‎"...a little 'trouty', but quite good" ~ Eve Kendall, North By Northwest

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Saturday morning

When Lucy was a baby I would get up at the shriek of dawn to go walk with my neighbor. I still had close to an hour to myself when I got back and I took to reading Proust. It was the most decadent thing I could manage. I probably only read two or three pages each morning but they were rich and gratifying. I think Proust is probably the truffle oil of literature.

I read Proust because no one else here really cared about it and no one else was around to influence me at that wee hour. It was a little piece of my former self I was able to resurrect.

I'm thinking of this right now because I happen to be awake when no one else is. It's an Easter-Eve miracle. The sun is coming up and turning the trees pink. The house is quiet - it's just me and my tea.

Having this peace at the beginning of the day is somehow different from the night. At night I'm still processing all the things that have been coming at me, and getting the laundry done. For some reason having an errant morning alone feels like comp time.

This morning I am not reading Proust. I'm just watching the light change outside and observing a handful of birds going about their day. I hear rustling in the next room and soon I will have one or two sleepy, snugly, small people in my lap. And then our day will start.


JAbel said...

I have never read any Proust.He scares me though I have a few female friends who rave about him and one an ex-girlfriend who could recite entire lines from memory which really impressed me but then it turned out she did not like Garlic or Lobster which meant we were doomed.

Susan said...

jabel - I dated someone once who didn't like cheese. We were not meant for each other.

thefoodsnob said...

I have never read Proust, either. Your writing here is just beautiful. I'm glad you are at a point you can have your tea in the morning alone, but could feel the anticipation waiting for the snuggling. Enjoy!