HOLD THE MUSTARD!

I live and die by the morning newspaper. The condition it's delivered in (wet, torn, incomplete), whether it is delivered early or late all determines the mood of my day. Newspaper first, everything else comes second.

Sunday morning papers are interesting. I should weigh one to see how many pounds of news there are each Sunday and what the weight of the remaining advertising is. My guess would be out of 3 pounds of newspaper there is no more than a pound of news. Newspapers used to be the other way around: Lots of news, not a lot of crap.

I suppose some people subscribe to the newspaper for the crap so when you hear people say their newspaper is crap you will know why: They only read the crap side of the paper and not the news itself.

This morning I ventured out in the Sunday morning mist to pick up my two Sunday papers. Normally I unwrap the papers in the garage, dispose of the rubber bands and plastic wrap around them. This morning I brought both into the kitchen, placed them on the counter and commenced to unwrap them.

Interestingly, the first paper, the Sacramento Bee, had been doubled wrapped. The carrier does this when it's raining. Double wrapping makes her doubly certain that rain water does not penetrate to the paper. I wondered why, on misting morning, that she had taken such care.

I cut the first layer of plastic off of the Bee and pulled out the paper. A whiff of mustard and a look at the second layer of plastic all covered in yellow told me that we had a problem. Closer inspection revealed a plastic serving cup that still had some mustard in it since the rest had covered the plastic wrap.

Wet papers make me mad. I fight over wet newspapers. Papers that are late drive me crazy - I could go postal over a late newspaper or one that is not delivered. But a plastic newspaper wrap covered in mustard? I can understand that. That's something I'd do . .. early morning paper route at 4:00 a.m., hungry, hit the 711 for a corndog, a cup of mustard and a Budweiser from my cooler to jump start my day. I'd eat, drive, drink and wrap papers all at the same time. I have a talent for no handed driving using only my knees to steer. It's part of being gifted, don't you think?

Then I'd say, "Damn! Where's the mustard?!" That's probably what happened, minus the Bud. Somewhere in the process of eating, driving, bagging papers for delivery, the mustard got stuffed in one of the wrappers. I know our carrier. She could do that. But drinking beer at 4 in the morning is not her cup of tea.

Next time I see our carrier I'll have to ask, "Please hold the mustard on my Sunday paper. I'll take mine without condiments, thank you very much."

Monday is Grace's birthday. She invited her preschool friends to celebrate at a party yesterday at the gymnastics school. Parties where you jump around, climb ropes and roll around on the floor? I thought that was for older kids.

It is hard to believe that Grace is four. In twenty years she will be 24 and I'll be 86. Somehow I know that I'll be around to celebrate with her. Hopefully she'll still want to jump around, climb ropes and roll around on the floor. At 86, what the hell, I'll be partying right along with Grace and her friends. "Just prop me up Grace and please put my teeth back in my mouth for me if they pop out. Oh yes, can I have another Bud to go with my chicken wings?"