Sun In The Morning or The Moon at Night

 

Are you a morning person or a night person? As much as I would like to be a morning lark, I am very much a night owl. I would love to wake up, have my coffee outdoors as the sun rises, and maybe do a little Yoga or Pilates as I start my day. But that is never going to happen. Instead, I set two alarms and stumble to the coffee pot and wrap up in a warm blanket. That's on the days that I have to leave the house to be somewhere. On the other days I don't have an established time to wake up anymore. I was born to be retired.

I've always loved to stay up late. As a child I would often read or write in my journal late at night. When I first moved away from home, I would leave my dorm room and spend time in the common area reading or listening to music as my room mates slept. When my own children were young, I would stay up late to listen to the silence and to work on projects that couldn't get done during the day. I admit that I spent some time dozing on the couch while my little ones watched Sesame Street.

When working a "regular job" I had all sorts of hours, ranging from punching a time clock and starting my workday at 5:30 a.m, to working a night shift that ended at 5 in the morning. As a fraternity house mom, I was always up and dressed by 8 a.m. even though I usually didn't even try to go to sleep until a couple of hours past midnight when the party goers came home.

Most of my life I have gone to bed with a book. I would read until I fell asleep and dropped it on the floor. That doesn't work as well with a Kindle. I don't do that anymore because John is a light sleeper and the light would certainly keep him awake. My first husband went to bed at 7:00 and got up at 3:30 a.m. He could sleep through anything except a quiet room. In fact, he listened to the radio every night until I turned it off when he went to work. 

I used to have the strangest dreams when our radio was on the BBC World news programs at night. And then, when I woke up, I often learned they were true. Dreams can last thirty to forty minutes. I can wake up and then go back to the same dream. When I was young, I would have recurring nightmares. That hasn't happened for a long time and I don't miss it.

I try every night to be in bed by midnight, but I seldom make it. If I go to bed too early, I'm not able to sleep. I fret and worry and try to solve the problems of the world or redecorate the house. If I wait until I am tired, then I can fall asleep in five minutes. I still love that quiet time when there isn't any noise in the house. I have heard of people who spend time "going through their thoughts" before sleeping. I suppose this is a kind of mental journaling. It would be a good time to decompress, consolidate, and make a space for closing the day. I may try it. It's probably much better than trying to fix unsolvable world problems.

The majority of adults need seven to nine hours of sleep. There are short sleepers--those who need six or fewer. Martha Stewart has said she only needs three or four hours of sleep a night. She also does Pilates four times a week. I just read her daily routine and now I need a nap. 

Fun Fact: Dolphins and some birds have unihemispheric sleep. That mean that half of their brain sleeps while the other half is awake.

Time Marches On

When is it time to start worrying about aging? I remember when I turned 50 and wrote an article I called "The Fifties Queen" about the ways people's attitude towards women changed. It was actually published on an author's website. (Jennifer Louden, who has written several books.) I thought for a while that would be a huge turning point in my life as a writer.  Obviously, it wasn't because it was twenty-six years ago!

I used to work most often with people who were younger than me. It seemed that as soon as the subject of age came up, I felt like co-workers treated me differently.  I learned that fifty is the age when many women think they are becoming invisible. Suddenly, it seems like your opinions don't matter as much.

Excerpt from The 50's Queen:

"Things change when you are fifty. You are suddenly in another age bracket in surveys. You are no longer the young mother, and you don't feel quite old enough to be wise. Doctors study your charts a little bit more and suddenly start ordering tests just to have a baseline. Hormone therapy is recommended as the immediate cure to any problems that you have now or may have sometime in the distant (or not so distant) future. Every question seems to have same answer-that you are fifty now, and things will be different. If you lose or forget about anything, it is suddenly attributed to your age, even if you have been losing and forgetting things for years."

