As of midnight tonight, the Canadian Postal workers are going on strike. Well, snail mail has almost become a thing of the past, anyway. I receive -- and pay -- all my bills on line, I don't care if I receive any flyers or junk mail, and most of my correspondence is done by e-mail or Facebook, so what does it matter? Well, my New Yorker is delivered by Canada Post, and the highlight of my week is opening my mail box and finding my crisp, clean New Yorker magazine. It makes me happy. I always read it in the same order ~~ first the cartoon caption contest on the back pages, then the art, movie and theatre critics, and so on... I have been reading the New Yorker since I was a little girl, and I borrowed my father's subscriptions. No matter what is going on in my life during the week, as long as can curl up with my New Yorker magazine, all is right with the world.
The New Yorker magazine has wonderful cartoons as well, and from the early days of James Thurber, to Roz Chast and George Booth (who was always my favourite), the cartoons are fun and topical. This one made me laugh right out loud. Of course, what else would Canada Geese be doing right now...? The same thing that everyone else in Canada is doing ~~ watching hockey.
Please, Mr. Postman, whatever you decide to do, don't go on strike. I can't be responsible for what I might do if I were to go through New Yorker magazine withdrawal. Wailing and gnashing of teeth may be involved ~~ once I catch you.