My precious husband is a morning person and I am not. I knew that long before I married him but I thought it would be okay. I can remember his brother telling me stories of them going someplace together and how Mike was up before the chickens and all chipper and chatty while Jim was struggling to hold his eyes open and prop himself up.
My Daddy and I were good working partners years ago when we were farming together. He isn't a morning person either. I can remember as a child that he was always watching the Tonight Show on TV after the rest of us went to bed. I guess I just inherited that habit from him because I have always been a night owl, too. When we farmed together, Daddy would stroll through the milk barn and say, "Mornin' Bud," on his way out to feed and I'd just sort of grunt as my response. After a couple of hours, we both could carry on a civil and somewhat understandable conversation. I'm still pretty much that way. I'm up at around 5:30 or 5:45 A.M. I shuffle into the kitchen for my first mug of coffee. I don't know whether it is more important to get the caffiene into my body or to wrap my hands around the mug's warmth so that I can move my arthritic fingers. Then, I check the weather report and spoon in some Cheerios and blueberries before I'm coherent enough to put on makeup and tame my Medusa head and scramble out the door sometime around 7:00 A.M.
Mike, on the other hand, can get up at three o'clock and be at work by five and be smiling and jovial all at the same time. He told me this morning that I am a grump in the mornings and he really is right on target there. Of course, I don't really know if he is talking about what I consider as morning - you know that point when the sky starts to light up because the sun is rising - or that point when he thinks it is morning and gets up and I maintain that it is the middle of the night.