fit to print

"I don't read."

For a time, my tone was ironic. And then it became matter of fact. Whatever books may be popular or featured in the stores, I surely haven't read them. I do not feel the loss. The list of titles my daughter wishes I would read grows as I ferry her to library and bookstore. She has the gene which at this point I seem to have solidly passed on for good.

It's true that I consume articles and columns and posts in a nearly continuous loop, but pixelated text doesn't seem the same. I am aware that makes no sense. Except as I get into the habit of reading only on a screen, as I move piles of weeklies from table to basket and recycle the paper unread--I've seen it on the website--it less often occurs to me to sit down with anything that doesn't require a click.

So it struck me this week that the two best things I read came from actual paper pages. (My salons, to sound ridiculous, are as yet wifi-free.) Of course, both are available online, so I'm not sure there's any lesson except that I want to go to Iceland now and that Mexico is a worry.