I love newspapers. Books and magazines, too. I like the way they smell, the way they feel in my hands, the sound of pages turning and the delicious moment of folding a book’s cover back upon itself—making it forever mine. There is a special joy in creasing newspapers and glossies, too, enabling me the freedom to frame articles worthy of my time and attention. If I tried such foolishness with an iPad, the moon would likely fall from the sky in protest. Well, maybe not, but you get the idea; don’t tamper with technology as it may anger the gods.
Quite frankly, I cannot imagine a world without the aforementioned entities, despite what proponents of the digital age may opine. Computer screens and e-readers are a far cry from that which is tangible and real. In my mind, curling up with an electronic device is an offense to the sensibilities, akin to hugging a slab of flagstone or something equally devoid of life. Of course, I’d be lying if I said I never read virtual newspapers or occasionally partake of something Kindle-ish, but on the whole I find that those experiences pale in comparison to my preferred method of absorbing content (i.e. reading words—not on some manifestation of paper, but on actual paper). Call me crazy.
But beyond the obvious bit of wonderfulness that print offers the world at large, I can think of almost a dozen reasons for keeping newspapers around long after the day’s headlines have been devoured.
- How will any decent criminal effectively craft a ransom note—one that is cleverly cobbled together using a host of unique fonts that now live on the pages of our dear dailies? Using one’s printer seems so completely uninspired.
- How will scenes in whodunit movies involving the stowage of loot and/or weapons within the folds of one’s newspaper (or in the box itself) ever hope to be carried out? I shudder to think.
- Horror of horrors, how will anyone carve a pumpkin or decorate an Easter egg without first blanketing the kitchen table with an embarrassment of newspaper?
- In a similar vein, school or art projects involving a profusion of glitter, glue, paint and/or modeling clay necessitate the absorptive qualities of newsprint. There is no substitute, quite frankly. And what better way to get kids to peruse headlines? Somehow the errant drips and blots add a dimension of charm, drawing even the most reluctant of readers to the page.
- How on earth could anyone utter the phrase, “You’ll eat those words!” with a modicum of believability unless one could actually wad up a scrap of paper containing said words and literally consume them? I fear such a phrase will be lost forever from the annals of speech.
- No matter how hard I try, I cannot wrap my mind around a world without paper mache. Such a tragedy would likely produce generations of children compelled to mummify ripened fruit and unsuspecting pets with lasagna noodles dipped in a vat of paste. And could anyone blame them? I think not.
- Perhaps even more dreadful, would be to endure childhood without the joy derived from pressing a fistful of Silly Putty upon the inky genius of fresh newsprint culled from the comics. It pains me to even entertain such a notion.
- Furthermore, what about the legions of children who have yet to experience the thrill of crafting a pointy hat or a seaworthy vessel from the sports section?
- Need I even mention the sense of panic I feel when I consider the impossibility of enshrouding my Christmas ornaments (and virtually every other fragile thing I own) within newsprint’s protective embrace? And how will I be able to reminisce without the yellowed pages before me? Tissue paper is so entirely pedestrian by comparison.
- And lastly, what kind of sorry place would this be without witnessing our cats shredding newspapers and/or climbing into our laps while we’re trying desperately to read? A sorry place, indeed.
Planet Mom: It’s where I live (probably reading something printed on paper). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesfromPlanetMom.
Copyright 2013 Melinda L. Wentzel
Planet Mom 