Memories of sharing a newspaper:
1- I am 10. My father gets up and is gone before me in the morning. The newspaper is always left for me on the kitchen table, re-assembled into its “delivery” constellation, although I know he has read it. There is always a note on top of the paper. “Have a great day”. Or “Feed the dogs”. Or the next installment of a running joke “You know you are getting old, when…”. To this day I reassemble the newspaper after I read it.

2- I am in college. My housemate and I spring for a subscription of the Sunday NYT. We crawl to the kitchen, away form our hangovers and towards the coffee, around noon. Do the puzzle together. We remain close friends 25 years later. I hate crossword puzzles.

3- I am a father. My youngest daughter and I compete to see who can solve the Jumble in their head fastest. My son drags sections all over the house to read them. I have to hunt them down all morning.

I owned a nook. I gave it away.