Coffee Stinks But I Love Curry
Still Standin'

Morning Grace

 

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And oh I’ve been getting up earlier than the kidlet and official teen and older teens. Savoring that quiet time to myself. Looking askance at the messy counter overflowing with dirty dishes abandoned last night when we were off to bed too late. (Because the dishwasher was ‘”full of clean” and the thought of emptying, putting away, and refilling just too much).

And now they’re sleeping in late and I’m wandering about a bit, picking up this and putting away that. Shoving another load into the overworked (and showing its age just a bit) washer, wondering why this floor looks as though it hasn’t been vacuumed in at least a month when I clearly recall mowing around with that loud little sucker just yesterday.

And the dogs do a flop tail happy to see me, lying in a heap basking up sun streaming in too bright from the family room windows. I feel them frowning at me from over my shoulder as I pull the curtains closed – that morning sunlight is just too much for my morning head to bear. (I’ll open those curtains later on, should a storm rush in and lovely rain fall. Or certainly tonight, as the sun is setting all blushing and proud and the night sky glows visible, above city lights shining. Yeal I’m a murky dismal, storm raging weather kinda girl from way back, a night person nature born).

I make a cuppa, settle in to stare at the keyboard (waiting for that well known blood to well up outta my forehead) think about how cold my feet are, realize there’s actually a space heater down there and switch it on.  I glance at the stacks I’ve created, the numbers I need to call, the forest of sticky notes adorning my monitor, the to do lists scrawled on this torn scratch paper and the back of that envelope just the way they say you’re not supposed to do if you wanna be organized.

I consider how very much overrated organization is.

{Kinda takes the adventure outta things.}

I sip tea, crack open a forbidden (by me – naturally I ignore myself) diet coke, gulp down those meds which keep the allergies at bay, keep my head from spinning around and scaring the holy crap outta everyone.

I write this and that, read through that other thing, wonder over this one, and forbid myself to even think about beginning something new.

Banish the thought.

Though I might. Cause it’s in my head and oh look now it’s on the paper (or at least the computer screen) and here’s another thousand words. Maybe they’re all part of the same whole and I just haven’t realized it yet?

And now it’s going on nine a.m. and I’ve been here awhile though it doesn’t seem like long. And I should really really be getting that kidlet and that teen and those older teens up (amazing how they don’t get up on their own. How long would they sleep I wonder? Would the days pass on till their stomachs finally growled through their dreams and they stumbled outta bed making a slow ravenous path toward the kitchen?)

Because there is school to do and the washer shut off who knows when and the morning's quiet dawn has long since passed as this day shifts, already gearing down toward afternoon.

So I talk to God quiet, gulping down dregs of stone cold tea.  

I take at a look at the calendar. Sigh a bit; wondering when I’ll fit running in today, but looking forward to baseball practice ‘cause it holds an hour and a half when I sit doing what I wanna do, waiting peaceful as Little Bit runs and throws and catches and bats. {And I still stand amazed anyone would actually choose to play sport when they could be reading or writing or hiking high over a mountain where no one shouts Run! and long nights loom crystal clear, silent, and cool.}

And the dogs follow me as I clomp upstairs in my too large slippers, entering rooms smelling of Boy. Pulling open curtains, announcing the time as an hour later than it actually is. Pausing outside that girl’s room, listening. Knowing she’s been awake for a while. Reading, busy at her own desk, straightening her room in her own straightening her room fashion. (No she and I don’t see quite clear on this; yes I learned to live with it quite some time ago).

Now the light through the curtains has changed. The early morning grey tinge mingled and gone. Everything has glided on; perhaps the house took a small step widershins without my realizing.  (I wouldn’t be surprised. Not really).

So we Begin Our Day as mine lingers, oftimes waiting quiet, oftimes raging over and loud till I am able to let it slip back into being. Gathering up threads left dangling from my bits of memory; from words and fragments, ideas and wild roving thoughts flaming up quick. Catch ‘em fast, before they sizzle out.

Late morning shines bright. We set the kettle to boil once more. The counter is cleared and cleaned, becoming cluttered anew as afternoon draws on.

As quiet morning time awaits. Tucked in just right there. Its thin threads shiver silent. Fingerprints all about as I drift from this to that. Knowing it is listening for the day to fade. Gathering twilight unto itself.

Finding solace in nighttime skies and the early dawn to come.

IOSW faith

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