A Pile of New Yorkers, Week Forty-Nine in the New Abnormal

I made it to page 50 of the New Yorker with the promise of a poem on the next page. Of course, this is the November 14th Issue, which may seem to indicate I’m a month behind. Not so, since I arbitrarily picked it up from a pile that goes back to issues from last year, I now am down to eleven unread issues. This is my ongoing plight with New Yorkers. My pile expands or contracts based on what’s happening any given week.

I love receiving the magazine, checking out the cover art, viewing the contributors. Each week I have the best of intentions of getting through its pages, ending on an entertaining crossword puzzle. However, it’s a rare week when that happens. Instead, I save them for a doctor’s waiting room. Or, better yet, I bring a small stack with me when traveling. If I can get through an issue before a flight lands, I am deeply satisfied. Even better, is when it’s a long flight and I get through two or more. If I’m on vacation, part of my relaxation is in the form of reading the magazine’s contents, sans political pieces. I get through my issues, one by one, as if I’m triumphing over one of life’s accomplishments.