columns

The other morning my husband and I awoke to discover a newspaper in our driveway. It was a surprise. Weeks before I had called and canceled our daily newspaper the Orlando Sentinel as a means of embracing the 21st century and reading the news online. For some weeks afterward the Sentinel inexplicably delivered its all-Spanish version El Sentinel on Saturdays, as though the newspaper was determined to keep us on one way or another. But because neither Wade nor I really speak Spanish I called and canceled that, too.

I wrote about my decision to cancel our newspaper here in a column that generated the most response I have received since I began writing for dscriber this summer. Some of you commended my decision, but others criticized me for single-handedly contributing to the newspaper industry's demise. Either way the column generated so much attention I felt I should tell you that I am, in fact, subscribing to a newspaper again.

It was a Sunday edition of The New York Times. I plucked the newspaper from our driveway and carried it inside, where I solved the mystery of where it came from by calling Mom. Mom had ordered the subscription for me as a surprise gift. She loves me. For months Mom has subscribed to the Sunday Times, and a favorite part of visiting for me is sitting by my parents' pool on Sundays (here in Florida the weather almost always is warm and bright) and reading their newspaper.

I set our newspaper down on our dining room table, and Wade and I began fixing bowls of Chef Boyardee for lunch. We pulled the newspaper from its blue plastic sack and rifled through it. Then we gathered around the table and read the newspaper while we ate. Wade read the style magazine (more out of curiosity, I think, rather than real interest). I read the Travel section. We sat across from one another, the paper strewn between us.

Wade told me about an article he was reading, on expensive baby clothes. Wow, $80 for a sweater for a baby? I read out loud from an article on Nashville, Tenn., where we lived after we first were married. Together we remembered all the popular places, the Wild Horse, the Ryman, Hatch Show Print. I turned a page and was greeted by a beautiful two-page spread with photos of an island destination off the coast of West Africa. For at least an hour Wade and I sat there reading, forgetting the yard work and all the other things we planned to do that Sunday afternoon.

I tried to imagine the experience online.

It would not have been the shared experience it was. Our opened laptops would have created a barrier between us. We would not have been asking each other, "Are you done with the Sports section?" or "Where is the National section?" Rather than sharing the newspaper as we did, we would have read the paper on our own individual laptops.

Newspapers and magazines try to create a community experience by letting readers easily e-mail articles to one another and by giving readers space where we can post comments of our own. But we share these comments with strangers, really, and I don't know whether you ever have read any of them, but usually they are not all that constructive.

My uncle, a retired musician who does not own a computer, likes to cut articles from his newspaper and mail them to my dad the old-fashioned way. My uncle stuffs piles of articles into the envelopes he mails. Dad arrived once in Orlando for a visit, near the 2008 presidential election, with at least a half-dozen articles, on President George W. Bush's most famous speech fumbles, on America's most popular dogs. Together my parents, Wade and I all gathered on our patio, and we read the articles and laughed about them.

My mom, who does own a computer, does the same for me. She mails me articles on journalism, mother-daughter relationships, Paris. (Wade and I are going to Paris next month to celebrate our 10-year wedding anniversary!) Sometimes she includes a quick, hand-written note. But usually the articles are enough at getting her message across.

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