One Of The Morning People

Everything is better in the morning. Coffee is better. Bacon and eggs are better. Pancakes, while delicious anytime, are better in the morning. Sunrises are better in the morning; if they happened in the afternoon, they wouldn’t be nearly as good, would they? Through no planning or fault of my own, I have accidentally become a morning person. I love mornings. There, I’ve said it.

I like laying in bed thinking deep thoughts while listening to Estevan, the coffee maker gurgle away upstairs. I enjoy that smug feeling of waking up three minutes before my alarm goes off. The best thing ever is pouring that first cup of coffee then turning around to see Newton sitting by his food dish, patiently waiting for his tiny splash of milk.

There is also nothing better than Spring and Summer mornings because they happen so early — I love sitting on the deck with my coffee steaming, birds chirping, laptop open and tapping out a story or thought or some surprising string of words. The only thing that would make this better would be an ocean a few feet away.

Currently, we are in the Canadian Winter Mornings, which happen much later, are colder, and don’t lend themselves to sitting on decks with laptops. Winter mornings are better for shovelling sidewalks, especially when you have brand new snow boots and a winter jacket that your better half insisted you get from Mark’s Work Warehouse because she had a $50 Gift Card that you forgot to bring because you aren’t good at remembering things like that.

It also helps when there is a blanket of fresh snow to shovel. Canadian therapy. I’m a really good shoveller; it’s a skill I learned during the 1988 Winter Olympics. One of my jobs was to shovel out the stands of the 90-Metre Ski Jump because the snowmakers accidentally pointed their snow-making machines the wrong way and buried the west-side stands in six feet of hard-packed snow. When we finished that adventure, we strapped on crampons and got to unearth the markers for the Ski Jump Landing Zone because the excitable snowmakers over-corrected and directed their snow-making machines in the opposite direction.

I hold no malice against my snowmaker friends; it’s because of them that I have mad shovelling skills our whole neighbourhood appreciates.



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Michael Dean Dargie

Michael Dean Dargie

I do cool and weird shit with cool and weird people. Dad, biker, writer, speaker, artist, adventurer, doer of things, teacher of stuff.