THE MORNING PERSON
Sun., October 11, 01:08 PM
One of the questions in that last meme reminded me of this subject. Hearken back to the days when I was indeed a morning person.
When I call myself a morning person, by no means am I describing one of those people who cheerily jump out of bed and start the day. What I mean is that, once I drag myself up and get started, morning is when I accomplish the most. That has been true ever since I got past my early school years.
In college, I found that morning really worked best. For example, it was much easier to build a schedule around eight o’clock classes, easier to get into because they were less popular. And on any morning when I didn’t have an eight o’clock, I could take the breakfast shift in the kitchen — another time that most people didn’t want.
But about thirty years ago, I became an extreme morning person. A mother’s first responsibility is getting the family out, to work or to school. I had been managing to take my shower in the evening, but I was developing arthritis-like pains in my hips and back. I absolutely needed a hot shower when I first got out of bed. In order to accomplish that before four other people needed the bathroom, I began getting up at five-thirty, when I could get my body started before I began doing breakfast. Before long I had gotten into the habit of going to work early too.
After all, once I had gotten the others out (and dropped the oldest off at the high school), my time was my own until they were finished. At any job where I had the keys, I could go in right away. (If not, well, I always had a book with me.) I could usually get a lot of work out of the way before anyone else came in to demand something or before the phone started to ring.
The down side of getting up early is that you can’t stay up late. I was in bed every night by ten, and I usually slept the night through. There are dozens of television shows I never saw first time around, though they have been aired in retrospects. The only part of “St. Elsewhere” that I ever saw was that incredible final scene. I was interested but I never caught “Hill Street Blues.” I remember those because I still thought I might catch them some day; there are others I noted only for the moment and knew I would never see. (I think I made an extra effort to stay up for Johnny Carson’s farewell show.) Of course, I had long ago decided that my life was not guided by the television schedule.
About fifteen years after I became an extremely early riser, gall bladder surgery removed the cause of my “arthritis,” so that I no longer needed the shower therapy. But I enjoyed the benefits of early rising; my kids were high school age and needed less attention, but my job — the best I would ever have — required more than forty hours a week. I would continue this habit for several years to come.
It wasn’t until I began working for Bosslawyer that I decided I was’t going to do it any more. I knew I would never again have the kind of work I wanted; I was working for a man who never came into his office before ten. He certainly didn’t deserve the dedication I had given other employers. When it came to getting up early, Ida Wanna do that.
Since I retired, I’ve discovered something more. It is a lot easier getting up if I wait for the sun. I stopped using an alarm clock. I sleep later in the winter than in the summer. (Those noisy birds, especially the turkeys!)
I am happy that I can watch an occasional late evening program, though it’s not unusual to fall asleep during the ten o’clock news.
I know I’m not the person I was twenty years ago. Some mornings are just not good mornings. Nevertheless, old habits die hard; I might not make it quite so early, but I still go through most of the motions — coffee, bagel, wake up U.D., etc. Until his last emergency, I also did meds and breakfast for Husband and saw to it that he was ready for the day care bus. It was like having a kid in school again.
Well, of course, this was a strange spring/summer. U.D. was hospitalized for a week, after which she was written out of work for about three months. Husband got über sick, and I refused to have him released to home care. (We’d been through this three times previously. Not only would he need more intensive care this time, but he would never cooperate with me.)
Things are returning to some kind of normal. U.D. is feeling better and is working again. Husband is in a nursing home and phones U.D. when he wants something. He remembers her number but not mine, though I made sure he had both! It seems to be just as well, because when I go to see him, I am once again the cause of anything that’s making him unhappy. Not being a glutton for punishment, I have not visited in several weeks. Things will work out; they always do. (Right, Laurie?) I will try to keep you posted.
And I am waiting for the sun before I get up each morning, because I can.
