The kind you’re born with, the kind you choose, the kind that teach Catholic school
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I was reading the June issue of The Sun in bed when I realized that the magazine wasn’t as warm as it used to be. The stories were still full of heart, but the magazine itself seemed cold. Then I read a sentence that caused me to pause and reflect, and I laid the open magazine across my chest. It was then I discovered the magazine really was cold; you had switched to a glossy paper. (Is Belle Matte Latin for “chilly paper”?) The Sun no longer felt like a warm flannel blanket, but a cold, slippery piece of ice ready to slide off my body. I began feeling hurt and angry about the switch.
Fortunately, I was reading Pema Chödrön’s “When Things Fall Apart” at the time, and was able to see the experience as a small but perfect lesson in breaking away from attachment. A vision crossed my mind of a touristy T-shirt I’d once seen: “Wisconsin — Cold Noses, Warm Hearts.” I immediately amended that to “The Sun — Cold Pages, Warm Hearts,” and I knew then that everything would be all right.
You can change your paper as often as you want, just don’t stop printing such warm and wonderful stories.