My Grandmother’s Journals: June, 1997

Grandma, left, chaperoning teens in June of 1961.

In tiny notebooks, my grandmother wrote each day when she woke, where she ate breakfast, any movie she went to see, any mail and calls she received, then what she read and watched on TV before bed, where she seemed to struggle to sleep most nights. 

In 1997, she turned 82 while living alone in a mobile home park in Santa Cruz, Calif., but I wouldn't describe her as lonely. She was an extremely independent and persnickety woman whom I never knew to live with another person or even a pet. (I wrote more about her life in an earlier post.) 
 

Close to her home was the famous surfing spot called Pleasure Point, and she loved walking on the cliffs above the ocean and watching the surfers. When she died, I took her ashes to those waves with a friend of hers and we each dropped some at the sand. A moment after I dropped mine, a surfer emerged from the water where I stood.

 

That was cool. 

 

In June of 1997, my grandmother was recovering from her latest visit to Europe while watching a lot of tennis and golf. She was also not only checking her blood pressure multiple times a day, but driving to different places to check it on different machines.

 

May entries.

Sunday, June 1, 1997

Up 7. Tea, cereal, strawberries and banana.

Washed car, watered lawns.

Yard work, took fern apart.

Worked until 9 o’clock.

Drug Emporium, BP.

Not as hot.

Tennis, Hingis won, Seles over Mary Pierce. Crowd does wave “For Mary.”

TV: “Red Dwarf” til 10.

Retired but no sleep, up for soup and toast at 12.

 

Tuesday, June 3, 1997

Tea, cereal. Vote 26th Street.

Money for girls: Check to H, deposit to Justine’s. ATM removed “Balance Inquiry.”

TV: Tennis.

Ate liver.

To Live Oak, BP 128/70.

Taped Karaoke. Two hours.

Wednesday, June 4, 1997

Up 8:30. Showered, hair, etc.

Late to Vibol’s. Monie is two months late, says Vibol wants child.

To Gottschalk’s, got blue/white umbrella stand.

Home, lunch, talked to neighbors.

Wrote letter to Prudy. To mailbox.

To OSH, got philodendron for blue/white vase.

Walked, knees hurt.

 

Thursday, June 5, 1997

Ate tea, sausage here.

Some yard work. Larry found picture.

Got another plant, indoor this time. Put other outside.

Got blue/white bowl for violet, one for other plant.

Ate chicken san at KFC.

BP at Drug Emporium, low also. Why? Only change was knee warmers?

Friday, June 6, 1997

Mailed birthday card + money to H. Also note to Justine.

Up late. To post office.

Checked BP at Longs early. 133/76.

To corner.

Home, tennis.

Wrote Andra/Lutz, Mina.

Bed 6 p.m., no sleep til a.m.

 

Saturday, June 7, 1997 

No real sleep. Why?

Up 8:30. Yunnan tea, 1/2 muffin.

Longs, BP low. 108?

Home, tennis. Hingis lost, had cramps? In interview said no problem, Iva played better.

Got gas, checked New Leaf for Yunnan tea.

Called Watsonville Food, no.

Pruned jasmine, cut limbs. 2 hours.

Watched Michael Flatley, Lord of the Dance.

 

Sunday, June 8, 1997

To Vibol’s.

Searched for Yunnan tea. Longs, mall.

To show, “Breakdown.” Very exciting, suspenseful.

Caught last 1/2 hour of “Lost World.”

New Leaf for tea, woman tried to locate wholesaler.

Home, 60 Minutes. 

Bed, but sleep late. Up three times.

Monday, June 9, 1997

H birthday.

Up 9. To Longs, BP.

To Vibol's. Talked with Clifton?

Looked more for tea, not found. Way of Life will try order. Got Chamomile.

Dinner at Live Oak.

Justine called at 4, returned call at 4:30. Finally talked 6 or so.

Bed after Cybill.

Tuesday, June 10, 1997

Had chamomile tea last night, slept good.

Up 9. Ate cereal, Yunnan tea.

Longs for BP. First 145, second 113. Got TV Guide.

To library, checked for herbs, San Jose herb markets.

Checked Bass tickets to “Phantom of Opera,” $67.50 downstairs, $50 balcony.

TV: Taped “White Ghost.” Not great!

No sleep until 2 a.m.

Called Justine at 1 a.m.

Wednesday, June 11, 1997

Awake 7:30, up 9:40. 

Breakfast McDonald’s. Took BP before and after.

Walked on cliff.

