What gives?

There was some terrific thunderstorms a few nights ago. I woke up often, listening and trying not to get all bent out of shape that my precious sleep was being interrupted. I drifted in and out, and then when it was light, I looked up at the clock on the wall. It said 7 a.m. Getting out bed at that hour is my habit, but I decided to stay in a few more minutes and enjoy the luxury of keeping my eyes shut. Finally, I got up at 7:20. I couldn't put it off anymore. I hopped into the shower.

I used the peppermint shampoo which makes my scalp tingle, and helps me forget wishing I was still in bed. After toweling off, I walked into the bedroom and looked at the clock radio. It said 6:30 a.m. That's what I get trying to read"Down Under" clock so early in the morning.

[The "Down-Under" clock was a very special wedding present from dear friends in Australia. All the numbers are backwards. It even ticks backwards. So when you look at it, you have to really make sure that you are reading it right. The kicker is that I didn't re-set the clock to the correct time in the spring, so it is actually an hour behind. So when I read it, I have to think that much harder. At 6 in the morning, my thinker-er isn't working anywhere near capacity. ]

So there I was, too awake to go back to bed, and too early to head to work. I groaned inwardly. I promised myself that I would come home after work and have a nap. I could hardly wait.

It reminded me of another day, long ago, when I had to get up early to practice piano. In those days, we were required to practice a half hour every morning. That day, I was on first shift. I had to be up 6 a.m. to start. I wandered downstairs with my eyes closed so I didn't have to admit to being awake. I started with the things I could do with out looking. Scales. Legato and stacatto. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to being up, and I began practicing my pieces. I had some fast pieces which brought me awake. I loved fast pieces. The faster the better. By this time, I was fully awake [and almost cheerful]. A few more pieces later, my time was up, and I went back upstairs. By this time, I was fully ready to participate in my day. I started to sing "There's a Hole In the Bucket Dear Liza" at the top of my lungs. I was about to knock on my sister's door to tell her the piano was available for her to do her practice, when my father opened the door to his bedroom, peeked his head out, and politely requested that I "put a plug in the hole dear Liza" because it was only 5:30 a.m. I hadn't realized that I was an hour early. Everyone else in the house must have been putting pillows over their heads to try and drown out the sound. It was a long time ago, so I don't remember what I did next. But the other day, when it happened again, I had a nap in honor of it.