Wrinkly Bits
A Blog by Gail Cushman
I’m a morning person (which drove my teenaged kids crazy) and I feel like the day is wasted if I don’t start my daily list of “gotta do today” before my second cup of coffee. The list is usually quite long, divided into several categories, including Housekeeping (which is VERY short, maybe one line, “make the bed”), Cooking (which does not get much attention), Exercise (Meh, hit and miss), and Writing (now, that’s the one that I pay attention to). The word NAP has never made it to any of these lists, until this week. I could count on fewer than one finger the number of naps I have taken through the years. You aren’t allowed to nap when you teach school or work in a prison, go figure that one. They both have rules about frivolous things, no naps, no perfume, no sandals, no alcohol. How did I ever survive?
My grandmother was a napper, two or three a day, after breakfast, after lunch, and before Jeopardy. Coffee didn’t help, she just closed her eyes, and she was out. Other people in my family have been known to fit naps into their daily routine, but I have never added it in. The cowboy turns on the television for the noon news, but he is out by 12:05.
A distant relative once owned a rent-by-the-hour hotel in California, which must have been geared for those who needed naps. I was never in the hotel, but I heard stories. What else could it have been used for?
This week, all of a sudden, I was in the middle of writing a paragraph and I got sleepy. I thought, “I wonder what it feels like to take a nap,” and opened the window (because in Montana, you must open the window to sleep. It might be a law, or perhaps just comes from sleeping next to cows on the range, not sure which). I plopped on the bed, covered up with four blankets, removed my hearing aids, and closed my eyes. I was gone, out like a mosquito-covered light. I don’t know where I went, but I don’t remember anything past my head hitting the pillow. It was a short nap, maybe 20 minutes, but man, did it feel good. Where had naps been all my life?
The Cowboy calls it a “Power Nap,” regenerating energy, and I must agree. I got up, closed the window, and got back to it, wrote a thousand words (that’s about four pages), pounded on my chest, “look at me!”
What I have also learned is that taking a nap is habit-forming, maybe even addictive. One lousy nap and I’m hooked for life. This week when I passed the bed and the closed window, they call my name, “Gail, it’s time…” It’s a dangerous thing, I tell you.
Don’t forget Book signing…Friday, December 8 6-8 p.m. @ Potter Winery 5286 W. Chinden, 83714…Drop by and have a glass of wine on us, meet the cowboy, and say hello! We would love to see you. Books available! Murder in the Parsonage, Author: Me, AKA, Helene Mitchell.
