Random Thoughts on Waking Up

The cuckoo clock went off at seven this morning. Yesterday it was nine. Mostly it starts at eight and rarely at 10. The number of chimes is always correct for the time. We think its erratic wake up times fits our personalities. 

When the cuckoo finishes singing, the church bells at the end of the street chime at 7:05 for somewhere between 32 and 35 times. I lose count.

The dog is still asleep.  Rick is reading next to me. Both of us often read in bed before starting the day, one of the luxuries of our alleged retired status. When the dog wants to go walkies, he will paw Rick, his book, or his phone.

I turn on our radiator which is a fake fireplace with an electric fire. Watching the flames gentles me awake.

I reach for my book. The Return of John Emmett by Elizabeth Spellman set just after WWII. I remember the end of WWII. Everyone was celebrating, only I didn't know what a war was. It triggers my memory of those years.

My grandmother used to reuse aluminum foil. When it was no longer usable she made a ball. Some were a foot thick. Then she turned it over to ??? for the war effort. I still reuse aluminum foil. Call me frugal or a COW (Cranky Old Woman). I don't like to throw things away that are usable so I prefer the term frugal.

I remembered it was my job to take the bag of white something with a red circle and press the circle into the white until it became like the butter it replaced As a kindergartener I took my work seriously...very.

I alternate the book I'm reading this morning with The New Yorker, A Century of Fiction 1915-2025. I read at least one of the short stories a day usually more. I know a majority of the writers, but there's new ones to discover or at least new to me. 

I'm struck by the stories written before 1980, the slower pace, the lack of technology. More memories seep in of going to the library for research instead of the internet. A camera, I used with flash bulbs when I was a cub reporter in a teen for a daily paper, was too heavy for me, so the paper bought me a small German camera. Now my phone is carried in my pocket and doubles as a camera. I still am hoping someday it will be able to vac/Hoover.

I remember yesterday at the marché with its stands selling just about everything in clothing and fruits and veggies. In my mind I see the honey stand with a Winnie the Poo stuffed animal sitting in the corner.  The honey is from his own hives. The marché starts at the end of our street and winds its way around the village.

Before we went a block, we saw a couple, our English friends. Our Romanian/Canadian friend, who has just returned from skiing and needed to go to Barcelona to pick up his "bride." He is with Vlad, his Romanian/American friend. They will be here for several months. We hug, cheek kiss as appropriate. Over the next hour we will meet 10 friends by chance, not including the merchants who vary from being acquaintances to friends.

Rick and I, after a tour, settled at the old Noisette for tea. We saw a sign saying that they have Lasagna as the menu of the day. Far easier than cooking. The memory that we have  leftovers in the fridge/frigo brings me back to my cozy bed, pup and husband.

A plan for the day runs through my head. I think of a haiku I want to write starting with the line - From wife to widow - I work on syllables that include words like minutes, hospital, another patient, different life. I think of how I might sketch a hospital bed. After lunch maybe.

I plan to work on my novella. I have my characters. Margo, the artist, Helen, the sister librarian. There's minor characters: Henry, Bethany, Grayson and Grace. I have no idea who else will turn up. I'm not a writer who plans out details like some writers do. I'm often surprised by what happens.

I start most days with Tai chi, although I'm clumsy at it. I think of the first strawberries of the season. I'm not sure if I'll put them on oatmeal or toast. 

I hope to meet with an Irish friend for our weekly save-the-world conversations.

It's 8:16 when I throw off the covers to start my day, content with my life past, present.