Fond memories and the glorious smell of newsprint.

When I was a kid, one of my favorite things about the weekend was waking up and heading to the front porch to get the newspaper. Typically, I'd be the first one up in the house, which meant I had the newspaper all to myself. I'd pull it from the tube and unfold it, careful not to drop the sections, and the first thing I'd do is put my nose to the paper and smell the fresh ink and newsprint. Since I can remember, I've always loved the smell of fresh newsprint. I still do.

I'd find the perfect spot in the house, usually the top of the stairs as I'd sit on the steps and lay the paper on the landing. The only sound as I sat there was the heater kicking on to warm the house and me slowly turning the pages. I'd read everything in the paper -- the front page, local, sports, Soundlife, and of course, the comics. I'd wanted to be a journalist since my teenage years, so I'd read what I could and take mental notes on writing styles I liked and what made a good news article. The best was saved for last, and yes, that was the comics. Sunday editions always came in color, and once I was done, I'd make sure to put the paper back the same way it came, then left it on the table for my dad to read when he woke up.

Today, on the way home from Anacortes, Dori and I stopped to get a much needed coffee and the newspaper rack caught my eye. I don't remember the last time I bought one, but I do know that I absolutely love that the paper is still alive and well on this island.

Print journalism is a dying art. The good old fashioned days of getting an assignment, tracking down sources via the phone book, driving then interviewing and scribbling the facts in a reporter's notebook, writing it longhand, typing it out, editing, and finally submitting have been replaced by phone calls, Skype, and using the internet to find people. Long nights of lightboards, precise cutting of words before pasting, and the sense of accomplishment (and eye strain) once it went to print are but a distant memory. Instead, technology and software automatically fit and format a page in a matter of minutes.

The newsprint smells different and the comics aren't what they used to be, but the sentiment still remains. Today, for just a few minutes, I felt 13 again.

And I loved every moment of it.