Sunrise it is.

You Are Sunrise

You enjoy living a slow, fulfilling life. You enjoy living every moment, no matter how ordinary. You are a person of reflection and meditation. You start and end every day by looking inward. Caring and giving, you enjoy making people happy. You're often cooking for friends or buying them gifts. All in all, you know how to love life for what it is - not for how it should be.

What Time Of Day Are You?

This would seem to be pretty accurate.
I found this over at Mrs Goodneedle's Strawberry Patch, so thought I would see what the verdict was, for me.

These days, I am a morning person. I was not always a morning person.

As a child, our mother would come into my bedroom in the mornings, & fling open the curtains, saying "Rise & Shine!" or "Wakey Wakey!"
How I came to hate the sound of those curtains, & those words.

I was like a bear with a sore head in the mornings. I just wanted to stay in my warm little cocoon of blankets, in my bed with the saggy kapok mattress on a wire wove base. It was like a warm little hammock. I would reluctantly stumble out to wash & dress, & have my breakfast.

And as I got older, my disposition didn't improve in the mornings. I would get out of bed reluctantly, & grouch & grump out for breakfast. My mother & brother wouldnt dare speak to me. I would sit glowering, scowling, & surly, radiating a positive aura of "I DARE YOU TO SPEAK TO ME". I am sure my brother will remember it well.

I have no idea, really, why I was so hostile in the mornings.

And I would carry the ill humour off with me, to catch the bus to work. Thankfully, by the time I reached work, I would be in a better frame of mind, & be able to be pleasant to those around me.

When my Best Friend J came to stay, I was, perhaps, a different morning person. I would get out of bed, & go out & make us coffee, & toast with lashings of butter, & marmalade, & take it back into my room for us to eat in our beds, laughing about our previous night's fun- or not.

When we married & had children, there was not much choice about rising. Babies dont care about such things as mother's sleepins. And small children are always ready with boundless energy in the mornings, for breakfast, mischief, & play. And the days needed to start early, to fit all of life's chores into the hours.

When I went to stay on the farm with my Aunt & Uncle, the days always began early. And I never seemed to mind in the country atmosphere. I loved the early morning mists, & wonderful stillness upon the world, before the day 'began'.

The busy warm bustle in my Aunt's kitchen, where the coal range would be going, started by my Uncle when he rose first. And my Aunt would cook lamb chops for his breakfast, with eggs, usually. And he would ride off on his horse to begin his day. Or walk down to the shearing sheds to begin the day there.

Now, I love the solitary time spent in the mornings. I dont always want to rise so early, but Leo often dictates the hour. And I find I can read peacefully, or read blogs, now. Or sew, if I am swept up with a project.

I used to get up, & walk in the misty mornings, before my knee decided that was not the way it would be. I loved that early morning time, and all the world seemed your friend. The few souls out & about would say 'Good morning' or at least grunt at you.

And if it has rained, the wonderful early morning chorus of birds' pure joy! They seem so appreciative of the rainwashed freshness of everything. I am always reminded of Don McLean's Winterwood!

*****************
And now, I know you are just dying to know about the mouse?

Well, I can report it is well & truly departed this life.

Leo got my up rather early on Saturday morning. An urgent trip outdoors was required it seemed, & as I rushed into the pitch black kitchen, I almost fell over as my foot skidded on something.

Cursing & muttering threats to the dog, thinking he had crapped had an accident, I flicked on the light. To discover, to my horror, I had slipped on the extremely small body of the (hopefully, already dead) mouse. I felt very sorry when I saw it's tiny black body. I am well aware of the disease potential they have, but I still felt sorry it's little life had to end.

I hope it didn't have any relatives with it. It was a very small little critter. And of course, in death it looked even smaller.

I dont believe Leo had even noticed it. Far too pampered.

And the arm. Well it is not a pretty sight, but I am sure it is not infected. It is not painful or red, & is just simply ugly! Heh!



Joan Baez, Lily Rosemary, & the Jack of Hearts.

Tiresome Details.

I love this little rock, with the little lichens? or whatever the little colony is.
They remind me of the diseases they grow in petrie dishes.
I discovered it, while waging war on the fish fern, which I dont mind in small patches, but it had invaded this garden, & it took a lot of hard work to tame it, after a fashion.

It creeps in under the neighbour fence, seeking haven & life in our garden.


I have had 'one of those days'.

The little details, & trivia that can be guaranteed to just tip the balance between a good day, & a mediocre one.

It has been very cold, -in fact yesterday was supposedly one of the coldest days for 21 years or something. Why do they bother with 'facts' like this?? Does it matter??

Our bodies tell us it is bloody extremely cold. That is all that counts as we skip about on our bald floorboards, & dance between the meagre drops of water, in our watersaving shower head!

Urgent phone calls to the repair people have solved the painting dilemma. The painter is now arriving at 7AM!! Friday, to begin painting the ceilings. Ye gods, couldnt they have made it a bit later in the morning...

And we think we have a 'soft spot' now, in the bald flooring. No answer, re that. An answer was promised. Mr Smartypants Insurance Repairer lectured me on NOT phoning him. "Does the paperwork name my foreman?" Sheepishly, "Yes."

Smarmily, "Well, you phone him then."

So, I did. O yes, on his mobile, because the office doesnt answer. O no. And the result is, he will call me back from the office, when he gets there.

Blah blah blah, mutter mutter mutter.

In the end, we are driven out, into the frigid air, to shop for luxuries such as medication, dog food, vegetables, soap.

Home again. No message from Mr Smarmy's Deputy, on the answering machine.

A friend arrives to share coffee. A welcome change of thought patterns.

Come wearily in here, later, to perhaps blog a little.

Disconcerted by a small black mouse scurrying into the room, & vanishing under the computer desk.

Drat!! Damn!

Call the dogs. They are too well fed. Couldnt care less!

So I will have to set a trap. Always supposing I can find it.

I can hear the little blighter rustling at the window end of the room.

I suppose it want warmth in this cold winter we have suddenly had arrive in our corner of the country.

Bread, Diary.

Bread, If.