It's Sunday morning and I'm blogging in bed. Ahhh . . . . . this is heaven. When I was approaching retirement I used to say that what I was looking forward to the most was to getting up in the morning when my body wanted to. No alarm clocks. Now, 5 years later, I can proclaim that it is still my favorite thing. . . I really hated getting up with an alarm.
However, with my workout schedule being what it is, I have to be aware of when I get up 5 days a week. I can usually do it without the alarm. On Mondays and Fridays I don't work out until 9:45. But I like to be up a couple hours before that to get my juicing done and in my system. On Tuesdays my weight lifting class is at 7:30, so sometimes I do use the alarm. It's my earliest class, but my favorite so I guess that's okay. On Thursday is the dreaded cardio class at 8:00. That's not too early, I guess, but I have such a bad attitude about that class I set the alarm as a back up. And on Saturday, the last class of the day is at 8:40 AM. Only on Sundays do I have free reign to sleep as late as I want. And I always celebrate that by staying up way too late on Saturday night. Not partying. . . .just "farting around" as I like to say. A little video here, a chapter or two of reading there, a couple of rows on the knitting, a couple of tunes on the piano, maybe getting the vegetables ready for the morning juicing, a game or two of Scrabble on the IPhone. Just a regular evening in the Attention Deficit world I occupy.
Last night I did what I often do depending on what the overnight temps are going to be. I cracked the windows in my bedroom. I have the greatest windows in my house. In fact the house was designed around them, as Duncan the Builder had them left over from another building job and gave them to me at cost. Casement windows made by Jeld-Win. When I first was buying the crappy little house, one of the things I noticed was that even though it sits way back from Rt. 151, behind a vacant medical building, it sounded like the highway was coming right through the living room. That was a cause for some concern. Duncan assured me that with the right insulation and windows, that problem would be solved.
And he was right! I hear nothing when all the windows are closed. But if I crack them or open them, there's that highway! I've gotten used to it. Particularly at night. We're not talking freeway here. . . just a two lane, curvy road that since the early 70's has been the main road leading to the Wintergreen Golf and Ski Resort. By evening, everyone is usually settled in. Then the only thing to contend with is the large trucks that use the road as a cut off between Interstate 64 and Rt. 29 south. This is a bone of contention in the community. A tragic accident that resulted in the deaths of a mother and her two young children a couple of years back was caused by one such trucker. But the trucks still come, and at night, through the cracked windows I can hear them. But much like the fabled New Yorkers who swear they adjust to the sound of the trains going by outside their bedroom windows every few minutes, I don't hear the trucks when I'm sleeping. Or the hound dogs off in the neighbors field when they smell a fox and go stark raving mad in the middle of the night. Or the cows in the pasture that take to bawling for no apparent reason (oh I'm sure there's a reason. . . if I was out in the field with them the reason might become very apparent). Country living writ large.
So here I am in bed on the only morning of the week where I don't have to think about what time I'm getting up. My "free" morning. (I know, I know. . . people who still go to work every day want to go for my throat about now. . . but everything's relative!!).
And I am awakened, BRUTALLY, by the blast of bluegrass music. My first instinct, AT 6:45 THIS MORNING, is actually to laugh. And before the sleep has cleared my eyes my mind has traveled back in time to when we used to watch The Andy Griffith Show. My family LOVED that show. And our favorite episodes were the ones with the character of Briscoe Darling and his sons and his one daughter, Sharlene. They were mountain people come down from the hills. Briscoe and his sons were a blue grass band. They sang songs like Salty Dog, Slimy River Bottom, Put Your Money in your Shoes So It Won't Get Wet, and Tearin' Up Your Old Clothes For Rags. I can still see and hear my dad laughing at the titles of the songs. And in the first episode that featured the band, Briscoe checks into the local boarding house and then sneaks the boys up through the window so that he only has to pay for one person. And they "rehearse" all night. And in the darkness comes the sound of the blue grass banjo pickin', jug-blowin', fiddlin' cacophony that continues to wake the town, causing Andy to have to figure out how to catch them and find a solution. Eventually he arrests them and they all go over to the jail where Andy joins them on the guitar and they practice to their hearts' content. Classic Andy Griffith! And that's what I thought this morning, before I took the time to wonder why the Darlings had suddenly arrived in my back yard!
My closest neighbors live across the side yard (well actually since I moved the front door, maybe it's my back yard!) about 50 feet. Joyce is a lovely old country woman with a piercing voice when she is cajoling her Yorkshire Terrier Mimi to stay out of my yard. I have no idea why Mimi hasn't been grabbed by a passing hawk to tell you the truth. Everyone around here knows that you better not fall in love with a small pet, what with the predatory birds everywhere. Joyce has a son, Mike, who is, in his own words, a convicted felon. George the Trainer told me that once he picked up Mike who was hitchhiking, and the first thing Mike said to him was "I'm a convicted felon." Mike was in a tragic accident as a teenager (I got this story from his cousin, also named Mike, who worked on my house), where his best friend was killed and Mike (the convicted felon, not the house worker) has a large scar across his face to show for it. Apparently, he never fully recovered and like so many other Nelson County natives, descended into a fog of drugs and alcohol. He comes home after serving time, and stays with Joyce until she kicks him out again. In the meantime, since he can't drive, he works in their garden or hitchhikes up and down Rt. 151 to get where he needs to go. He's also an early riser. . . . .and even if I'm not. . . . . I kind of admire those that are!
So it was Mike up with the chickens (actually I don't think they have any chickens) this morning, pounding stakes into the garden and deciding that loud blue grass music would be the perfect accompaniment to that activity. And truth be told, I agree with that!
But it was 6:45! My one morning to sleep in! I know plenty of people, probably native New Yorkers, who would have shouted out the window to "TURN THE MUSIC DOWN!!" But let's review. . . . convicted felon. . . .. .drugs and alcohol. . . . .
So I just simply went over and closed the windows. They had only been open a crack, but even at that it felt like the Darlings were sitting on my bed tapping out a tune. Once my fancy-schmancy Jeld-Wins were closed. . .. . perfect peace!
Back to sleep for another TWO HOURS!!!!!
If you need to replace your windows. . . . go for the good ones. You won't be sorry.
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