I've been lousy on this blogspot. And I don't know why. Well, actually I do --- short term memory loss: I forget it's here! But I do enjoy reading the blogs of others and may I just say, Beth, that you inspire me.
So, I'm just going to start off and blog about anything that comes to mind, boring or not, and I figure in time I'll fine tune and improve.
Things on my mind tonight are:
Long fingernails. Yes, mine are fake. My own nails are terrible and brittle and ugly and I really do NOT like working on them. I don't have the patience. So, I'll pay other people to do it. Gives me time to sit back and day dream. Ray loves long nails on women. Poor man -- he got stuck with me. But I have to say, these false ones irritate the heck out of me. I can't type, much less text, and they don't scratch well. I don't know whether it is because they are dull (meaning not sharp) or because I never realized before that scratching an itch was a two way satisfaction. And I find myself doing the Dolly Parton "9 to 5" tapping on a hard surface and sometimes it's fun but sometimes it's downright irritating. My own nails never grow. Never. No matter how much Sally Hanson I put on them. But now, protected by the falsies, they are growing about 1/2 inch a month, which means I am ready for new nails every two weeks or less. And when they get that long, they hurt. But, on the plus side, Ray is always commenting on how much he likes them and I am no longer self conscious when someone is standing over me while I type or write. I am also girly-girl enough that I like the pretty colors. Hmmm......
CSI: Having been 9 years late to this wonderful program, both Ray and I are hopelessly hooked. Like, 5 hours a night and more on the weekends. We have abandoned House and Lost and even most of the Olympics. And now we are into reruns of the original reruns and still watching episodes we saw less than 2 momths before. In between, we have netflix, which is confusing because we started Netflix from episode one of the first season, but they are showing episodes from a few years later on the DVR (from SPIKE TV) and to further confuse the time line, we brought season 9 to fill in between the NETFLIX and the DVR, so that we never have a night without it. Obsessive, yes, but I'm sure it will run it's course. (We did the same with House and Lost when we were in Germany, so I guess this is how we like to watch TV) I think Nick is way handsome, I want Warrick for my best friend and Greg is just plain cute. And I'd like to be like Catherine -- beautiful, sexy, competant, together, popular. But in truth I am more like Sarah -- passionate, compassionate, out-spoken, opinionated, plain. But, hey -- she got Grissom and I LOVE Grissom. I love his wit, his obessions, his focus, his calm, his funny little walk and his absurd hats. So, this is where I am right now but at least we can laugh at ourselves about it.
WORK: Work is in a good place right now and I've been in this crazy business for enough years to know it isnt going to last, so I appreciate it. My boss is OK. Which is good because he is also my next door neighbor. The guys I supervise are all smart and funny and easy to get along with. I got the cream of the crop, even though they are all trainees. As we rotate every few weeks, this will also change, so I am savoring my time wth them. My work relations with my contractor counterparts couldn't be better. Having said all that, I remain unsatisfied and I still do not look forward to going to work and this has been the case for several years now. I am just burned out. And after 30 years, I think that is normal. So, I'm weighing my options and tryng to figure out how much annuity I can afford to lose if I take an earlier retirement. Just knowing I can leave anytime after April 30 has relieved a lot of stress, so I don't really know where I am going from here. I think I will just let it play out naturally and I will just know when the time has come and I'm not going to worry about it any more.
OK. That's enough for tonight. It will be interesting to see when I can remember to blog again.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Morning Person
My name is Rosie and I am a morning person. There, I finally admit what I have denied for decades.
I wasn’t always one. I started life not wanting --- or needing --- much sleep, probably much to my mother’s despair as she had 3 older children and must have wanted the sleep for herself. As a child I thought all kinds of magical things must happen after I went to bed. After all, Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy only come during the night, and I could hear my parents talking and laughing. Surely, night was about magic. Sneaking out of bed and down the staircase to see what was going on, only reinforced that belief. Sometimes my parents had friends over and there was music and dancing and laughter. They weren’t like that during the daytime, so something had to happen after dark to change them into such happy people. Looking out my window, I saw the world lit up in lights -- traffic lights changing festive colors, the cozy glow from the street lamps, the welcoming lights from windows, the safe lights of the porches; and the car lights --- rivers of white and red, everyone going somewhere, doing something. When I got older I discovered the magic of neon. What a wonder neon is -- you can bend it into any shape and color it anything you want and it screams -- look at me! Here I am! I am enjoying life and you can only appreciate me after dark! I feel energized whenever I am around neon, even now. As a teenager, nighttime was our time. Whether we were out with friends, at school functions, or just vegetating in front of the TV, it was our time. We could stay up all night if we wanted. Getting into mischief, connecting with each other, or wishing we were. The night was about independence. With the children and adults tucked away in bed, it was only us. Like friendly vampires -- this was our time. And as a single young adult --the night was about fun! We didn’t venture out until nighttime! It didn’t matter if it got dark at 6:00 or 10:00, we put on our glad rags and got down to boogie, feeling groovy. And we did, till right before dawn, and often past it. The only time I wanted to see a sunrise was if I was coming home from somewhere else. I certainly had no desire to drag myself out of bed to see one. Give me a sunset any day. It didn’t matter how tired I was from a day at work, how many hours I dragged my butt through the daytime, how exhausted I was by dinner. Like a sleepy mole, I would try to blink away the daylight.