One of the biggest jolts for me at fifty, was when my mom called to tell me that there was a big sale on underwear at a local department store. "Big, white, cool, and loose" she said. "Just the way WE like them." I was crushed. It was one of those moments when time stood still. She then went on to say that my younger sisters wouldn't be interested, but of course I would. It was a defining moment of my womanhood. I started asking everyone what kind of underwear they bought. I wore sexy bikini panties way longer than I probably should have, just because I didn't want to give in to reality. Now that I am older and wiser, I believe in comfort.

I am still losing and forgetting things, but now my friends and I know that it is because we really are getting older. And sometimes we wonder if our absent-minded foibles are just innocent mistakes or symptoms of something more serious. John and I are watching one another and putting a reminder by our exit door. He is a few years older than I am, so I have been teasing him about things that happen here. He has been known to go out to restaurants in his house slippers instead of his outside shoes. He has also forgotten his wallet more than once. He wears a hearing aid when he wants to and pretends he is listening to me the rest of the time. Sometimes we will miss an exit when driving. I am the one who forgets and loses my phone the most often. Just last night I came home from a funeral visitation and realized that my shirt was inside out. There was a washing instruction tag on one side seam, and a size tag for all the world to see. And of course, all the raw edges of the seams. It's a good thing we have one another for our old age.

WHAT I'M READING: I just started Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke. It is called a satirical and dark thriller about a trad-wife influencer. I haven't gotten very far yet and am reading it for an online book club.

SAD STORIES

 I have always liked to write. Writing my thoughts is the way I comprehend how I feel. I don't write every day although I would like to. I have the idea that sitting at my desk and writing for two hours every morning would turn me into a "real" writer. Unfortunately for me, all I really want to do in the early mornings is drink coffee.

Someone just told me that she likes reading my work because she finds it comfortable and comforting. I like these definitions. I also want it to be relatable and funny and a little bit whimsical. And sometimes it is heartfelt and heartrending. This is one of those times.

I lost a dear friend a few weeks ago. She was a few years older than I am. She was a mentor as well as a friend. I am sorry that I didn't get to know her sooner. I will always miss her.

This week the granddaughter of one of my friends since childhood died in a tragic auto accident. The circumstances were much like the jury case that troubled me so much just a couple of weeks ago. What price can you put on a life? She was only nineteen. Hers was a life that was barely lived and ended before it should have been finished.

Every death, every funeral reminds us of all the others we have been a part of- our grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, friends, and colleagues. We know in our hearts that we will lose them at some point in time. But we never think that we will outlive our children. And that should not happen.  As I talked to my friend today she said that a tragedy like this was what happened to other people, but not to her family. I remember when those were my thoughts too, before my son died in his sleep at the age of thirty. Yes, every death is a reminder. My mind flashes back to the night I sat at my first husband's bed and cried all night because I knew he was going to be taken off life support the next morning. So young, 19. So young, 30. So young, 62.

I ache for my young friend. I sent her family strength and prayers because Strength is what we need to get us through these times. It is almost required to send prayers. Do prayers help? I don't know. I don't believe that prayers will change an outcome. I lost that faith when my son and husband were taken from us just a few short months apart. I never got it back. I envy those who still have it, but, for me, it's gone.

I've learned some truths since I realized that death is not what happens to other people. Don't worry about having courage and being brave so that others won't be uncomfortable. Cry as much as necessary. Talk. Remember the good times. Tell your stories. Let someone listen. Say their names. Hold on to one another. Scream in a car in a dark parking lot if it helps you feel better. Drink tea. 

Do whatever you need to do. Jim washed and ironed all of our son's shirts because he said that Rich wouldn't want to know they were wrinkled. I slept with my grown son's baby blanket for six months until my husband hid it away. And then he was dead two months later, so I slept with his shirt and the blanket!

My deepest griefs have been several years ago, but they never go away. Funerals always bring them back just like everything happened yesterday. I have learned to be happy again, but it is never an easy journey.

This may not have been comfortable, and certainly not whimsical, but it was a story I needed to share. Be safe everyone. I send us all Strength.

What I'm reading: I'm still enthralled with ancient Rome. Just trying to get through my library books before they are due.