Last Newspaper Subscriber Standing Canceling?

It's my age, I like a hard copy of the newspaper. And I like it in hand, not on some gizmo...a newspaper. Remains of a tree.

So yes, I pay through the nose to get the New York Times--the hard copy of it, daily. What joy. Like chocolate, rich and creamy writing--without the calories.

And weekends, the Chicago Tribune monster Sunday newspaper. I'd get it daily, but they keep firing reporters--especially international news reporters. Weird, like a kitchen firing the cooks. What's left? Pots and tablecloths, and not many customers.

So there I am, stuck. I want the paper, but the newspaper delivery people seem to be unable to meet their guarantee of by 6:30 AM Monday to Friday and 8:00 AM Sunday.

This morning I read on the iPad--do I cancel my subscription? Why do I pay for non-timely delivery? Plunk. The sound, my husband looks out--points to wrist (as in the soundless you are LATE). Ah, what a customer non-friendly woman--she shrugged. What does she care. Not much.

So you tell me, why not cancel?


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    Candace Drimmer

    I was an accidental expatriate; love and marriage led me to it. One day I was a bandy-legged kid sitting atop my dogwood tree looking out of my small backyard world in 1950s New Jersey, wanting to move somewhere--anywhere, different. Next thing I knew my father had accepted a job in Houston TX. I was ecstatic, it was a foreign land in 1961 America. After high school graduation, my parents’ gave me a matched set of fawn-colored hardsided American Tourister luggage. Taking the hint, I went to college; well four colleges in five years--it was the 60s after all. Meeting a young hirsute anti-war, soon-to-be-Peace Corps volunteer, I fell in love. After finishing up college coursework for my degree, but before I even walking a graduation stage, I grabbed the paper airline ticket my boyfriend had sent me, my brand-new passport, and was off to the airport and Lima, Peru.

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