THE BEST PART OF THE DAY

Now when I was at that period of adolescence when I just never seemed to get enough sleep, quite possibly because I tried to stay up as late as possible watching old black-and-white classic movies on our old black-and-white TV, I made a promise to myself that when I was grown, I would never get up at 7:00am.  Well, I kept that promise.   When I joined the working world, that is, the grown-up working world, I eventually got up at 5:45am so as to leave for work by 6:45am, etcetera.  And that went on for years and decades, same for my mate.

So when we retired, we indulged in simply sleeping every morning until we awakened, unless, of course, there were appointments or plans or travel involved.  It still wasn’t until sometime later, when we had further simplified our lives and adjusted our body rhythms, again, that we finally found the best part of the day, at least for us.  Because the heat and humidity of Texas in the spring and summer and fall decree that if one wants to Get Things Done Outside, one gets up early, at least by 6:00am.  And when we do, and when we pour some juice and step outside, it is usually cool, or at least much cooler than it will be only a little later, and there can be a breeze, and the sun is not quite over the tops of the trees behind the east fence.  The birds are flitting around in either excitement about food or alarm that we are around, whatever is flowering is fresh and new and undiminished by the midday heat, and we feel quite connected with nature.  And we feel ready to work – mowing or planting or pruning, or going inside to do the inside chores.  But first we like to simply walk around the garden, seeing things done and things to do, just strolling and savoring, pointing out some small lovely bloom or some task or something to sigh over. 

These very small pleasures are enough to pull us out of a comfortable bed when the light comes in, even before sunup, and they are enough to remind us, at the end of a busy day, of small pleasures to look forward to, tomorrow; the small pleasures that would never have occurred to us, when we were very young.