Ate sandwich at Vibol’s, he not there. Dave came by.

Way of Life called, tea in! 3.83 - 25 bags.

Wrote Justine.

Longs, checked BP, OK.

To post office, mailed letters.

Home, worked on plants.

TV: Baseball, Dodgers 10, Astros 5.

 

Thursday, June 12, 1997

Slept til 9:30. Shower, hair.

To Vibol’s, he cooked liver - onion, ginger. Needs garlic?

TV: Golf, Tiger not good.

BP at Mid-County, 188. 

Same at Longs, got dinners, new leg warmers, brown.

To bank, got GTE stock shares. Read market wrong, still thinking. May sell.

Slept good, took tea.

Friday, June 13, 1997

Fertilized lawn?

Up 7:30, laundromat.

Longs, BP machine off.

Got card from odd man, Phil. Working on Bebe’s roof.

TV: Golf, Tiger Woods back on track.

4:30, machine at Longs still down, checked at Drug Emporium.

Saturday, June 14, 1997

Up 9:15, tea. To Longs, BP working.

Got paper, to Vibol’s, home.

Ironed clothes.

Golf most of day. Cold, rained in early am.

Read papers, mended “apple” boy.

Golf held because of rain.

Watched some “Fanny,” old French movie, read some.

Watched MTV awards for 15 mins or so. Mike Meyers spoofed Lord of the Dance.

 

Monday, June 16, 1997

Breakfast here, cut more Jasmine.

Longs, BP, Albertson’s, Vibol’s.

Mail: Fone bill.

Talked to neighbor, made comment about Bebe.

Worked on branches until almost ill.

Rested and ate. Watered lawn, fertilized again.

Seems $180 was taken with pickpocket.

TV: News, Miss Marple, crossword.

Wrote Mimi.

Tuesday, June 17, 1997

Up 9. Very relaxed.

Ants in kitchen, grease.

To post office, mailed letter, got stamps.

Used toilet at Mid-County.

To Lucky, got 3 frozen dinners.

No BP at Live Oak today.

Walked on cliff.

Mail: From Mimi (Jazzy) and Andra with phone cards. Called Justine with one that had 9 mins on it. 

Worked in yard. 

Justine called 11:30. No sleep until 3 a.m.

Thursday, June 19, 1997

Eye Exam.

Up 9:15. Tea, applesauce.

Longs for BP.

Vibol's, library. Got Sentinel.

To doctor for exam,  no change in lenses. Should pass test. Drove home carefully.

Longs, took pix of pier accident. Sent to Justine with ticket (Phantom).

Got “Caught” video at Wherehouse.

Dodgers v. Giants.

 

Friday, June 20, 1997

Up 9ish. Tea. Ants here.

Longs, high BP.

To Vibol’s.  Seagulls got my car, hood.

Home, washed car. 

Ran “Caught.” Good, well-made.

Changed clothes again. To Wherehouse, returned tape.

To Drug Emporium, BP 137.

To post office, closed at 4:30!

To 17th Street, also now close at 4:30!

To Albertson’s, got macaroni & soup.

Hot, watered lawn.

Saturday, June 21, 1997

Not much sleep. Even took Melatonin, nothing.

BP OK, Vibol’s. 

To post office, $1 each letter.

Dodgers won 11-0.

Slept a bit after eating.

Walked on West Cliff. 

Bed early.

 

Sunday, June 22, 1997

Good sleep.

Tea, cereal. Longs, BP.

To Vibol’s, Clayton in. Second granddaughter born Thursday.  6 1/4 lbs.

Home. Worked on chain for bathroom basin. 

Also made new garters for brown knee warmers.

TV: Part of Dodgers, X-Files, some news.

Larry wants to re-sod lawn?

 

Monday, June 23, 1997 

Awake 8, up 9. Tea, toast.

Longs, then Vibol’s. Talked Pol Pot.

Vacuumed bedroom, walls, etc.

Lunch at Kmart, chicken sandwich.

To show, “My Best Friend's Wedding.” Funny, liked Rupert Everett. Had good lines.

 

Tuesday, June 24, 1997

Up 9:30. To Vibol’s til 11:30.

To Longs, then other BP. Good.

To Bank, got $200. T-Bill deposit!

Mail: Got package I mailed from England.

Took book to Larry. He not doing good!

TV: Law & Order.

Brian Keith shot himself. Cancer, emphysema.

Wednesday, June 25, 1997

Awake 6:30, up 8:30. Tea, cereal, fruit here.

