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Recently, I subscribed to several magazines to see what I was missing, and the answer came back loud and clear: not much. I look at the pictures, turn down page corners of articles I think I ought to want to read, and let them pile up. Some day. . . .
So here comes The Sun, and no sooner do I open it than I know I must read all of it — at once — and I do, almost. (I fall asleep and neglect “Salvaging the Future” [Issue 158], which I can still look forward to.) I don’t know what to say except the Quaker expression, “It speaks to my condition.”
In middle age I thought I was a peninsula turning into an island. Now in old age, I think of myself as having become that island, but available in friendship to those who choose to visit my shores. Now I look forward to future issues of The Sun as a monthly excursion boat landing a cargo of ideas, dreams, and surprises.