When the sun went down, my energy level went way up!
And then, I became a mom. 3:00 AM, in the dark, after only a couple of hours sleep, warming a bottle and soothing a crying baby, isn’t magical, or exciting, or even very much fun. Every cell in my body crying for sleep. Every day, throughout the years, as the earth rotates around the sun, so did I. Up at 5:00 AM to get ready for work, get the kids ready for the sitter and later for school, at work by 6:30. Everything done in reverse by sundown. And sleep, blessed, peaceful sleep. Nighttime was sleep time. There was no magic, only exhaustion.
I would stubbornly deny the obvious whenever the subject came up. I am a night person! I would proclaim. My mind and body may have to function during the day, but my soul and heart belongs to the night. The same way I hated to admit I played the flute, I hated to admit I now went to bed at the same time I used to out. Interesting, exciting people did not play the flute -- they played the drums, or the saxophone or something that people could at least HEAR. Night people were people who seized life. For decades, well into middle age ( OK, and beyond)., I dreamed of the day when I would reclaim the night. When I could have my wake-up cup of coffee with Jay Leno, get dressed up, enjoy the nightlife, walk sleepily home as the sun was waking up. Cuddle under the covers and shut my eyes, even as the day was growing bright. Early birds deserved their worm.
But the earth never rotated back. I’ve read it takes two weeks to make something a habit. Try 30 years.
Let’s face it, a person who deliberately gets out of bed at 4:30 to run on a treadmill, is a morning person.
A person who wakes up before the alarm clock goes off, and doesn’t even know where the snooze button is, is a morning person. A person who sets her coffee timer to 4:45, is a morning person. And a person who actually looks forward to all this, is …. Yeah, I am.
It is MY time. The world is just waking up. The owl hoots a sleepy greeting when I take the dog out. The dog understands. Of-course, he’s young. He runs in circles and jumps for the sheer joy of feeling alive and he barks the morning in. We can walk all around the neighborhood. No lights are on yet. No one to see us. It is just us, sharing a moment, before the world intrudes again. The cat is older, he blinks sleepy at me and stretches the way only a cat can --- slowly, deliberately, each muscle, each tendon, getting his full attention. He eats his breakfast then goes back to sleep, but on my lap, enjoying my silence as I sip my coffee and read the…um…. morning paper and occasionally caress him. It’s just us, sharing a moment.
And that’s why I love mornings: It doesn’t matter what I do. During the work week, I stumble out of bed, literally, fumble for my shoes, blink away the sleep and groan a good morning to the treadmill. As my muscles waken, so do I. Jimmy Buffett on the headphones, maybe some Stones, set my mood. Then into the shower . The hot water pounding down, loosing my stiff arthritic joints, cleansing the night away. But work week mornings are a hurried time -- no time to walk the dog, just hurry him up. No time to pet the cat, just throw some food into the bowl, with a quick pat on the head. Gulp the coffee, throw on the clothes, gulp some more coffee, rush to the car, gulp the commuter cup. Get the heart pumping, get the adreline going, control the day, feel alive. That’s how I feel - alive. I am going to DO something today, even it’s wrong. But I have purpose. I have a destination. I have energy.
