In the early morning

For most of my married life, my husband was the early riser. These days, I beat him out of bed by an hour. I think it has something to do with age.

Mom is also an early riser, lives with us, and is a regular chatty Cathy in the AM. I ‘m not a talkative soul in the morning. I would think that after knowing me for my entire life, she would simply accept this fact, and cease her attempt in engaging me in post dawn conversation.

In the early morning, as I beat Don out of bed, I make my way to the quiet of the living room, where the window is partially open and I can hear the birds and breathe in the fresh cool morning air. I flip on my laptop, and begin to write. Somewhere during that course of events I manage to make it to the kitchen, turn on the coffee maker and then pour me a steaming cup. Don’s nightly routine includes preparing the coffee maker for the next morning, a ritual I appreciate.

I usually get a half hour of solitude before Mom realizes I am up. Inevitably I end up hurting her feelings. I do try to be nice, saying something like Mom, I love you, but I really don’t like to talk in the morning, I just want to enjoy this time and write. Of course, she has to ask me a dozen or so questions before she finally gives up, and then leaves, making me feel incredibly guilty.

Perhaps, like Don’s ritual in making the coffee each night, this is mom’s and mine.