My morning sacrifice

7:30 a.m.
I just wandered out to the backyard. It's a beautiful morning. Very cool and very sunny. I'm not usually up this early, and even if I am, I'm not standing around outside observing the beauty of nature.
I'm not a morning person. Never have been and probably never will be. But lately, anytime I am up early and out and about, I'm amazed at how great it makes me feel. Maybe because it's something new and different these days. Believe me, all the times I ever had to get up really early to go to work some job, I was not filled with amazement and wonder and good feelings on my daily commute.

My little house in Cortez, CO.

Except for the time I lived in Cortez and drove 60 miles to work in Durango every day. Now that was a wonderful commute through Colorado mountains. I tried to schedule my departure from the house so I could catch Garrison Keillor's "The Writer's Almanac" on KSUT (Durango's public radio station) on the trip over. After listening to Keillor's soothing, melodic voice read the daily poem, I was usually inspired to write one myself. But alas, I was driving and always running late. So making a pit stop on the side of the road to wax poetic was not an option. I tried to make voice notes on my cell phone recorder, but that's no good. It's not the same. Trying to go back to the notes later and be inspired on demand does not work for me.

Spot: "Why are you up so early?"

So anyway, I dragged myself out of bed this morning because Linsy the JRT was doing her frenzied squeaking routine right outside my bedroom window. That's how she barks at the squirrel who makes his home in one of our backyard trees.
"Squeek, squeek! Squeek, squeek!"
Like fingernails on a chalkboard.
I knew the squirrel was probably teasing her, as always, sitting on the tree just out of reach of her amazing running climb up the trunk. It's a pretty big squirrel. I've seen it. And it's very bold and fearless. It drives Linsy nuts. Spot, our other JRT, couldn't care less about the squirrel and lets his sister do all the carrying on about it while he sits in the sun surveying his domain.
I've found that if I go out into the backyard when the squirrel is in tormenting mode, and stand under the trees for a little while, Linsy calms down. Perhaps the squirrel gets tired of waiting for me to leave and moves on to tease and torture some other dog in the neighborhood. Maybe my presence makes Linsy feel safer and her backyard more secure. I'm not sure why exactly, but it does work. So getting out of bed to stop her annoying squeaking is well worth the sacrifice.

Giant coffee cup. Yum!

Before I went outside, I grabbed a big cup of the coffee Chuck made for me before he left for work this morning. It smelled good and it seemed like the right thing to do.
So my giant coffee cup and I stepped into the backyard, fending off leaps and licks from the JRTs. I stood under the trees, staring up into the branches, trying to catch a glimpse of the tormentor. But I saw nothing.
Then I noticed the garden, which has turned into a lush, flowering plot of land in the middle of the yard thanks to Chuck's careful and consistent watering and the rain we had the other night. Lord knows I had nothing to do with its success, beyond expressing my desire to plant a vegetable garden way back at the beginning of spring. But Chuck, he knows how to make plants grow. Squash blossoms, pepper blossoms, tiny green Roma tomatoes drooping on the vine - they're all there. It's a beautiful sight.

Squash blossom.

And as I said, the air was very cool. My sleep attire - a thin tank top and shorty-shorts - was not enough to ward off the chill, and I was reminded of Colorado summer mornings. For a moment, I felt grateful that days like this exist in Texas too.
I didn't stay out there long, just long enough to finally see Mr. Squirrel balancing on the power line above the fence. His tail flicked nervously but he didn't move, not even when I waved my arms and yelled at him to "Get out of here!" He only stared at me from the corner of his eye, as if to say, "Whatever, lady, go put some clothes on."
I did go inside then, but not to put clothes on. I chose not to bow to the demands of a mangy squirrel in my own backyard. No, instead I poured a little more coffee and grabbed my laptop.
It was no Garrison Keillor morning in the Colorado mountains, but it was inspiring just the same.