I went out to the road this morning to get the paper and it was not there. The “there”, where it was not, is actually the end of the driveway which curves up a rise and then to the right for another 100 feet to the garage. From the house the end of the driveway is not always visible due to the intervening foliage in the summer. So it is not easy to see whether the paper is laying in the driveway.
 
The “paper” said they would have one of those boxes or tubes with their name on it put up soon after we ordered the paper, and that has not been done, after more than two months. I now do not expect it to be done. At least I would like the paper to be thrown in the driveway where it is easily picked up and sometimes visible as well. I am not happy, way too early in the morning, when I have go bushwhacking through the weeds to find the morning news.
 
I mean, how difficult is this job, which I am sure does not pay the kind of money that vacationers in Aruba make? But it is a fairly easy job and one that does not seriously interfere with one’s other necessary activities such as listening to rock and roll, or talking to some sweet hottie on the cell phone – and safely operate the vehicle.
 
I am sure one of the issues I am dealing with here is continuity. For just about a month and a half the paper was dropped in the middle of the driveway entrance neatly ensconced in it’s bright yellow plastic weather sleeve. Then all at once it turned into be the “hide the thimble in plain sight” game. But, of course never in the clear driveway apron. It has to be a new guy who probably doesn’t want to do this kind of work anyway.
 
I am sure it is all to do with my history in the “helping people help themselves” professions that leads me to consider a deeper meaning to the meandering morning newspaper caper. Since the deliverer would obviously rather be in Aruba and not driving down this rather beautiful country road dropping off morning newspapers, and since he would would just as obviously enjoy sitting on a number of the porches or decks he is passing sipping coffee and reading the paper instead of throwing them wildly at the trees, it therefore takes little imagination to conjure up a bit of passive aggressiveness here. “I’ll just make that old fart work for his morning news today – Hee Hee.”
 
Of course nothing of the sort is going on except that i have a much too active imagination early in the morning. The paper has shown up every day except one in an ultimately discoverable location, and that one day’s news was quickly re-supplied.
 
I really enjoy going out for the paper and filling the bird feeders early in he morning. It’s all about the screen door, and not about looking for the paper. Just this spring I installed one on the front door to the garage, which is usually the main door. I love the jolting sound as it slams shut, if left to do so. It reminds me of my childhood in the south where any portal to the inside of a house was covered with a screen door.

You could always tell when Fritzie Kennon left the house across the street when his screen door on his back porch slammed shut and startled the Blue Jays in the China Berry tree, and was heard by everyone within a block. There’s no sound quite like it. It was a familiar, and in it’s own way, comforting symbol of neighborhood. 

 
Some folks had those little spring loaded closers that could catch the door and ease it shut in a few seconds. Always seemed kind of uppity to us. In my frequent adolescent fits of temper, I loved the ritual of slamming the screen door. Such a device would surely “dampen” the effect for me.
 
I’ll bet there is not a screen door on Aruba. I’ll have to ask my paper person If I can catch him some morning. He’ll know.
 
Jerry Henderson