The New York Times. August 20, 1968

Imagine my shock.

There we were on The Outer Banks of North Carolina, beginning a week’s worth of fun and sun, nothing to stand in the way of a completely invented, self-contained escape from reality. We knew no one, didn’t expect phone calls, brought along “A Dance to the Music of Time” on DVD and a couple of books… . The 21st century, as we are coming to know it, would not intrude.

The house had high speed internet. Well, DSL anyway. Fine, I wouldn’t actually check email or the daily headlines. I determined to only read those blogs that I so enjoy, reveling in the chance to “take some time off” from my obsession over daily posting.

Morning dawned sweet and cool for August. I looked down at the driveway, following the hopping lope of a rabbit and saw…. a Sunday newspaper. “Hmm,” I thought. “That’s sort of nice.”

You see, I don’t fit the demographic of the newspaper reader. I am younger than 65, for example. I no longer work in any sort of important job or live in an important city. As I mentioned in a glancing blow above, I get my headlines via the New York Times online. (Odd, you would figure the Washington papers’ electronic editions would be more my cuppa… but they get awfully serious. When I worked for the government, I would read The Wall Street Journal and The Washington Post — no Washington Times then, The New York Times and Jane’s Defence Weekly.) Papers today seem a waste of time.

But that Sunday “Virginia-Pilot” was right there with news of Michael Phelps’ incredible achievements, the fencing scores, the headlines and more. How nice of my landlords to have a Sunday paper delivered! I enjoyed a half hour’s respite on the deck with my paper as the sun rose and began to burn away the evening’s haze.

Monday morning there appeared another paper! And Tuesday’s edition was waiting the next day….

Reading the daily paper was a ritual that our parents shared with their parents. A free press is taken for granted by Americans. But we’re losing that connection to the paper — maybe it’s the ink that coats your fingers…. (I understand that having your gentleman’s gentleman iron the paper will set the ink.) The daily paper is fast becoming a relic of a slower time, one in which two editions a day covered “all the news fit to print.”

If you truly wish to embrace a more elegant lifestyle, I suggest finding time to peruse the newspaper. Reading the news whilst having your freshly brewed coffee each morning, just before you step out the door. Pull that off and you will have slowed time to a pre-internet pace. But, it won’t be easy.

My calling cards and business cards arrived today. They are a lot to live up to, simply beautiful and so heavy they clatter when they hit the desk.

Now the trick is to find something to carry them in. I am using a family heirloom — a cigarette case in three shades of gold that was given to someone in the family in December of 1917. The motto on the cover is latin for “I love peace.” The cards are so thick that I can only carry five at a time in the case. But I don’t really get out much anyway.

And then the question of carrying anything at all in a suit pocket comes up. Bulk ruins the well-tailored look. Perhaps I should risk bending the cards and keep a couple in a coat pocket to be produced with a smooth and elegant gesture. I understand that Frank Sinatra kept loose cigarettes in his pocket to produce the same effect. No struggling with a pack for The Chairman of the Board….

They make a great hostess gift, if you ask me, those sparkly, old-fashioned fruit ornaments. They look pretty good clustered in a glass bowl as a centerpiece, too.

Of all the ornaments that we’ve collected over the years, the fruits seem to be the most versatile and festive. I hang them on ribbons dangling from the chandelier over the dining room table. The glass beads catch the candlelight and sparkle like frost. I hang them in the artificial pine roping that swags the arch in the library. With a few magnolia leaves thrown in, the effect is of an evergreen frame for the tree which sits beneath.

Yes, I know, they are just so much glass beads and styrofoam, but when Christmas approaches, it’s visions of sugared plums, pears, apples, cherries and pomegranates that fill my head.