The New Yorker

I love the New Yorker and love that I can read it online now... The first time I ever read the New Yorker was when I was nearly thirty years old, laying in a maternity room at Durham Regional Hospital, waiting for the prolonged arrival of Mary Kathryn Chesson Smith. This day was nearly thirteen years ago -- missing it by only a few days.

I picked up the issue laying the waiting room and lay down upon the bed (which was normally reserved for those about to deliver their child, but was made available to me bc Mary Jo was trying to sleep in her room and there was plenty of room in the Inn). I was immediately grabbed. I don't remember the story, but I remember thinking that I had never read such an in-depth story, and how I couldn't wait to read the next one.

In the weeks that followed, when my subscription had kicked in, reading the New Yorker became my pasttime while feeding... and not sleeping... I remember reading it in the car in Wilson where we had stopped to do a little breastfeeding (her, not me)... and being so into this article about the handoff of Hong Kong to the Chinese that I lost track of time.

It is the best written magazine in America. It is at the forefront of opinions, and perspectives, and the best damn way I have found to keep me growing and learning and intrigued. And the article on John Paul Stevens this week is great!

iPhone Camera