Smog check. Now no coupon. Passed.

To Vibol’s.

Home 12:15. Unpacked package from London.

To Longs. BP, pix of DMV check.

Made tuna.

TV: News, baseball, Law & Order. 

No sleep.

Friday, June 27, 1997

Awake 7:45, up 9. Ironed blouses.

Longs, checked BP. Got TV Guide.

To Vibol’s. Clayton in.

To Burger King, got fish to go.

Read papers, watered lawn, talked to Larry.

News, bed early.

 

Saturday, June 28, 1997

Awake 4, up 9:30. Longs, BP 161.

Breakfast: tea, egg, poached.

To Vibol’s.

To show, “Citizen Ruth.”

Took pix of sunset, S.C. beaches. People many.

McDonald’s: Got chicken sandwich, sundae.

Dodgers lost again.

 

Sunday, June 29, 1997

Up 10:30. Carla called. [Carla, pictured above, was one of my mother’s high school friends.]

To Vibol’s, Longs. BP 159.

Planted new plant.

TV: ST Voyager, 60 Minutes. News full of Hong Kong.

Taped ballet.

 

Monday, June 30, 1997

Awake to rain. Accidents on 101.

TV: Wimbledon, Seles lost a close one. Wet, slippery grass.

Longs for BP. To Vibol’s.

Home, wrote Justine.

Papers, crossword, up 12 to 4.

TV: Oldies: Mary Tyler Moore, Dick Van Dyke, Odd Couple, Mr. Ed.

July entries.

Poem: The weed growing above the freeway

When the worry and dread

take over my head,

I go visit the weed 

Growing above the freeway.

And I tell it my troubles,

which are always different

yet always the same,

about how the world is dying,

yet humans keep flying

faster toward their doom,

like the cars forever driving 

on the freeway below.

And always I ask the weed

how it found that crack in the gray

to grow so green and serene

and stand so tall

above it all.

And always it says nothing,

because weeds can’t talk.

Still I always feel better after our chat,

and begin searching anew for my way

to grow green and serene among the gray,

and be like that weed 

growing above the freeway.

My favorite birthday dinner? Hot dogs cooked in the dog’s water dish.

That birthday hot dog-dog.

On special occasions I like to eat hot dogs. No fancy food in expensive restaurants for me, please. And no ketchup, either. Just a hot dog with plenty of mustard is all I need.

So that is what we brought to a house we rented on my birthday one year. But the house that had nothing to cook with. A stove, but no pans. A microwave, but no bowls. No grill or fireplace, either.

It seemed like I wouldn’t get to celebrate with hot dogs after all. Until my husband finally found a way to cook them: boiling the hot dogs in the microwave with the only bowl we could put in there — the dog’s water dish.

That was cool.

Many people certainly won’t think cooking hot dogs in a pet’s bowl is cool, especially not the man who did it. But I love that he found a way to cook that night, deciding that at least one thing would be worse than cooking hot dogs in a dog dish: Me not eating the hot dogs at all. 

 That was super cool.

My Grandmother’s Journals: May, 1997

My grandmother's 1964 passport photo.

In tiny notebooks, my grandmother wrote down each day when she woke, where she ate breakfast, any movie she went to see, any mail or phone calls, then what she read and watched on TV before bed.

 

In 1997, my grandmother was living alone in a mobile home park in Santa Cruz, Calif. But I wouldn't describe her as lonely; she was an extremely independent and persnickety woman whom I never knew to live with another person or even a pet. (I wrote more about her life in an earlier post.)  

 

She began May of 1997 in Paris, again, a city she loved to visit in the spring, even at age 81!

 

That was super cool.

 

April entries

 

Thursday, May 1, 1997 - In Paris

Vibol anniversary May 10, send card.

Up 3 a.m., 6 a.m. Back on schedule?

Got cheese, cookies.

To Mimi’s for dinner: Broccoli soup, rice, salad, strawberries. Talked.

To hotel, McDonald's.

Wrote three letters: Justine, Andra, Violet Hotel.

Woke with gum or tooth problem.

Friday, May 2, 1997 - Paris

Meet Yvonne at 4 p.m.

To post office, mailed letters.

Gum better, washed with salt water.

Talked to couple from Atlanta.

Hot, left coat at hotel.

Washed hair and bathed. 

Yvonne arrived on time. Talked til 6, walked a bit.

Saturday, May 3, 1997  - Paris

To Pere Lachaise (cemetery). Take camera. Hot.

