Morningtime

When my youngest cousin was little, she would run through my great-grandmother’s house saying, “Nannie, morningtime! It’s Tuesday and you’re in Ternell!” The last bit was because at this point our dear Nannie was slipping and about every 15 minutes she would ask where she was, what day of the week it was, and if she could please have her purse. And “Ternell” was my little cousin’s way of pronouncing Pernell, the town that I grew up in.

Coffee. Have to make the coffee.

I think this thought at least 10 times before I get up out of my spot on the couch and do it. The morning is my favorite time of day. It’s when I have my quiet time and all in the house is still. I try my best to make as little noise as possible, so as not to wake the husband or the dog. No matter what though, even when she’s in the garage, puppy knows as soon as I turn on a lamp in the living room. I hear her yawn and shake, jingling her collar.

Coffee.

It is calm. I prefer it when the house is clean, but even when it’s a wreck this is the time of day when I can just be. This comes from a girl who never really had any use for mornings. I don’t know what changed me. Maybe it was 2 years ago when I worked an hour away from home and would have to get up as early as possible if I wanted any time to myself.

Morning. With a little rain, barely a sunrise. A house to be warm in. A soft place to sit and watch the day unfold. I am so thankful that I am learning to appreciate it early in my life. There is a time for sleep, but I must confess I prefer the waking.