Thursday, April 17, 2008

Bluebirds Are Morning People

Most people have some sort of morning ritual. With all the talk of "being green" and worrying about the environment, I'm sure someone is going to roll their eyes at my next sentence. My morning ritual is often rising from bed to resettle in a nice warm bath. No, I don't do that every morning. And it's not like I'm filling a jacuzzi size tub. In fact our tub is so energy efficient my 5'1" frame allows me to just fit and slightly submerge. My poor 6' husband, with the bad back and worrisome knee he'd like to soak, won't even attempt getting into what he sees as a munchkin size basin.

I'm sure someone will surmise something Freudian about my habit of sinking into a warm [okay, closer to hot] tub of water without bothering to turn on the bathroom light. I find it comforting, not due to some psycho-babble about returning to womb-like conditions but because it enables me to slip from sleep to consciousness on a kinder level. I'll admit it. I am NOT a morning person in the sense of springing out of bed with a whistle and a song in my heart. I do not leap from bed, I slide out of it. Or, more precisely, down off of it since our new mattress leaves my feet about half a foot from the floor. I often view morning as a necessary if sometimes annoying interruption of my dreams, which quite frankly can be more entertaining than going to the movies.

So I sleep walk to the tub and climb in. The splashing water reminds me of childhood vacations at the beach where I awoke to the sound of surf lapping against the sand. I sink slowly, if not deeply, into my water bed and a sense of calm surrounds me. Sometimes it's so soothing I've actually fallen BACK asleep, only to awake wondering why am I so cold...and naked?

Most of the time, those moments in the tub constitute thinking time. I may not jump out of bed, but right after I awaken, the creative side of my brain begins to hum. Not so loud as to startle still half asleep me, but enough so to allow ideas to gently float past. The water seems to buoy my creative process. A simple idea will suddenly turn into a paragraph which rapidly grows into a story, while the General of Organization in my head yells for it to slow down, we have no paper to write on. The solution to a week long problem whispers a conclusion wiser than daylight has rendered. No one is demanding my time or my work for them to put their own name on. There are no lists to fill, meals to cook, commutes to make or people with endless dialogs to listen to. It is quiet.

I am surrounded by silence floating on water.

Sure, there are moments my brain tries to whisper, "Hey, while we've got a few moments of peace and quiet you might want to think about how you're going to handle--". Shhh! I think mentally. Not now. "Handle" is for the other side of the door. Here is for warmth and quiet. Well, most mornings.

This morning I couldn't seem to get warm, even with a space heater and a tub full of hot water. At least I was comfortable and content with the silence. And then the birds started up. They seemed much chipper than usual. I suddenly got the silly visual from a scene in Disney's "Cinderella" cartoon. There little bluebirds were flitting around the room, singing cheerfully while draping material around the soon to be Princess. I chalked it up to the fact it is Spring and they do wake up faster than I do. And that Mockingbird has quite the songbook catalog. All of a sudden a large yellow bird joined in. Swooping across the field, he momentarily silenced the chipper chirpers with the power of his flight. After our neighbor Larry the Crop Duster made a second pass in his yellow plane, the birds went back to singing, realizing the song he had to contribute was rather monotone in nature. After a few more passes I knew the yellow bird had shattered my thought processes for the early morning so I got out of my little haven of peace. I dried off quickly, still cold, then jumped at the sound of a bird who appeared to be sitting in the bathroom to enjoy the acoustics. That's when I discovered my husband had opened the window yesterday.

When I got in my car to leave, I saw the metallic yellow bird fly off, his job of tending to the wheat done for now. The wheat field looked like a sea of green, it's bobbing waves ridden by one of the bluebirds. Yes, we actually have bluebirds. A pair returns each year to their own private condo on a pole outside the living room window.

I'm no Cinderella but I do have happy bluebirds in my life. And that's not a bad way to wake up.

1 comment:

Bonnie said...

If happy little blue birds fly over the rainbow, why? tell me why, can't I? I wish I could fit into our tiny person sized tub. I miss soaking. Memories of the big claw foot tub in our huge bathroom you could actually walk around in make me homesick for the old place.