Forgot map. Where is Jim? (Jim Morrison).

Took pix of “graffiti”: “Some are known, some unknown, between the two are doors.”

Got chicken and potatoes. Packed 4 to 5:30 p.m.

To show, “Looking for Richard.” Al Pacino.

Got chicken cubes & cookies at store.

Packed again. Rained a bit.

Little sleep.

Sunday, May 4, 1997 - Paris to Marseille

Train to Marseille, leaves station 14:24

Awake almost all night. Up 7:45. Gum much better.

To RR 10 a.m. Read papers.

Train late to Marseille. Bus, welcome. Pix of each as arrive (on the ship).

Two women, three men. Woman robbed!

Hot. Sleep impossible.

Monday, May 5, 1997 - On cruise

Roommate has bloody nose. Ladies are twins.

Find way to use air conditioner.

Breakfast eggs, hardly made. Omelet offered.

Morning spent on life-saving exercises.

Lecture on excursions. Bought excursion tickets.

Bed. Slept better.

 

Tuesday, May 6, 1997 - Malta

Breakfast alone.

Got stamps and mailed.

Lecture very good. Re: origin of things.

Got postcards, mailed before lunch. 6: Justine, Carla, Lois/Oscar, Joan/Sally, Mina.

Langoustine for dinner.

Slept some.

Wednesday, May 7, 1997 - At sea

Warm in night. 

Roommates left early? Gone by 7.

Breakfast, promenade deck. A little sea.

Ukrainian lunch. Music, tea, more music. Russian pastry.

Women at table, asked for paper to write card numbers on.

Thursday, May 8, 1997 - Rhodes

Up 8, breakfast 9.

Washed clothes.

Lunch. Man could not eat cheese/legumes, given omelette with cheese. Jean-Michel not pleased.

Walked near port, shops for souvenirs.

 

Friday, May 9, 1997 - Turkey

To Cappadocia. Finally off at 9 a.m.

Have to pay $20 for Visa.

Shop, problem with money. Want lira, not francs.

Visited mosque. 

Roommate lives near Monaco.

Buffet dinner, beautiful spread.

Bed after bath. Roommate to folkloric program. 

Grandma sitting next to Robert, center.

Saturday, May 10, 1997 - Turkey

Watched TV. American woman selling Internet.

Bus out at 8. To city of 15 chapels.

Very hot. Walked lots.

To other roadside sellers, camel. Ate at better places. 

Robert was there, he drank too much. Staggered.

Visited underground city. Children came, I went upstairs with them.

Sunday. May 11, 1997 - At sea

Not much sleep, noise of the air conditioner.

Breakfast, no Robert. Later he said  he ate at 10:10.

Rested most of day. Read paper, balanced money.

Washed clothes after dinner.

Dinner good, salmon. Talked to children.

Monday, May 12, 1997 - Crete

Up 645. Tired. Excursion to Crete, 8:45.

Young English photographer, talked of government change.

To museums, got two tops for Justine.

Dinner late. To cinema, “Les Miserables.”

Bed late, slept some.

Tuesday, May 13, 1997 - At sea

Ankles still swollen.

Breakfast, wrote cards, 5: Justine, Mina, Carla, Stinson, Larry (her neighbor).

Tea 4:30. Walked a bit.

Chamber music, kids asleep in armchair.

 

Wednesday, May 14, 1997 - Palermo

To Jurassic Park, dubbed in French.

Excursion to 3 chapels, traffic horrendous.

Talked to tall man with Claudine, he calm, patient, nice.

Bed 11:30. Slept a bit better. 

So tired, problem with knee.

Thursday, May 15, 1997 - At sea

Up 7:15. Dressed. Cold worse! Walked.

10 a.m.: Conference on volcanoes.

11 a.m.: to kiosk for photos.

Lunch, rested.

Filled out questionnaire, took to TransTours. Packed.

Dinner, Robert took more pix.

Addresses exchanged, goodbyes.

 

Friday, May 16, 1997 - Marseille to Paris

Breakfast with Mimi. She kissed me?

Made goof, got wrong bag, everyone looking.

Train, slept practically all way. Young man put bag up.

 

Saturday, May 17, 1997 - Paris

Mailed tops to Justine.

Bank, got 1,800. Paid four nights

To Pere Lachaise. Got new map, Jim Morrison still there. Took two pix.

Called Sy. Not good.

To Mimi’s, left note, her bag.

Grandma's cruise roommate Claudine.

Sunday, May 18, 1997 - Paris

Not much sleep again! Warm, humid.

