And All's Well ...

Back in the day of Roman Centurions - or more likely back in the day of Hollywood depicting their interpretation of the days of Roman centurions - these soldiers left on duty through the night would keep everyone up to date on their security status by calling out hourly ... "It's three in the morning, and all's well!" 

Actually, if the Romans were doing this the announcements would be in Latin, but you get what I mean.

Think of how reassuring this would be if you were a citizen of a city under siege.  Every hour, on the hour, to hear that someone was in charge and that he was sure that "all was well".  Or, at the very least, you would be informed of what time it was getting to be.  That's so important - to know what time it is ... in the middle of the night ... when everyone else is peacefully sleeping ... over and over again ... knowing that the nighttime is slipping away.  I wonder how many of those centurions were hurled from the ramparts by frustrated insomniacs? 

Nowadays we have digital clocks with illuminated numbers to keep the insomniacs up to date on how much sleep they are missing out on.  It's quieter, but just as frustrating.

I'm not a permanent insomniac, thank goodness.  I go through long periods where I sleep soundly through the night.  They are called summers, when we rise at the crack of dawn (4:30) because of a work schedule in Manitoba for the man of the house, and the fact that I like to get outside for garden and yard work before the heat of the day.  Throughout those periods I am too tired to not sleep. To be perfectly clear, a summer 4:30 in the morning and a winter 4:30 in the morning are two entirely different things.  One makes the day longer, one makes the night longer.

We are just a few short days from the longest night of the year, and I seem to be determined to experience it to the max.  I've been practicing for weeks - taking forever to fall asleep and then getting a solid three hours in after midnight before turning the rest of the night into a series of ten minute naps between pillow fluffings and blanket straightenings.  And watching the clock tick my night away.

There's always something to think about.  I've solved the world's problems several times (the answer is to make sure Trump is one of the guys who get to go to Mars - and he is most welcome to take his friend Putin with him).  If that was all there was to my midnight ramblings, I could be back to sleep in no time.  It's the five hundred little things that do me in.

Last night's lost sleep can be chalked up to several things: finishing up Christmas wrapping, planning when best to do the remaining baking, going over what needs to be done before company arrives, sorting out what stays and what goes to the family Christmas celebration, planning a big meal here before that happens, squeezing in a few visits over the next week, and then ... just to make things a little more interesting ... packing for a trip, cleaning out the fridge, making sure the house checkers all have keys, and getting the dog to his sitter.  If I wasn't already tired from no sleep, I would be exhausted just thinking about the next week or so.

It seems like everyone has their own best practice policy for dealing with insomnia.  Some say that deep breathing exercises help, some say get up and walk around for a while. Some read, some watch TV, and I've even had super practical people say that if they are awake they may as well work and get up to wash floors.  I have yet to be desperate enough to wash floors at 2:30; let's hope I never get there.

The one good thing about extremely early mornings at this time of year is there is a pretty Christmas tree out in the living room.  There is something peaceful and soul-soothing to wrapping myself in a blanket, curling up on the couch, and sipping fresh-brewed coffee in the glow of Christmas tree lights.  This annual vigil ties all my Christmases together: childhood excitement, coming of age angst, passing on the magic of Santa to my own children, concerts and carols, welcoming the new, missing those gone.  If there is such a thing that is good about not sleeping it would be having this quiet time to ponder these things in peace.

I don't know that tonight's sleep will be better, but as I ate breakfast this morning I smiled over at twinkling lights on the tree and thought to myself "It's 6:45 in the morning, and all's well with my world".