An (Almost) perfect morning

Today is a fine example of what I might call an (almost) perfect morning.  I began the day with 45 minutes of yoga — a basic warm up section and then a more aggressive Suryanamascar (Sun Salutation) sequence.  My form is dreadful (so a work in progress, I suppose) but as it has been probably five years since I have made yoga a regular morning event, I am really trying  to build a habit, so I can then break the process down and hone in on each pose trying for perfect form.

So 45 minutes of yoga, followed by a high antioxidant, green smoothie with vegan protein to restore my energy, so that I can spend some quality time on my front porch, sans glasses, sipping  my (mostly decaf) coffee, soaking up vitamin D from indirect sunlight, and reading the New York Times.

Coffee in one hand, smoothie in the other, I am on my front porch now ready to greet the day.

Except for one thing.

There’s no paper today.

The first ripple in an otherwise placid morning.

Don’t know why I’m still surprised, though.  I’ve had to call them every day since last Thursday about delivery problems.  We have had to go through this whole process about once every six months since we started subscribing.

We picked up the New York Times about a year ago last spring, I think, after dropping Memphis’s sorry excuse for a paper, the Commercial Appeal.  I wanted to drop the Appeal after they redesigned it to look even more like an Unholy union of USA Today and the Smyrna Neighbor, a small town paper near where I grew up.  Not long after, the Appeal gave me all the reason I needed to reconsider my support.  The C.A.  ran two or three straight weeks of full-page, anti-gay, anonymously written ads, after the second or third week of which they printed a letter from the editor apologizing for agreeing to run the ad, while at the same time saying essentially “we only have to run the ad in question for one more week, and then we  promise we won’t do it again.”  Until the next time.

Back to the New York Times, though.

Our edition is printed in Nashville and trucked to Memphis in time for early morning delivery.  Unfortunately, they have to rely on the same local network of delivery people who every other paper does.  As a result, the Times comes every morning like clockwork until one morning it just stops.  Or it is there to greet me every morning until one day it comes wrapped up with the C.A.  Or some times they both come but in separate bags.  One memorable day (last Friday, I think) we got the C.A. and the New York Times together in one bag and USA Today in a separate bag.

If you were wondering, no, we don’t subscribe to USA Today either.

So coming around to this cycle of Memphis dysfunction, starting last week it was C.A. + NYT Tuesday through Thursday, then C.A.+ NYT+USA Today on Friday, nothing on Saturday, nothing on Sunday morning, but some time Sunday afternoon, the NYT was there, and nothing at all thus far this week, Monday through Wednesday.

Every time I come out to find…nothing, I hear a line from a movie play in my head.  It’s Donnie Darko talking to Roberta Sparrow, “No mail today. Maybe tomorrow.”

After the fourth time I call to get credit and report no paper (probably tomorrow), the NYT will escalate the complaint to a local distribution manager, who most likely will resolve the problem eventually, and then we will have perfect delivery for six months or so before the cycle will start again.

But I digress.

Back to my (almost) perfect morning.

Smoothie.  Dark coffee.  Hair done.  Breakfast with Chris, featuring the first fruits of the summer from our yard.  A small bowl of blueberries, a tiny but very sweet peach, and a small Gala apple.

Perfect balance of sweet tastes to welcome a fine day.