Setting forth on a dawning day

Darkness fades for a moment and bright white light fills the room. Jerking around with legs akimbo and arms stretching for the clock, brighter light fills the eyes, squint and focus sharp, it is 5:38. Drop the thin metallic phone which serves as alarm clock and watcher of sleep. I suppose I should name her one of these days. Something that attached that extension needs a name. But what do you call a phone. Was it Persephone, the Greek goddess of something?

Roll over a few more minutes. Darkness rises again. Hard buzz now of a clock made in China. The instructions read like a poor translation of the karma sutra and setting it was troubling. There appears to be no way to turn off the alarm so every morning (Saturday and Sunday too) that thing goes off at 6:03. It is not blaring but loud enough to stir one to push the button on the back of the device to silence the bleating. 6:07 just a eyes close and the head drifts the alarm of the now Persephone goes off. A melodic tune to be sure but hardly worth the waking. Tragic too is there is no snooze on either device. Second shot on getting up to that phone, past there and we are one our own. Now, Maggie will holler if she sees no stirring on my end of the house. As I will turn on the living room lights to be sure she has awaken from her slumber on those dark mornings.

Shower. The bed is high. Almost too high. You know a high bed is one where standing it would be easy to take a lover while she is lying down. This bed is just a bit too high. Not that I would know by experience but… So rolling out of bed the floor is a longer drop then ever expected with a mind still fuzzy from sleep. Dim hallway, two steps to a sliding red door. I keep the doors closed because of the little dog, Shelby. I am afraid she will come in and poo in the night. The bathroom is small. Well lit with just two bulbs. I take off my bed clothes, turn on the shower to hot. The shower takes a long time for the hot water to go through the propane fired heater across the house and out the head. Time enough to tinkle, at this time of the morning too I must sit to pee because my balance is too sleep filled.

The shower stall is tiny. I step in and draw the curtain. A bit of water always sprays out when I open the curtain. A brown mat of the floor soaks up the misdirected waters. There is room only to turn around. Usually hitting the temperature control handle when turning the water turns cold for a moment. Warmth upon my thighs, then back, then shoulders, then head as I step under the flow of the water. A bottle of MOP – modern organic products Lemongrass shampoo is on the floor of the shower. Bending over with a slight twist, so as not the turn the water to cold again I grasp the small rectangle bottle, click as the lid flips up. A small amount of shampoo into the palm and soap up the hair. With an extra minute of time fingers rub the shampoo through the hair a little longer fingernails stroke the scalp. Rinse. Then the MOP matching conditioner. This is the time for forget about the faucet handle and a chilly blast of water spills over my right shoulder. Apply the conditioner and a green and blue plastic scrubby thing gets covered in “Kiss My Face Peaceful Patchouli” body wash. The green side is slightly courser than the blue and the drizzle of the liquid soap spans the line between the colors. Scrub all over, this thing feels really good against the flesh. Rough, it wakens the senses. The smell of the patchouli in the hot water permeates the olfactory and heady dreams of hippy chicks return. Rinse.

Stepping out of the shower into the frigid by comparison seventy degree air is liberating. The towel hanging on a white hook with a bird on top of it on the wall. Wrap this long towel around the shoulders and another green smaller towel around the waist. Green towels for the waist. Other color towels for the body. Any other colors? The greenest to the waist, browns next. Keep this pattern for no discernible reason. I am really not OCD. Really.

Harold Crick. When I think of brushing my teeth I now think of Harold Crick. But first…