I hate to go to bed at night / Yet, would you believe it? / When morning comes I love that bed / And I always hate to leave it.

I have the Times delivered to my home. Maybe I'm spoiled, but I count on that little blue bag to be there when I amble out to the stoop each morning. Unfortunately, newspaper thievery is rampant in these parts. I've noticed that if the retrieval takes place after 9am, my crucial link to contemporaneity is nearly always stolen (just another example of early risers rubbing it in my face!). Of late someone in my building has taken a new and much appreciated approach - they take the paper, read it, and then (here's the novel part), they return it to the blue bag and leave it on the stairwell for me to collect at my leisure. Not only is this beacon of borrower's etiquette staying abreast of current events, but they ensure I get my paper before any other, less benevolent thieves spy the prize.

Still, the never-ending home delivery war is just one more motivation to WAKE UP as soon as possible.

Here's a little something from my box of special things, which is coincidentally stored under the bed. It comes from a binder my Dad kept when he was learning to read. Apparently, he got a blue star for this particular effort. Good job Dad.