Early bird catches worm, but I'd rather be sleeping

JOE BRYKSA / FREE PRESS ARCHIVES Enlarge Image 

Early risers out for a row on the Red River experience the reflected beauty of the rising sun.

I am not a morning person, nor a night person. I'm more a 10 a.m. to noon person, with a brief rally in the late afternoon.

I love to sleep -- to snuggle under the covers, to revel in afternoon naps, to spend so much time on my back I ought to find a way to make money at it.

So when I was assigned the morning news shift last week -- a shift that begins at the startlingly early hour of 6:30 a.m. -- I reacted the way I always do in times of extreme stress.

I took to my bed, pulled the covers over my head and pretended not to understand the implications of this ordeal.

They were, in no particular order, waking up at 5:30, leaving my husband dozing under the sleep-warmed sheets, proving unable to read the paper because my eyes are gritty and sore, driving to work along abandoned streets and being the first person to pull into my section of the parking lot.

It is a sign that I am a spoiled columnist that this was the first time in many years that I've had to get up with the birds and remain upright for eight solid hours.

With luck, it will be the last.

I do work long hours, just rarely consecutively. I often work at home, wearing my bunny slippers until noon or until the children look at me pleadingly and claim they have friends coming over.

Personal grooming is considered optional until after lunch.

There were some highlights to this early shift -- the camaraderie with the handful of other staff on the early shift, the comfort of seeing the same man walking his happy golden retriever down the street, the sight of other drivers yawning and stretching and sipping from their thermal cups filled with home-brewed coffee.

You can cross this city in record time at 6 a.m. You know the coffee will be fresh in the cafeteria and the smell of the just-baked cinnamon buns is irresistible.

No one expects you to be well-dressed, well-groomed or well-mannered.

That part suits me just fine.

I know there are scads of people who work night shifts and split shifts -- people who save lives, run restaurants, clean buildings and drive cabs. I feel their pain and appreciate their efforts.

I just don't want to be one of their number.

I am stupidly grateful for the person who puts the paper on my front porch before I wake up, consider sainthood for the trash collectors and early morning bus drivers of our city.

But I have no interest in joining their fraternity.

Some of you are sitting down now with your crisp L.L. Bean khakis and sensible shoes on, ready to write me a smartly worded letter about the joys of the snap in the air on a fresh morning, the crackle of dew on the grass, the pop of the corn or whatever else happens in the pre-dawn hours.

Save your time. I will be unconvinced.

I admire my teenagers for their ability to capture sleep like a prisoner, wrapping themselves in the warm doze of a weekend morning that stretches into afternoon. My heart goes out to everyone who has ever sat on a subway bench, head lolling and snapping back with the rhythm of the rails.

There but for the grace of God...

Consider this, then, my love song to the hours before phones ring and problems present themselves. To the beauty of a traffic light blinking red without cars to stop and to a yawning waitress pouring out thick mugs of coffee with a practiced hand.

The rest of us couldn't get our days started without the news you offer, the muffins you've got waiting or the clanging of your church bells.

You will excuse those of us who burrow down beneath the magic of a woollen blanket, who wander the house stupefied until caffeine flows through our veins and who cannot possibly comprehend greeting the sunrise with anything more than an annoyed sigh and a snore.

Early risers, I salute you.

Just don't expect me to get up early again any time soon.

lindor.reynolds@freepress.mb.ca

Republished from the Winnipeg Free Press print edition July 4, 2009 A2