Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
For my ego, few things beat walking into a White Hen on a Saturday or Sunday and finding somebody standing by the newspaper rack with the Sun-Times flipped open to the outdoors page.
Better yet is waiting in the checkout line and somebody is actually buying the Sunday ST and already has it flipped open to the outdoors page.
I was reminded of that again on Sunday when a faithful reader and fellow fisherman of the mighty Kankakee prefaced a note about birds and his flowers with this: ``Read your Sun column while in the local Wal Mart on Sat.''
It made me laugh.
I don't know the future, if any, of newspapers.
I know they still matter.
Sometimes I am even given faint hope.
Not sure what this means but earlier this summer our second son and our only daughter filled in for a week for the neighbor kid on delivering newspapers.
When I was helping them learn the route, I quickly noticed that better kept homes received newspapers. If we weren't sure of the number of a house, we were always (and I mean every time) correct when we guessed the better maintained home was the right one.
Bottom line is that it just made me feel better about newspapers.