The 5:00 news on Classic FM, followed by the very soothing voice of Malena Ernman singing Carman's Habanera. This brings a smile to my lips. What a lovely way to wake up. (meaning of course the music, not the news)
I have a little routine I follow every morning. The alarm goes off at 5 and I lie there for about fifteen minutes half listening to the news and any music broadcast at that time. I will do a bit of stretching, as you do, prior to sitting up and throwing my legs over the side. If I have slept in the main house I am now facing a window directly east from which I can size up the current weather conditions.
This morning's dawn held all the loveliest shades of purple, pink and gold. The sky is currently clear but the day may bring whatever it wishes and is not obligated to be pleasant.
I've laid out the apparel for today and will soon have to dress. I have not worn that ballerina costume in ages. I'm trying to recall if the netting was terribly itchy or not. I should not have to wonder for long.
Michael is still asleep. His hands folded under his cheek, he lays on his side, his mouth open but not making noise. He's one of those men that look incredibly boyish when asleep. I think he reverts back in age when he sleeps, perhaps physically and mentally in his dreams. Once in a while his legs twitch a bit. Perhaps he is running, or chasing a ball. How youthful he looks, the puppy boy, without a care in the world.
The cares shall soon start as I rouse him at 6:30. I imagine he will use all his stored up pitiful faces and sad voices to escape having to be the femme de charge du jour. All the protest, passive or aggressive will not gain him a reprieve.
