One of my mother’s favorite rituals is reading the paper. Even in the digital age, she refuses to sacrifice her delivered, paper copy of The New York Times. Trying to separate her from her Sunday Times is like trying to take a grizzly cub away from its mama: proceed only if you wish to lose one of your limbs.
Every Saturday and Sunday morning, she sits at the table and diligently reads through each section, wearing a faded bathrobe and clutching her coffee mug like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. But even though she claims she can’t
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