Magic Time

I am not, and never will be, a morning person. There is a special place in hell for those freaks that get up in the middle of the night and have a million things accomplished before normal people have cracked an eyelid. An ever more special place for those sickos who are cheerful while they’re doing it.*

The words "bright" and "early" make no sense when paired together and if it wasn’t for the gift that is coffee, I doubt I would make it upright until at least lunchtime and pay check be damned. As I used to argue with my early-bird boss many years ago, "I’ll bet I had a lot more fun in the hours between 12 and 2 last night than you did in the hours between 5 and 7 this morning."

You get the picture? I don’t like mornings.

However…as some of you may know, I recently made a pilgrimage back to my homeland to see the folks, catch up with some old friends and pig out on fish and chips and Irn Bru. I had a fabulous time, thanks for asking (details will follow shortly, for anyone interested) and am feeling more than a little homesick now that I’m back in Colorado. Don’t get me wrong, I love it here, but my house in the mountains lacks certain simple comforts. A decent pub or twelve within walking distance for example.

Now I don’t normally suffer from jet lag. If I can simply force myself to stay awake until bed time, no matter how long that is since I got up, then I usually sleep like a log and am back on track by the next day. But this time around my aged body is taking a little longer to adjust than I’m used to, and I’ve been waking at around 4:30 each morning.

I’m still young enough to remember when that was a time for going to bed, not getting up but nonetheless, getting back to sleep before the alarm goes off has proven to be impossible so instead, I’ve found myself up and about and I have to say, enjoying the early mornings.

There’s a stillness to the air that can’t be found later in the day. Hardly any cars, no neighbors out working on their weekend projects, with loud music playing and power tools a-buzzing. Not only do I have the house to myself, I’ve pretty much got the whole darn neighborhood.

The World’s Most Irritating Dog ™ is up for a walk pretty much any time, day or night so it’s taken little persuasion to get her to join me for a brisk few miles round the neighborhood. Despite us being well into June, the mountains are still capped with snow, which makes them even more spectacular when the sun turns them blazing red. There are a few cars on the road, but far less than when we usually walk after work.

And coffee, my lifeblood, nectar of the Dogs, tastes even more wonderful when sipped out of doors, with a good book and the company of the birds, and deer and rabbits. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but even once my body has adjusted to Mountain Standard Time, I might even start setting the alarm a couple of hours earlier than usual, just so I can get up early and spend a couple of hours quality time with myself before reading my first e-mail of the day.

Mind you, if and when I do, it turns out to be a cold, wet morning. Well, then I reserve the right to pull the covers over my head, roll over with a big, fat smile on my face, and go back to sleep.

Just like any normal person.


* Or if there isn’t there bloody well ought to be.