Good Mornin' Beautiful!

Salvete!

It's Monday.

It's beautiful outside, and has been for the past week. I absolutely love walking out of my door into the temperate air of a Texas midwinter morning. Even if I sleep poorly, or if I am in a mood, breathing in the morning air at the top of the stairs is a shock of energy that prepares me for the day.

This particular morning, I arrived at work feeling especially buoyant. There are many reasons I can think of to be in a good mood, and many reasons also to be sour. I will not go into listing either set of reasons, because whatever reasons exist, I am happy to be here this morning. I had five or six kids in here before school just laughing and having a lovely time. One got her hair cut and colored, two were wary of an invite to an honor society, one would/could not shut his mouth, and one was baffled by my musical performance of my new song-obsession, "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry.

Mornings like this always remind me of Mrs. Dalloway. Everyone remembers the first sentence, going, "Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself." But those are not the lines I remember. The line in my head when I walk out of the door in the mornings is this: "What a lark! What a plunge!" It goes on, "For so it had always seemed to her, when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, stiller than this of course, the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave, chill and sharp..." I love thinking of every morning's step out the door as a step into the lapping cold of the ocean, a step into the embrace of the past and all of its glory. How can one not be invigorated by such a thought?

What a lark! What a plunge!

Ah, Mrs. Dalloway and your white narrow bed in the attic, your love of parties, your distaste for Septimus tainting the perfect air of your festivity. You are with me this morning in a poignant way which I cannot quite grasp. I am grateful, however, for your companionship. It makes things easier to bear.

More to come later, I assume, as today portends to be very dull, despite my joy.

Valete,
Magistra