But on the weekends. I slowly waken, whenever my body is ready, I arise gracefully from my bed, I gently ease into my soft slippers. I give a passing nod to the treadmill and a promise of….later. Downstairs, the coffee is perking. Chipper and I head out on our morning walk. It doesn’t matter that it is still dark. This is a morning darkness, different from a night darkness, although I cannot tell you why. And now we can take the time to enjoy it. As long or as short as we feel like. Because that is what my weekend mornings are: Doing whatever I feel. My moment. My time. I can ease into it, savoring every ritual. Or can run into it, seizing every moment. Carpe Diem. I can wake Ray up and head out somewhere. Get out of town! Or I can let him sleep and get the housework done. My time to bring the chaos of my life back into organization. I have all the time in the world, or so it seems. I can savor my coffee, plan my day … or not. There is a softness to this time, a peacefulness, a feeling that we (the dog, the cat and I) are alone in the world and God is sharing this time with us. The sunrise is pretty. Not as dramatic as the sunsets of my youth, which were bold like an acrylic painting, These sunrises are the watercolors. Pretty. Pretty is good. Ozzie shares it with me. Cats are masters at sensing the mood. The 2 of us, racing through the house, getting it ready for weekend. Or doing the crossword puzzle, or surfing the internet, or flipping through the channels ( it is also my time to siezethe remote!) Choices: Should we shop on QVC, or watch them flip a house on HGTV? Should we try to learn something new from the History Channel or blissfully savor a classic on TCM? That’s also what my weekend mornings are -- choices. The world lies waiting for me.
Get up late and I feel I have already wasted the day, the best time is over. Time. Mornings ARE about time. Time to get UP -- it’s not just physical command, it’s a feeling. Time for chores, time for reflections, time for savoring, time for planning, time for blogging, time for anything, anything at all. Time for just time’s sake.
Mornings are also about beginnings. As I have sat here, tapping on the keyboard, sharing my musings, the windows have lightened, bringing in the world. The day is beginning. It is a bright day, the sky is already blue. A Nevada day. I have sipped 3 cups of coffee, Ray has clomped down the stairs to give me a good morning kiss and rumple my hair. Our weekend is beginning. Chipper and Oz have gone back to sleep for their morning naps. I hear the coyotes yipping, night creatures that they are, returning home. Their day is ending. I hear the birds greeting each other. Day creatures replacing night creatures. And I am one of them. A day creature. A morning person.
I wasn’t always one. I started life not wanting --- or needing --- much sleep, probably much to my mother’s despair as she had 3 older children and must have wanted the sleep for herself. As a child I thought all kinds of magical things must happen after I went to bed. After all, Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy only come during the night, and I could hear my parents talking and laughing. Surely, night was about magic. Sneaking out of bed and down the staircase to see what was going on, only reinforced that belief. Sometimes my parents had friends over and there was music and dancing and laughter. They weren’t like that during the daytime, so something had to happen after dark to change them into such happy people. Looking out my window, I saw the world lit up in lights -- traffic lights changing festive colors, the cozy glow from the street lamps, the welcoming lights from windows, the safe lights of the porches; and the car lights --- rivers of white and red, everyone going somewhere, doing something. When I got older I discovered the magic of neon. What a wonder neon is -- you can bend it into any shape and color it anything you want and it screams -- look at me! Here I am! I am enjoying life and you can only appreciate me after dark! I feel energized whenever I am around neon, even now. As a teenager, nighttime was our time. Whether we were out with friends, at school functions, or just vegetating in front of the TV, it was our time. We could stay up all night if we wanted. Getting into mischief, connecting with each other, or wishing we were. The night was about independence. With the children and adults tucked away in bed, it was only us. Like friendly vampires -- this was our time. And as a single young adult --the night was about fun! We didn’t venture out until nighttime! It didn’t matter if it got dark at 6:00 or 10:00, we put on our glad rags and got down to boogie, feeling groovy. And we did, till right before dawn, and often past it. The only time I wanted to see a sunrise was if I was coming home from somewhere else. I certainly had no desire to drag myself out of bed to see one. Give me a sunset any day. It didn’t matter how tired I was from a day at work, how many hours I dragged my butt through the daytime, how exhausted I was by dinner. Like a sleepy mole, I would try to blink away the daylight.
When the sun went down, my energy level went way up!
And then, I became a mom. 3:00 AM, in the dark, after only a couple of hours sleep, warming a bottle and soothing a crying baby, isn’t magical, or exciting, or even very much fun. Every cell in my body crying for sleep. Every day, throughout the years, as the earth rotates around the sun, so did I. Up at 5:00 AM to get ready for work, get the kids ready for the sitter and later for school, at work by 6:30. Everything done in reverse by sundown. And sleep, blessed, peaceful sleep. Nighttime was sleep time. There was no magic, only exhaustion.
I would stubbornly deny the obvious whenever the subject came up. I am a night person! I would proclaim. My mind and body may have to function during the day, but my soul and heart belongs to the night. The same way I hated to admit I played the flute, I hated to admit I now went to bed at the same time I used to out. Interesting, exciting people did not play the flute -- they played the drums, or the saxophone or something that people could at least HEAR. Night people were people who seized life. For decades, well into middle age ( OK, and beyond)., I dreamed of the day when I would reclaim the night. When I could have my wake-up cup of coffee with Jay Leno, get dressed up, enjoy the nightlife, walk sleepily home as the sun was waking up. Cuddle under the covers and shut my eyes, even as the day was growing bright. Early birds deserved their worm.
