Morning Solitude

Neil Diamond's "September Morning" plays in my mind. It always does in the early mornings as summer gives way to autumn.

Although morning is my favorite part of the day in any season.

It always has been, starting in my childhood, when I would awake before the others to watch my dad shaving as he got ready for work. Just the two of us, in the quietest hours of the day. I can still smell his shaving cream.

It was still my favorite time of the day in my youth; again, the early mornings belonged to my dad and me. Him with his coffee, me with my OJ. On weekend mornings, I remember watching him carefully enter the week's "acutal" expenses into the appropriate column on his hand-written household budget. And we'd talk about what those numbers meant. Sounds dry, but I was fascinated to be learning from him.

Better yet were those mornings when I was home from college. We'd share a pot of coffee and talk about anything. Some days, we'd sit in comfortable silence, reading our favorite sections of the newspaper at the kitchen table.

I not only love my morning solitude, but I need it. It's my battery-charge. The rare morning that I sleep in, waking at the sound of the household's hustle and bustle, finds me wishing for those lost moments alone.

This weekend has been a fabulous one, full of fun and friendship. But non-stop. We hosted five families -- 24 of us -- at a Cincinnati Reds game on Friday night. The next morning, after rising early (even for me) and finishing a long run, I headed to Columbus with my son to watch the first Ohio State football game of the season. I led him on a tour of the campus of my alma mater, pointing out the places that were significant to me in my college days. Then he was fascinated by a tour of my youth: the house in which I was raised, my old elementary school, the church where he was baptized, and the house my husband and I lived in when our son was born. Sunday was an all-day affair at "The Resort," as the home of our good friends is affectionately called. The Draft has become a great all-day family event: the guys start the morning with 18 holes of golf; the wives and children head to The Resort to swim; the guys join the families later to toss the kids around the pool and grill dinner; then, while the guys hole up in the basement for the actual draft, the wives take the kids home to a sitter, change into party clothes, and return later for an adults-only gathering.

And though we enjoyed every minute of the weekend, and spent many wonderful hours with our family and our friends, the socializing used up every ounce of energy available to me.

So now it's my favorite time of day. The sun is rising, bright and clear. The air is crisp. The day is new. And the house is quiet for yet a few more minutes. I feel so revitalized by the morning solitude.

What's that I hear? It's my Mini-Me walking softly down the stairs. She sees her target, and my arms will be outstretched to her by the time she crosses the room. She's never told me this, but I know that morning is her favorite time of day, too. The house is ours alone for a brief time every weekend morning.

Excuse me while I play some Neil Diamond and dance with my daughter. This is our time.