On Mondays I rise early in preparation for one of those activities listed above, now excluded from Tone Deaf to avoid subject-matter repetition. VR is able to lie abed. However, all impedimenta for shaving, tooth care and the prevention of certain pathological conditions are to be found in the en suite bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. Turning on the light there would disturb VR’s slumbers. I choose to let her sleep.
But before picking up the razor other tasks must be faced. Selecting an anti-gout pill from the bubble-pack, for instance. And ensuring the freed pill doesn’t drop down the plug-hole. The cod-liver-oil-plus-vitamin capsules are more manageable.
Next I must fumble for my detachable brush-head and attach it to the electric toothbrush. Squeezing paste from the tube means standing closer to the window to gather light from the street lamp outside.
Then shaving foam from the aerosol. Amazingly, because the foam is bright white, I am able to monitor its distribution on my face via reflection in the mirror.
Et enfin, the five-bladed razor. Certain facial sore areas must be avoided and up-and-down sweeps are necessary to hack bristle from my neck.
All this before the central heating radiators switch on and I’m bare to the waist.
VR often raises the subject retrospectively, saying she wouldn’t mind the light going on. But it’s tiny – seemingly unimportant – observations like this that have helped maintain the marital state over 63 years.
One does what one has to do, especially if it involves the preservation of civility and affection in a long relationship. In our house I get up first and put on the coffee, the most important act of the day. When Miriam comes down later (5 min to an hour and a half) we generally have a coffee together and then one or the other uses the bathroom first for our various morning requirements, and that suits us very well. It might work for you too, thereby avoiding the period before the radiator kicks in.
ReplyDeleteDMG: The above routine relates only to Mondays when my singing lesson (via Skype) starts at 08.30.
DeleteThe routine for the rest of the week is heavily influenced by the timetable established while we were both working. Arise at 06.45, both out of the door at 07.05, VR to take advantage of a flexitime arrangement with her employer, me facing an hour's drive to the far side of London. As a result neither of us took any form of breakfast at home (or elsewhere) for at least 25 years. These days we rise rather later but the absence of breakfast appears to be written into our metabolism and our first meal of the day is brunch. Wherein I indulge myself with two black lungos from a Nespresso machine stoked by environment-friendly pods.
My husband gets up about 2 hours before me. He used to shut the bedroom door so I wouldn't wake up when he turned on the light in the living room. I asked him not to. I like waking up briefly when he does, just so I can go back to sleep. The light in the other room reminds me how lucky I am to be able to ignore it and sleep in. But a little bit of light doesn't keep me from sleeping. I realize that's an issue for many.
ReplyDeleteColette: Now I'm predominantly a carer instead of a retired magazine editor my routines have gone to hell in a hack. Although there's nothing more luscious than turning the bedside light off just after midnight and burying my head in a pile of pilows, there's also nothing more daring than waking at 03.05 and telling myself, "Hey, I could be writing stuff." Which I'm doing now. But in a different room, of course.
DeleteWriting what? Any bloody thing! There's so much I know; admittedly in tiny amounts. Should I show off and expatiate on the book I'm presently reading - all about quantum gravity of which I understand not more than 10% but just to sift through these remote concepts is as close to gorging on Class A drugs as reading gets.
Or take up the title of a CS Lewis non-fiction book "The Problem of Pain" and explore my experiences of this phenomenon but without the religious overtones?
Or whether I'll be able to buy black pudding at Tesco and see how it goes with fried onion.
Anything! Writing's an imaginary rocket that can take me to imaginary places.
I'm not a bit tired.
Nice.
ReplyDeleteRP: Ambiguous.
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