Quiet Mornings, Quiet Evenings

 I've always appreciated quiet mornings. Even as a kid, I think I recognized the sacredness and blessing of a slow start to the day.  It provided some sort of alignment  to settle as I actually had time to let my thoughts form properly and was allowed to begin the day with something I enjoyed or found satisfying.  When I was younger, there were mornings I spent journaling, reading, snuggling with my cat, maybe making myself my favorite cereal or indulging in Mom's pancakes. And there was Lucy. For a good stretch of my early childhood, I Love Lucy played at 10am and as I was homeschooled, Mom allowed it. We were never in any rush to get started on lessons, but when my Mom decided she wouldn't be the one to give the lessons anymore, Lucy was one of the biggest sacrifices I knew I'd have to make. In some gift from above, I Love Lucy switched to 7am so I still had the opportunity to catch it before I left for school. It was a wholesome start to the day that put me in a good mood before I really had to conquer anything. It still does, as does anything that I get to occupy MY morning with. 

And my evenings are starting to feel the same way. They were different when I was kid; I wanted to be occupied and entertained, not miss out on anything. It was sometimes devastating to have to go to bed or not have anything to do with my night other than be at home.  I wouldn't say I always wanted something planned, but it seemed like a waste of my time. A night in now, with my book or a show or even just writing like now, is something I look forward to.  Going to bed early, and earlier as I get older, doesn't feel like a curse but a blessing. There are a number of things that are starting to feel that way though - like less maybe is more.