Morning Coffee

I somehow sensed that Annette was awake, and as I came to consciousness I realized there was daylight seeping through my eyelids. I fumbled for the clicker and handed it to her so she could watch the news and weather on the tiny bedroom TV. 

I opened my eyes and forced them to focus.  “It’s only six o’clock,” I murmured.  I got up and shambled toward the bathroom.  It wasn’t an ungodly hour for normal folk, but for a fogy it was early.  After I had showered and dressed I began to feel an urge to be out and about.   

Soon we were in the car headed through the blossoming spring for the Coffee Shack in the Green Harbor section of Marshfield.  Their donuts are crispier on the surface, yeastier, and less sweet than Dunkin’s.  I like their coffee better too.  We picked up a bag and headed for Brant Rock where we parked in a spot with an ocean view. 

This was the scene as we sipped and munched.  The air was fresh with salt, and we congratulated ourselves on living in an area where such beauty abounds. When we had finished eating, we walked along the shore.  Dog walkers and joggers said hello.

I reflected that the fogy privilege of sleeping late is no more to be overindulged in than breakfasting on donuts.  It’s still worth while to haul your body up and get it out into the morning.  Indolence is a privilege of the old, but a little get up and go has its rewards.