When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.On the way to work today: a black suede high heel boot folded over in the street, a pug in a shearling coat, a tiny girl in white, a pyramid of golden apples, a man sleeping on a handicap ramp, a hipster in a tight brown suit, a swarm of Citibikes, a father walking his son to school, holding his lunch box, a couple steps ahead.
Tell me about your morning.
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Betsy Lerner 
Hit a deadline, barely. Drank more coffee. Rolled sleeves back up.
A keening, plaintive whimper from the puppy at 4:30AM requires me to rocket into the morning like a firefighter hearing the alarm bell. Frost-edged grass underfoot, a meteor arcing overhead, a shroud of predawn cold – all are ignored by the puppy focused on her tasks while I try to pretend this is just a vivid dream.
I rolled out of bed at 4am to get in at least two hours of writing before running 3miles on the treadmill, drank a protein smoothie, and had the kids’ lunches packed and backpacks ready with enough time to make them pancakes before the school bus showed up.
just kidding. i hit snooze until we only had 20 minutes to get ready and ran across the house screaming “put your shoes on” while they ate cereal w/out milk. this is the only writing i’ve accomplished today.
Here I sit, contemplating deadlines and doing nothing about them. There they sit, the pile of gifts yet wrapped, and the house that needs to be cleaned.
Coffee sure is good though.
Exploding crows in a pink cold morning headed west following the river.
The stars shake and wobble with night giving
way to daytime’s promise, coming right up.
Mr. Sun begins his ascent; low at first, pushing
skyward to cause pink and baby blue hues
reflecting on blonde mountain cliffs.
My four horses nicker for their breakfast,
jockeying for position.
There is a stillness when it’s ten degrees out, and only some of that is lack of blood flow to exposed flesh. But now that I’ve read the headlines, I’m seething and warm.
Cold ass morning, about 6 below, the sky a soft blue, the barest sliver of a white moon. The snow was dry and packed down by a snow mobile, but still drifted over in places. I trudged along, checking out the tracks of a wandering fox, one paw in front of the other with a pause to pee on selected tiny balsams now and then. Saw one truck on the way in, a half hour walk to work. Lights were on in a few houses, the windows frosted over, smoke billowing out the chimneys. The lake was frozen silver except where a bubbler was stirring up the black water and disturbing the quiet morning. Shadows had yet to appear and most people had the good sense to stay inside, sipping hot coffee and staring out the window, making a mental note to put out more bird seed for the chickadees and starlings all puffed up against the cold.
Meds wore off, hacking started, The Third Day of Christmas Crud starting late. Queen Roxanne, for whom we are temporary caretakers, has banged her tail down the hall and demanded attention. I need another cup of the hot black stuff with a dash of chickory before we go outside. She is sweetly impatient.
It is almost 50 under an already glorious sky, and we will be better outside.
Mike, 6 below? Are you at the South Pole?
Northern Adirondacks. High today, 8 above, has already come and gone. Enjoy the warmth!
0 degrees this morning somewhat southeast of you!
Stillness is the morning, of bliss,
That speaks of promise.
Ceiling Unlimited Blue With Snow White Light (Not Heat!) After Two Days Storm. Did All Christmas Cards (The Florentine Virgin & Child,) &This Verse By Hart Crane: The Matrix Of The Heart, lift down the eye/That Shrines the quiet lake and swells a tower. . . /The commodious, tall decorum of that sky/Unseals her earth, and lifts love in its shower.~The Broken Tower. Collected Poems Of Hart Crane.
So I Send This Out To You, & Hope To See the Meteor Shower In The Moonless Sky Tonight! Happiness & Health Attend You Readers, Now & In The Year To Come. Sean Andrew Heaney
my mornings have been pretty much the same for the past few years, each morning is a one two punch of gratitude and ennui.
My morning?
Driving the Long Island Sound shoreline while being grateful for all I have, all I’ve lived and for all that’s ahead.
Then I get to work.
That is when I am especially grateful for working part-time, aka semi-retirement.
“Tell me about your morning.”
I woke up around 3:30, as I too often do, then slept fitfully till 6:00. I got up then, kibbled the cats, brewed a cup of tea, and read for about a half-hour. After that it was morning Internet postings and reviewings, some writing, light exercise, shower and dress, coffee and a bite, then work here at home in the virtual office. On cold days like we’ve been having here in Chicago lately, I don’t go out if I don’t have to.
That pug is a ringer for the pug in my novel, page 32 of said novel devotes four full paragraphs to the sheer joy of saying the word fuck, and I just discovered that you know longer represent novels. Only one word can express my reaction to this news . . .
“no longer,” of course!