I woke up this morning with an urge to write. It’s unexplainable. Happens at will. There’s usually no topic, no words of wisdom. No, just fingers itchy for a keyboard. Thank heaven for keyboards! My fingers use to get so angry at my and frankly, my penmanship has always been less than stellar. I’d often find myself looking at the page, wondering what the heck that chicken scratch I’d penned a half hour before might mean.
Early morning is my favorite time to write. It’s quiet. Well, as quiet as the country can be when birds are chirping, tractors rumbling and the dogs trying to out snore the husband. The dogs usually win. In fact the younger dog, Bou, snores so loud I fear one day he’ll inhale the floorboards. Then again since Bou was a pup, he’s slept with his body on the dog bed… and his head on the floor.
This morning the dogs were itching to go outside. Literally. They’ve learned whining is not appreciated by sleeping humans. Smokey will begin to scratch his side, back leg hitting the floor so hard I fear he’ll jolt it loose. Bou then joins in, his scratching making it appears as if someone is pounding on the front door. With their fist. The pair has yet to learn that timing is everything. When I’m in the tub and hubby is still asleep isn’t the time.
This morning as I sat in my quiet sanctuary of warm water, the light of dawn tapping gently on the window, the dogs begin their duet. Hubby storms out of bed, turns off the alarm while calling the dogs names which are not their own. In his Angry Master voice, hubby commands Bou to stop the whirling dervish impression so he can get the *#$! door open. The dogs fly out the door and it is quiet. Then Hubby opens the door to remind me he needs a new pillow, on which preferably will not pinch the nerves in his neck to create blinding headaches. Duly noted, I sigh as he heads for his own library. Quiet is officially over. Off to work I go.
What to write? my brain prods as I drive. What creative thing shall create whilst tickling the keyboard at my fingertips? Ahead I see a stranded motorist and slow down to use the opposite lane to pass. The vehicular victim is a pretty young woman in very short shorts sucking on a straw housed in an enormous cola cup. Her expression is somewhere between desperate and trying to decide which Knight in Shining Armor she’d like to thank first. Two pick up trucks have pulled over and three strapping young men head for her car. At first she grins, then her mouth droops into a pout when they pause and speak to her only momentarily. You see the thing about farm boys is they’re actually interested in figuring out what the problem is under the hood. With crops going in, she has about a 1 in 3 chance of someone asking for her phone number. Hey, they were good Samaritans, not dead.
At work I prepare to sit back and enjoy a luncheon being prepared by someone other than me. However, the same group used the Center the evening before and left with me a list of chores to accomplish before their arrival. As I tackle them the Exterminator makes an unscheduled monthly visit. Five minutes later the Dept.’s Maintenance Guy decides that, after a year of my air conditioning being out, today is the day to replace it But he needs some information. I spring from room to room to find the figures he needs, tripping over the Exterminator as he sprays. If I hand the phone up, it rings. Try telling a telemarketer who launches into a spiel as soon as you say “Hello” that you’re part of local government and they have to speak to the Purchasing Agent. Usually they hang up. Today, because I was away from my desk, the person wanted the number. The Maintenance guys arrive with the A/C and take the old one out. Unpacking the new one, they discover it’s dented and warped. Back it goes. I now have a gaping hole that flies believe is an invitation to come in and look around.
After two attempts to confirm the Guest Speaker’s phone number, which the host group invited but wants me to remind, the Operator tells me there’s no such person. I hang up and our Guest walks in the front door, victim of a misspelled named. He’s owner of what he refers as a “Museum/Antique Shop” because everything is filled with history. I think he’s probably a collector whose spouse insisted some things had to go. So he shows them all and has a price if you’d like to own it. As he starts to speak, the new A/C unit arrives. Good grief, it has a remote!
After a morning of being delayed, hot, and annoyed my reward was a trip around the world…without leaving the room. Today I held in my hand a piece of the iron core of a meteorite found in Argentina 7,000 years ago, said to be 4 million years old. I touched a petrified Dinosaur Egg from a Hadrosaur which roamed the Earth some 70 million years ago. I inspected WWII Ration books, an antique Opium Weight, a Stereopticon for viewing postcards from 1883 Egypt, an 18th century Buddha from Burma and a Swedish Daler [one day to be called”dollar”] money plate that weighed 4 pounds! Too much more than that to even list.
This morning I wanted to write. Instead I was left to wonder. Remove the annoyance and add astonishment and you end up with, "Gee, where did the morning go?"