But the earth never rotated back. I’ve read it takes two weeks to make something a habit. Try 30 years.
Let’s face it, a person who deliberately gets out of bed at 4:30 to run on a treadmill, is a morning person.
A person who wakes up before the alarm clock goes off, and doesn’t even know where the snooze button is, is a morning person. A person who sets her coffee timer to 4:45, is a morning person. And a person who actually looks forward to all this, is …. Yeah, I am.
It is MY time. The world is just waking up. The owl hoots a sleepy greeting when I take the dog out. The dog understands. Of-course, he’s young. He runs in circles and jumps for the sheer joy of feeling alive and he barks the morning in. We can walk all around the neighborhood. No lights are on yet. No one to see us. It is just us, sharing a moment, before the world intrudes again. The cat is older, he blinks sleepy at me and stretches the way only a cat can --- slowly, deliberately, each muscle, each tendon, getting his full attention. He eats his breakfast then goes back to sleep, but on my lap, enjoying my silence as I sip my coffee and read the…um…. morning paper and occasionally caress him. It’s just us, sharing a moment.
And that’s why I love mornings: It doesn’t matter what I do. During the work week, I stumble out of bed, literally, fumble for my shoes, blink away the sleep and groan a good morning to the treadmill. As my muscles waken, so do I. Jimmy Buffett on the headphones, maybe some Stones, set my mood. Then into the shower . The hot water pounding down, loosing my stiff arthritic joints, cleansing the night away. But work week mornings are a hurried time -- no time to walk the dog, just hurry him up. No time to pet the cat, just throw some food into the bowl, with a quick pat on the head. Gulp the coffee, throw on the clothes, gulp some more coffee, rush to the car, gulp the commuter cup. Get the heart pumping, get the adreline going, control the day, feel alive. That’s how I feel - alive. I am going to DO something today, even it’s wrong. But I have purpose. I have a destination. I have energy.
But on the weekends. I slowly waken, whenever my body is ready, I arise gracefully from my bed, I gently ease into my soft slippers. I give a passing nod to the treadmill and a promise of….later. Downstairs, the coffee is perking. Chipper and I head out on our morning walk. It doesn’t matter that it is still dark. This is a morning darkness, different from a night darkness, although I cannot tell you why. And now we can take the time to enjoy it. As long or as short as we feel like. Because that is what my weekend mornings are: Doing whatever I feel. My moment. My time. I can ease into it, savoring every ritual. Or can run into it, seizing every moment. Carpe Diem. I can wake Ray up and head out somewhere. Get out of town! Or I can let him sleep and get the housework done. My time to bring the chaos of my life back into organization. I have all the time in the world, or so it seems. I can savor my coffee, plan my day … or not. There is a softness to this time, a peacefulness, a feeling that we (the dog, the cat and I) are alone in the world and God is sharing this time with us. The sunrise is pretty. Not as dramatic as the sunsets of my youth, which were bold like an acrylic painting, These sunrises are the watercolors. Pretty. Pretty is good. Ozzie shares it with me. Cats are masters at sensing the mood. The 2 of us, racing through the house, getting it ready for weekend. Or doing the crossword puzzle, or surfing the internet, or flipping through the channels ( it is also my time to siezethe remote!) Choices: Should we shop on QVC, or watch them flip a house on HGTV? Should we try to learn something new from the History Channel or blissfully savor a classic on TCM? That’s also what my weekend mornings are -- choices. The world lies waiting for me.
Get up late and I feel I have already wasted the day, the best time is over. Time. Mornings ARE about time. Time to get UP -- it’s not just physical command, it’s a feeling. Time for chores, time for reflections, time for savoring, time for planning, time for blogging, time for anything, anything at all. Time for just time’s sake.
Mornings are also about beginnings. As I have sat here, tapping on the keyboard, sharing my musings, the windows have lightened, bringing in the world. The day is beginning. It is a bright day, the sky is already blue. A Nevada day. I have sipped 3 cups of coffee, Ray has clomped down the stairs to give me a good morning kiss and rumple my hair. Our weekend is beginning. Chipper and Oz have gone back to sleep for their morning naps. I hear the coyotes yipping, night creatures that they are, returning home. Their day is ending. I hear the birds greeting each other. Day creatures replacing night creatures. And I am one of them. A day creature. A morning person.
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