Monday morning I was out of bed at 8:oo, yesterday at 7:00, but here I am this morning, up at 5:00 writing this post. I'm trying to find a happy medium with bedtime and getting up time, but it's eluding me. I've talked with other retirees my age and they report that they're getting eight hours per day but they are distributed around the clock at odd times. Sleeping all night at regular hours may be a thing of he past.
When I was a child I would sometimes wake up early and listen to the sounds coming from the kitchen; the clatter of plates being stacked; the bell-like ring of spoon against cup as my dad stirred sugar into his coffee. Now as I move around the kitchen in the hours before dawn, I'm making those sounds. Sounds and smells have the power to bring up memories buried deep within the soul.
Dorothy and I have volunteered to help with the Katrina evacuees in Arkansas, but we haven't heard anything yet. In fact, they haven't even arrived at our locality. I understand the delay in getting rescue efforts underway. Individuals jump into the fray in a crisis, but the wheels of an organization grind exceedingly slow.