Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Wake Up Sleepyhead!
Somewhere in the background of my brain I hear music. Nothing else in that deep vacuum really, just music. In a nano-second I acknowledge the source, and give the radio a whap. Next, silence. But wait, it's not. That frenzy of chirping tells me my feathered friends are already up and at it, working on breakfast or tidying the nest. Listening more closely I can hear the sound of DH shaving, behind the closed bathroom door. A closer listen, the sound of cars already heading down the street.

The cat and I lie there a minute more, a few pats on her head as a deposit on what she'll surely deserve, after a day of being abused by those two furry fiends downstairs. I stop and think for just a minute, 'what day is it, what do I have going on today? Where do I have to be?' My mind skips over those items jotted in my daytimer, and I hit on a few that are pure joy. Aha! Something fun to look forward to. Then a minute taken, "Good morning Lord. Thanks for this beautiful day, for a reason to get out of this bed, places to go, people to spend it with, for purpose. Help me honor you today, from start to finish." Miah the cat scurries out of the way as I fling the coverlet across the bed, swing my legs out and slip my feet into slippers, a bit ratty to look at. Molded to my feet, they slide on without even a glance at them.

Literally stumbling down the hall as these not-that-old joints begin to loosen up. Potty stop, brush my teeth, survey the mess on my head and ponder whether I can go gather the paper such as I am. Heck, the neighbors have been seeing me like this for 12 years. It's good enough. Down the stairs, carefully, because I'm still not that awake, but after living here awhile I count the stairs automatically, '1-2-3-4-5....' and hit the bottom landing at '12'. There's something comforting about starting my day, the familiarity of again counting to 12.

I pause a minute to look out the front window that needs a good cleaning. Is it sunny? Oh my, it is! My spirits rise and something deep inside me begins to mentally sing, 'oh what a beautiful morning...' because I'm corny that way, and kind of like that I am. I could live inside a good old musical, just give me a scarf to tie on my head and I'm good to go, whether it's running over 'the hills that are alive', or 'washing that man out of my hair'. I could do that, I do believe.

Stepping into my kitchen, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee has overtaken the scent of furry friends. Let the dogs out for their morning pit stop. Open the front door, step outside and as I walk down the sidewalk I look over the neighborhood. Mrs. Bastien's clematis are already blooming, Mr. Wall doesn't usually let his grass get this long, I hope they're okay over there. Mary Grace's yard is going to be beautiful again this year, as usual. Seeing the other mailboxes with newspapers peeking out gives me a sense of this rhythm of life that's going on up and down my street. It's a good feeling, making me feel a bit like June Cleaver.

Back inside, feed the dogs so they'll quit dancing a jig in and out of my legs. Pour that first cup of coffee with a generous helping of flavored creamer. DH comes down the stairs to join me, just as I take that first long, slow sip. It's not just about the caffeine, it's about beginning yet another day, full of the mundane, beautiful things life offers. I look over to DH, ask, 'how'd you sleep, well?' 'Good, me too.' He grabs his first cup, settles down to read the paper just a bit. The dogs are ready to be let out again, for a romp in the yard, maybe chase a squirrel or run off a deer or two.

The beginning of another extraordinary, ordinary morning. 'Lord, don't let me live so long that I quit celebrating the day's beginning. Bed head hair, impatient pets, newpapers damp from the morning dew, flavored creamer, and someone to wake up to. Each one is a gift. Thank you.'


  posted at 7:51 AM

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    Girl Raised in the South

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