“Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.”
I am a morning person. Yes, one of those annoying people who wakes up able and willing to carry on conversations before having coffee. I try to keep these conversations to myself—or I converse with the cats—because it is a struggle for my husband to put two coherent words together until he has had coffee and been awake for an hour or two.
I awaken with my mind full of lists and ambitious. I see the day before me as a fresh sheet of paper on which I can write a new story, one that I hope will include my own triumphs, accomplishments, and joys, and that will not include disasters—kitchen or otherwise—or despair
I want to do everything in the morning—writing, exercise, chores, and errands. I would be happy if mornings lasted all day.I decided to re-season my cast iron frying pan at 6:30 this morning, while cooking oatmeal. Who does that—unless they are a morning person? The downside is that I’m tired and barely articulate by eight o’clock at night, and when early darkness hits in December, I feel like I should be getting ready for bed at six. That’s six PM.
My biological clock is set to a preindustrial time when people arose with the dawn and went to bed at sunset. (I understand, too, why preindustrial people sometimes slept with their livestock to keep themselves and the animals warm. People with dogs or cat that sleep on their beds know how much heat they generate.) My body and mind, however, are firmly rooted in the twenty-first century. Waking up would not be pleasant without indoor plumbing, heat, and a coffee maker.
Although I realize that going to work, especially with long commutes, getting children off to school, and other chores make mornings less than fun for most people, I still love them. The mornings I love the most, however, are the quiet relaxing mornings when there is nothing I have to do and nowhere I have to be. For many years, my husband, daughters, and I went to a bed and breakfast inn in Ocean City, New Jersey in June. We took the attic “suite” –two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a sitting area with a small refrigerator. In the mornings, I woke up early and went out to the sitting area to read. After my husband woke up, we would go downstairs and sit on the porch. There, encased in comfortable chairs, we enjoyed the sea breeze and the promise of another day of vacation, as we drank coffee and watched early morning joggers, bikers, and dog walkers, and waited for breakfast to be ready.
This past Sunday, I woke up long before anyone else. Our children and their significant others were home and still sleeping, as was my husband. We had had our lovely and wonderful Passover meal the night before. The morning was quiet and beautiful. I was happy and feeling content with my life. I fed the cats, sipped my coffee, and read the newspaper–which had arrived on time, even though it was Easter morning. Perfect.