Archive for May 10th, 2002

May 10 2002

Love/Hate: Morning

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Loose ends:

1. I did pay the $57. *ducking* But I sent it registered mail, kept a copy of the check, and ordered a copy from the bank showing that it was cashed, so hopefully that’s the end of it. It just goes to show that time is more important to me than money. Or that I am really, really lazy. Or all of the above.

2. We are going to Amsterdam. Me, my sis Megan, and our one and only niece, the one and only Cat. Cat’s mother, aka my older sister Beth, says that they can get much cheaper airfares if they book it there, so I’m leaving it up to her. We’ll be there September 20-23, and staying here, about two minutes’ walk from where Alice lives. When John and I stayed there two years ago (two years ago!), we had the Rembrandt Room.

3. I bought the iBook! It should arrive next week, which will give me time to figure out how to use it here or there, as Dr. Seuss would say. Also the DVD player will be a welcome distraction on the plane. And I can update you all on my adventures.

Here’s your love/hate of the week!

Love/Hate for Friday, May 10, 2002
Morning

I am a morning person, a creature loathed by many. Not that I’m annoyingly perky or chatty in the a.m., especially pre-caffeine, but I do naturally wake up early, even on the weekends. I’m a lark, and John’s an owl. He’d rather stay up late and get up late, whereas I, though a city girl to the core, prefer keeping farmer’s hours, going to bed early and getting up early. It’s completely amazing if I stay up past 10.

If I’m starting a project at work, or at home, for that matter, I’d rather start it in the morning when I feel fresh and what little brain power I have is as good as it’s going to get. By the afternoon, my physical and mental energy are beginning to wane and I’d rather do things that require less cognitive thought. If you look at the time on my blog entries, they are almost all written before noon.

I love being awake when the day is new. During the week, I leave the house early enough that the streets of the city are lightly populated. I can often walk ten blocks without seeing another person, other than those in cars. I can hear the birds singing, and the sun is just about rising, so the sky is pink, lavender, and pale blue, with clouds that would have inspired Constable. The first cable cars of the day pass me on my way to work, the brakemen waving and saying hello. It’s a magical time of day, before the streets get crowded, the air full of exhaust from cars, and suburbanites start hemorrhaging out of the BART stations.

On the weekends, I’m usually awake by 6, often woken up by birds singing in the tree outside our bedroom window, or less romantically, by our Siamese cat Jack, either informing me that it’s breakfast time in her opinion, or more subtly by playing with the blinds until their clacking against the window frame wakes me up. After feeding the ravening hordes, I take my coffee and breakfast up on the roof and sit on the sunny deck overlooking the Bay. To the west, I can see the Golden Gate Bridge, and the Palace of Fine Arts. I can see boats on the Bay, and the neighborhood secret gardens that can’t be seen from the street. To the east, the pastel buildings climb Russian Hill. It’s surprisingly peaceful up there in the morning, with hummingbirds buzzing by or the wild parrots flying overhead. I wouldn’t miss that just to sleep!

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