Packed some, washed underwear.

Claudine called, gave me her number in case I came back.

To Louvre, closed for holiday.

Walked to hotel.

 

Tuesday, May 20, 1997 - London

To Eurostar, London.

Raining, changed to boots, raincoat! Maybe not good, humid.

To London on time. Sat with girl, but changed seats so could rest better.

Ate at station, called hotel. Took Underground.

Landlady said I could leave luggage here. 

 

Wednesday, May 21, 1997 - London

Showered. 6:45 breakfast.

Took pix.

To discount playhouse. Got seat for 10f.

Woman next to me from Vancouver, son teaches English. She teaches ballet.

Patti Lapone as Maria Callas. Difficult role, couldn't hear all the time!

Thursday, May 22, 1997 - London

Packed a box to send to myself of clothes.

To National Gallery. Ate dessert.

Ate at Wendy’s about 1 p.m.

To Selfridges, got silk undershirt. Got black purses also! Girl had seen “Lost Boys.”

Friday, May 23, 1997 - Liverpool

To Liverpool, 9:05 train. Andra & Lutz met me.

To Albert Dock, souvenirs. Got tea towels. Beatles.

Walked long, tired. Not much eating.

Lunch at Andra’s, salad, lasagna. 

Games on TV.

Bed 11, good sleep til 3.

 

Saturday, May 24, 1997 - Liverpool

Tea, toast. Andra, Lutz & I to town.

Met Sabine, friend from university.

To Cavern, Beatles, pix.  

Ate at Caesars (Palace). Great salad. Lutz had kebab. Paid 23.95.

To home, TV a bit. 

To train station.

Sunday, May 25, 1997 - London

Cold in night. Should use quilt! Dumb.

Sandra called 9:30, will be up 11:30. Showed on time.

Talked cruise, then her turn. Almost split with husband. Very unhappy in 1995 when (Justine and I) there. Told her very apparent.

Walked to embankment. To small place for sandwich.

To Underground, she to Waterloo, I walked.

Bus to Victoria, ate baked potato and candy.

Had horrible accident, went to Burger King to clean.

To hotel, took shower, washed clothes!

Wednesday, May 28, 1997 - Back home in Santa Cruz

Up at 4. Unpacked, ate at corner. Vibol high blood pressure.

Got mail, mailed letter to Sy.

Washed some clothes, cleaned patio. Cut roses, fertilized.

Called Justine at 10:30, woke her. Did not get tops.

She called back, got mail today. Tops and photo.

Worked on bank balance, not coming out right. Need statement, 3 days more.

Bed 8 p.m. after watering lawn.

 

Thursday, May 29, 1997

Up 5:30. Breakfast McDonald's.

Laundromat, Kmart, BP. Safeway, groceries.

Tennis: Venus won.

Took pictures of surf at 41st, marina.

Home, rested, read papers. 

Finished putting things away. Washed tights.

Tired, no energy.

Mail: Bank statement, balanced OK.

 

Friday, May 30, 1997

Awake 5. Tea, applesauce. 

Fertilized lawn with Miracle Grow.

Washed shirt, two blue tops.

To walk, take camera. Forgot. Foggy.

Tennis: Pete lost, had stomach virus.

To Longs, cholesterol good. Pix not ready.

Saturday, May 31, 1997

Not good sleep. Pillow not mine.

Awake 5 a.m. Tea and applesauce.

Got paper. Car trouble. 

To Kmart, got breakfast, nightgown.

Hot, rested. 

Tennis: Hingis won.

To show, "Fifth Element." Crazy SiFi. Bruce Willis, Gary Oldman, Set in 2314. 

Man talked on way out re Jurassic Park: Lost World. Did not like.

Too warm. Gave up. Bed.

Is it cold that so tires me, or warm weather? Or HP?

My favorite moment in Monterey: Meeting the man playing guitar in the harbor.

Happy musician in Monterey.

The last morning of a recent visit to Monterey, I met a man playing guitar in the harbor. 

Everything about him was cool. 

First was the music he was playing, which drew me closer because it reminded me of Jimi Hendrix.

Second cool thing was the banana on his pile of dollars to keep them from blowing away.

When I knelt to leave some of my dollars, he said the fruit was not only practical, but put out in honor of someone no longer in the harbor.

Last, but also best, was the infectious grin he offered to everyone who walked by. To those who met his eye he offered a friendly, “How’re you doing?” To those who asked how he was, he said, “Just loving life.”

