Mornings and Me

Look closely at the title of this little piece. This is the only time, probably in history, that you will see those words together in one place. I am not a morning person. Even when I was able to drag myself out of bed and get kids ready for school, and me into work by 8 a.m. or earlier, I was not a morning person. I may have been physically present at those venues, but mentally I was still very much tucked under my covers, enjoying the softness of my perfectly squishy foam pillow.

I can't really say I hate mornings, as I don't know that I've seen enough of them to make a sound judgement. A few times I have had to drive my daughter to work when she has needed to open her favorite exercise salon at 6. We have watched more than a few beautiful sunrises, seeing the sky get pink then the palest of blues and grays. It may be lovely, but it is fleeting, as I couldn't wait to get back home and back under those blankets.

I have worked evenings, or even nights, a good portion of my life, and really enjoy those moments late at night when everything around you is completely quiet. When the family is on vacation at a lake in the Adirondack Mountains, I like nothing more than going out on our dock at midnight or later, and watching the stars. It is meditation time, and I love the complete silence, broken only by the lapping of the water against the shore.

I was doing just that one night when some blithering idiot across the bay turned on his radio and blared Elvis at full volume. Had I a bazooka or rocket launcher available the radio and its owner would have been blown to smithereens. Not the kind of emotional mindset I was looking for. I bet he (notice the automatic gender identification) is a morning person. I am not fond of morning people. Having said that, I will sheepishly tell you that I married one.

I don't know why that happens, but in my acquaintances over the years this seems to be a pattern. The women come on with the lights, raring to go until two or three in the morning, while the men brag about getting up before sunrise, then are asleep on the sofa by 7:30 at night. Maybe these marriages last so long because the two of them really don't see each other much.

Night time is when I do my writing, my sketching, and my reading. It's when all around me is peaceful, and my head is the only thing running at full speed. I am somehow reassured by the wail of the freight train that rumbles through our little town at 3 a.m. It's not that I don't like the daylight. I do. It's just that I prefer daylight from, say, noon on instead of the moment the sun breaks over the horizon.

I have friends, and even relatives, who tell me how much fun they have getting up at 5 and running for an hour before they get ready for work. Bless their little early-bird hearts, but I will not join them in either activity. My body cannot respond to an early morning invitation to exercise. I can barely get my rear in gear for a workout at 4 or 5 p.m., and like to go swimming at my health club from 7 to 9 when all of those early folks are home and in bed.

I used to think that when I got older my body would get a bit more in sync with the rest of the world, and start responding to the schedule that the reasonable universe has set. Nope. I'm getting worse. If left to my own devices I would stay up until 3 or 4 in the morning, then sleep until close to noon. The rest of my family is not so crazy about this.

All right, so I miss out on breakfast and morning strolls and the first light of a new day and Good Morning America and even Rachel Ray. I miss early newspaper deliveries, morning coffee, and rushing out the door to catch the train, or hit the highway. By the time I get organized and fully functional, most of my neighborhood has had lunch. Part of me feels I may have missed something important.

However, the vast majority of me feels happiest curling up for a good night's sleep when there isn't much night left to take advantage of. That's what good curtains are for.