Mornings

    The alarm on my cell phone heralds the beginning of the day Monday through Friday at 7 am.  Each morning my daily routine is re-enacted. I roll over, turn off the alarm and promptly refuse to get up.  I have friends who bound out bed in the early morning hours with joy and jubilation.  They can hardly wait to greet the day and see what wonders and adventures it holds for them.  The first words that burst forth from them are: "What a wonderful day to be alive."  I don't like travelling them, at least not unless we have separate rooms.
     I consider myself a basically optimistic woman, a glass half full kind of gal.  I am woman who lives with expectant gratitude, but I do have to work up to it.  Morning is not my best time of day.  Here's a clue: sometimes the first word out of my mouth refers to excrement.  I am not prone to profanity, but the hormones are wreaking havoc with my sleep and producing a fierce case of the growlies in the morning.
    After the swearing is out of the way, the hard part starts.  There is always an internal debate, particularly in the winter, about whether it really is necessary to leave the cosy comfort of my bed.  Couldn't I just power up my laptop and work from my cocoon of pillows and feather bed?  What really has to be done at the office?  I am more productive in my jammies.  Purple sheep on flannel pj's can be very inspiring. Who would I have to convince that this plan is the best for productivity?   I could start a new trend called Bed Work.  The conversation continues in this vein for a while.
       After about twenty minutes of this dialogue, I move on to the next phase; trying to sit up.  This process is done increments by slowing scooting up toward the head of the bed until I am mostly propped upright.  By that point, the radio is within easy reach, so on it goes. This morning I turned it on just as weather person was reporting that the temperature would be -23 c  with a wind chill of -32c.  This news caused a relapse and I had to start the whole process of sitting up from the beginning again.  News of that sort  should be saved at least until my glasses are on my face.
      Once upright,  the radio on, glasses perched on my nose, I am ready to put my feet on the floor.  Rolling over to the edge of the bed, I test my joints to see if they are stiff and require slow movements or if I can flow easily over the side and into my lovely pink slippers.  Today it was a jerky process and took longer that it should have.  I think it was the residual shock of the -32 c wind chill announcement.  Downstairs to let dogs out, take my meds, have a glass of juice, let the dogs back in, and then back to bed.
       This time contemplation is centered on what will I wear today.  That decision requires background information.  What do I have do?  Who am I meeting with today?  Is there manual labour involved or is it simply a desk day?  The questions are essential to the right wardrobe choice.  By this time it is about 8:15.  Up I go again and into the closet I head.  After trying on and discarding at least three tops it is off to the ironing board.  I am a glass half full gal and a strong proponent of the iron as you go theory.  My life would be less hectic in the morning if I would become a card carrying member of the "Iron it the night before" club.  
      On to hair and make-up.  Unfortunately my people are on an extended vacation and have left me to fend for myself.  My hair dresser desperately tries to teach me how to flat iron my hair each time I visit her.  I am in the remedial class.  My make-up instruction comes from the lovely young girls at the Mac counter who tell me sweetly that I need practice eyeshadow application.   Somehow I manage to take care of the grooming requirements, but that leaves the accessories.  By this time, I am perking up.  Earrings, rings, bracelets, pins any shiny bauble will fill me with delight.  And the fun part follows.... shoes.  Unfortunately, that may take a while as I sort through the pile in the closet, the front hall closet and the bag of shoes in the garage which is trying to make its way into the house from the car. 
      Coat, keys, cell phone, computer,  my lunch (which I do make the night before),  treats for the dogs and out the door I go with five minutes to spare.  Those five minutes are essential because inevitably I forget whether I unplugged the flat iron and I have to race back upstairs to check.  The insurance company is not really pleased when members of the remedial hair styling class burn down houses.
     Finally, I manage to make it to the car.  Deep breath. As I pull out of the driveway and see the huge prairie sky my soul exhales with gratitude for the day ahead.  Now, now I am ready to say welcome to the day.