That was very cool.

And he kept smiling even as we talked about how I could now only afford to visit the area I used to call home.

“That’s why I’m doing this,” he said, patting his guitar. “Three thousand dollars a month for rent!”

He went back to his music and I walked away with the best birthday gift I could have gotten that morning: A new resolve to “just love life,” whatever it brings.

My weekend in Monterey had many wonderful moments, but meeting that man in the harbor was definitely my favorite, because he reminded me that happiness is an attitude: No matter where you are or what is happening around you, if you look hard enough, you can find something cool to smile about.

And here in California, where everything I love seems to be evaporating before my eyes, finding a way to enjoy what is still here is more important than ever.

 

See him play and hear other music from my visit below:

 

There’s nothing like watching a newspaper being printed. And getting to yell, “Stop the presses!”

 A newspaper displayed at a restaurant.

At my first newspaper job after college I was on the night news desk, where your shift didn’t end until you checked the first copies of the next day’s paper as they came off the printing press.

That was cool.

Of course, when I wanted to go home it wasn’t quite so cool to wait that extra half hour, often past midnight, for the huge printing press to finally start churning out a few newspapers so us last editorial folks in the building could make sure there weren’t any major errors to fix before thousands of papers were made.

But now I know how special it was to watch the press transform all the blood, sweat and tears of everyone in the building into a neat package I could hold in my hands. Those were moments of pride and wonder unlike any others.
 

For those moments, though, I had to brave another realm, one carefully separated from the newsroom by a claustrophobic hallway and a very heavy door that I was only supposed to open when the press wasn’t running. Even with the press quiet I found that room overwhelming: The size, the smells, the lights, and especially the faces of all the near-strangers anxious for me to leave without finding a reason for them to strip the press and start their work over. 

 

But the worst thing I could do was barge in when the behemoth was at full blast, like I did the time I got to order, “Stop the presses!”

It was a Saturday afternoon and the first two sections of the Sunday paper were already being printed when I happened to check one of the pages my co-worker prepared and saw a mistake that had to be corrected. A crucial “r” was missing in the main feature’s headline, so it yelled: “beast cancer.”
 

I ran to the press room and flung open the heavy door. Most of the workers inside didn’t notice, as they all had thick ear protectors on and were busy getting the first run done so they could prepare for the next, but the supervisor looked at me when the door opened.

 

Knowing he couldn’t hear a darn thing even if I shouted at the top of my lungs, I just dragged my index finger across my throat, and he signaled to stop the press. As the machine ground to a halt I showed him the error to prove my demand was necessary, then hurried back to the newsroom, where my co-worker had already fixed the typo and started the many-step process of creating all new negatives and plates so the press could start again.

 

I will never forget the sights and sounds of that day, just as I will never forget what it was like to hold a freshly printed newspaper and smell the ink staining my fingers.

If there is a temple of journalism, it is the press room: A huge space that demands humility, inspiring prayers and pleas of forgiveness from those who enter. Even the notoriously robust ego of a journalist is easily shrunk when that massive machine shows just how small a part one person plays in putting out a newspaper.

 

And seeing all the time, energy and money it takes to create that roll of information, which will soon be dropped in thousands of driveways, it’s hard not to pray — Pray that you don’t find any mistakes to stop the press, but also that you do find the really bad ones.

 

Of course we humans can't catch all our mistakes, so we also ask for plenty of forgiveness in the press room, both for the minor typos and the major missteps. And while the finality of the press run can be terrifying, few end-of-shift rituals are as tangible and triumphant. 

 

A few years later, that newspaper shut down its printing press to cut costs, and I haven’t gotten to watch another press run since, as every other newspaper I’ve worked at no longer had a press in the building to create their papers on site.

 

Seeing a press run is something I’ve sorely missed, not just because of how cool it is to watch one, but because that machine felt like the beating heart of the newspaper. When every day you’ve spent in an industry you’re told its dying, it’s very comforting to have that heart close by, where you can check on any time you want. If it’s far away all you can do is hope it’s still alive, ready to keep bringing the words you to love to life.

 

A page from "News of the World," by Paulette Jiles.

Poem: The Wish

Where does the wish go

when nobody wins
the wishbone?

It is our future,
he said
so let’s both wish for it.
 

We wished

and we pulled,

but the top went flying

behind the fridge.

If we each got the same little piece,

did we each get our wish, 

or did nobody?

Is our future now soaring to new heights?
Or is it laughing at us
from behind the fridge?

Justine Frederiksen