When I retired from working with the public daily, I planned to make sure I got up at least as early as my grandfather used to.
No, it wasn’t a credo or a new paradigm; it was just a passing thought, prompted by memories of hearing his cough echoing from the living room while he caught the Today Show each morning on NBC after he retired as Fire Chief in Auburn, Maine.
The theme song of Today was bold and big, even in 1969.
It seemed to a six-year-old kid to be way too early, and I’d roll over in my bed and close my eyes, straining to listen to muffled stories about a world I had difficulty comprehending. There was lots of talk about Vietnam, the war, and the uneasiness and mayhem it caused among the population on American soil.
I wasn’t seeing any of that in my slice of Maine. I saw my mother and father, my grandparents, and my sisters. We played outside in very pleasant conditions, went to church three times a week, and I was, at that time, dreaming of becoming a garbage man.
That happened because our garbage man could ride a bicycle backward. And he would, at my father’s request, if we happened to be home when he came to empty the roadside cans.
The man preferred my mother’s bicycle for the trick. I assume, now, that it was easier to mount the Columbia two-wheeler, since the crossbar was lower.
Looking back, I suppose for a man to ride a bike backward for a group of kids (all of them in total awe and wonder), it’s better not to smash your nether regions during the show. That can raise all sorts of questions; many of them, coming from the squeaky-voiced, delighted children, would have been several octaves lower than any sounds emitted by the man on the bike, I suppose.
Know your audience. And yes, I digress.
The sunrises at the camp in the woods have been great, and I’ve not missed but one or two during my time Downeast this summer. I get up early, just like I promised myself. But I get up much earlier than my Grandfather ever did.
Since I was up before three yesterday with my friend, Sammy, who stayed over for no other reason than it’s a good place to sleep and go fishing for free, we both waited for the cloak of darkness to be pulled back, hoping that when the sun did come up it would put on a show.
We sipped coffee by the woodstove, reading and listening to the radio until the sun revealed its mug on the east shore.
I told him that when I retired, I swore I’d catch as many as I could, but I left out the part about my grandfather always being up before the sun, because conversation between two men and a dog doesn’t demand that kind of detail. But writing it down does.
Lucky you.
It started dull, a little before six. I was on my second cup of Joe. Suddenly, I saw pink over the high head on the other side of the cove.
I grabbed my phone, Ellie for the walk, and shot down the front steps to get to the lakeside to take it in. Windows are wonderful, but they dull the image; it’s best to be right there at the water’s edge.
I swear, all that color came and went quickly. If I had to estimate the time frame before the sky dulled and showed me nothing but gray mixed with very little blue, I would say we had three minutes.
Three minutes of wonder, and I had a front-row seat.
I talk to myself during those walks. I also talk to Ellie, since she tends to wander over to the neighbors’ place, looking for the outdoor food dishes filled for a couple of tough feral cats who have made that camp their home base. She’s not going for the cats; she goes to check if they’ve left any kibble behind.
Ellie merely uses the sunrises as a tool to make up her own stories about where she’s been. She hears her name a lot, reminders from me that she should stay close.
“Elllllllieeeeee, come back over here!” If there were anyone within earshot, they’d swear I was a overbearing husband, not a frustrated dog overseer.
So while many retirement bucket lists are filled with trips to warmer places and golf cart-centric travel to multiple golf courses for daily games, ocean cruises, and much more exciting things, mine came with a promise: to get up early as my grandfather did.
The sunrises are a bonus that, when I was six, didn’t matter.
They do now.
I still cannot ride a bike backward, but who knows?
Keep your hands to yourself, leave other people’s things alone, and be kind to one another.
From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,
TC
Thanks for the support through BuyMeACoffee (yellow banner on main page). Consider supporting the writing by becoming a Supportive Rascal—it’s a thing. tc