My tendency is to want to sleep in on weekend mornings. During the week I am usually swiping the snooze button as many times as I think I can get away with. But there’s no alarm on Saturday and Sunday mornings, and the morning fogginess in my head can just lay there another hour or so, five or six “a few more minutes” at a time.
On the flipside of all that, I also appreciate a quiet house and the peace and stillness available only before everyone else awakes. Silence and a hot aromatic cup of coffee are my friends. Quietly reading the news online, popping down through my overly full google reader listings, seeing what I might’ve missed on Twitter overnight (nothing, trust me), having time to think and ponder and read – these are things worth getting up for.
I had a nice dream last night, one that I’ve had a time or two before. Maybe not, but it felt like I’d had it before, like it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar but instead was a revisit with old friends. In this dream, the people living behind us on some hillside in someplace I’ve never been have a bomber plane. Think Memphis Belle bomber, not the big cargo planes of today. They fly it out of their backyard, across the fields and hills, to the town square where folks gather at the fountains, at the pond, in the square with the shops. It’s a flying dream with a huge plane. It’s a communal dream with lots of folks I don’t know, but maybe I do. It’s an exciting dream with no soundtrack other than the woosh of the wind and the landings that are undramatically short on streets that should be too small, in areas that aren’t big enough.
In the beginning, I had gone back to visit these neighbors, been introduced to aunts and uncles, perhaps over the holidays. And then we took the plane out, just to fly downtown. When we arrived in the village we disembarked to see my aunts and uncles, so perhaps it was the holidays. And then I woke up – to no alarm, so no need for a snooze button. And to no coffee, so there was a need to…
Wake up. I’ve been up about ninety minutes now. And in writing this I think the reason I got out of bed wasn’t the promise of peace and quiet or the magnetic pull of the morning’s first cup of coffee. Instead, I think I realized that if I didn’t get a start on some part of this new day, then the highlight of it would be that dreamt flight through the countryside in a plane that didn’t exist. Not a bad thing, but going back to sleep wouldn’t recapture that – while waking up just might.