The secret is the delight of early mornings.
Not mornings as I knew and loved them: 8 a.m. go from bed to coffee pot and await the infusion of caffeine. No - REAL MORNINGS. Delicious Mornings. Mornings of Awe and Anticipation. Why didn't anyone tell me about what goes on just before and as the sun is rising?
Now I don't want you to think that I am a slug or lazy or sleep the day away. In defense of myself (in the event I need it), MY time to begin studies, reading, writing, preparation of classes, sermons, torah, typically begins around 9 p.m. when the day has faded, and sacred beings with whom I share my home are settling into sleep.
Then it is quiet.
Then it is my time to go to my office and dive into my books. One after another -- read, study, savor, delight. Like a kitten in a yarn basket. And often, I would work well into the night and decide to head to my bed around 3 a.m., so arising at 8 seemed reasonably early to me.
Due to some changes in my schedule, I am attempting to roll back the clock and attempt to get to bed earlier, and ergo, to rise earlier.
Today, I cracked an eye around 6 a.m., and saw one restless dog, Ms Mini, a foster sheltie who would make a delightful adoption if you have a home, a lap and lots of love, start circling with her legs crossed in the "gotta go" dance. And Ms Ruby started hackin' up a proverbial hairball. And Lex jumped on the bed with a "hurry, big trouble in River City (get it - flood en route if you don't get up)" look.
Since I presumed (incorrectly) that I would just get the three out to the sidewalk for a quick tinkle, and one mastiff vomit, and perhaps, dash back into bed, I only took one bag.
Once outside, it was like I stepped into a wonderland. The moon, the stars, the midnight blue of the night was being pushed back by the sun making ready to rise just over the bay. The birds were joyously singing. The temperature was vibrant. Wow - this was awesome. I was lovin' it. And so we walked and smelled, and delighted. (Need I mention that I was still in my nightgown, and woke up with The Donald, as in Trump, swirl hair-do; fortunately, it was still dark enough that I was hoping anonymity.)
As we walked, I guess the girls decided nature was double calling; and then for Ms Ruby, triple calling. My bag was filling quickly. But the smell of the citrus trees in blossom, and the gentle breeze: we were still good to go.
Then, as duality would have it, my plastic bag (did I mention Ms Ruby is the size of a Shetland pony) began to tear, so I tried to bundle it up. Did I mention that I had three leashes and now that they were awake, three excited pups? Did i mention that I have a philosophy of picking up after ourselves: "no poo left behind." What happened as we attempted to make our way to the garbage cans in the alley, was not pretty.
And therefore, the title of this posting: even on stunningly, remarkable beautiful days: POO HAPPENS.
Get over it!
We are truly washable.
Duality makes us appreciate all of life -- even the workings of the digestive system.
And the beauty of the morning remained.
And my alarm is set for another delightful morning walk tomorrow.
Although tomorrow, I will be better prepared!