Some of you may be saying “Goodness, why is Agebuster always referring to the Times?” “J’accuse,” you may be shouting. You are right.
My defense: I can’t help it. I grew up with the Times. It has run my life. When it arrives in the morning, I can no more ignore it, or skedaddle, than abandon a newborn baby. “Stop everything,” I tell myself. Sit and read. It’s a hook, a narcotic. And my husband is also narcotized. For hours, at breakfast, he sits and reads, without a word. He has nothing to say. It’s all there before him. There’s no tine for chit-chat.
Once they’re read, the sheets are put aside and the talk begins; life resumes. The conversation lasts for hours and goes on all day. We’ve absorbed what we could, but are still ruminating.
