Pat McDermott: don’t make a sound for early-morning solitary bliss

An early wake-up call may be torture for some, but for others, those solitary pre-dawn moments are the closest thing to bliss.

Iam an early riser. There are few things I like better than sneaking out of a house that’s still asleep. It’s an old habit that started when I was six years old. I grew up in ‘blizzardly cold Canada’. If you didn’t want your fingers to freeze and fall off, you woke up early, got dressed ‘under the covers’ and ran, with the icy north wind in your face, all the way to school!

Running had other benefits, too. It reduced your chances of being hit by snowballs or having the hood on your parka filled with snow and tipped over your head by the annoying boy you had a crush on.

Twenty years later, newly arrived in Australia, I fell off my chair with surprise and delight when I first heard an advertisement for Buckley’s Canadiol cough mixture. I’d never known that Canada was a place where lives depended on stopping coughs quick! My native land seemed excitingly dangerous. I was so proud!

The MOTH (Man of the House), who has an extremely good memory, says I didn’t fall off a chair when

I saw the ad. He’s pretty sure I fell off a bar stool. But that’s not the way I remember it.

A few years later, I was getting up early again. We had five children and an alarming number of shirts to iron, shoes to polish, lunches to make and schoolbags to pack. Baby Ruff Red was an early riser, too. I could hear his gentle morning murmurings and I knew he was alert to the tiniest sound. I carried my shoes and held my breath as I tiptoed past his room and down the stairs.

I’d found a way to squeeze in some morning ‘me’ time. I’d sneak across the lounge, careful not to step on a squeaky toy or the cat’s tail, gently open the well-oiled front door and step quietly into freedom (aka the front porch). The next step was to weave around the pile of schoolbags and sports equipment to give the dog a pat and some treats to ensure his silence. His wagging tail assured me my secret was safe with him.

Then, down the garden path I’d go, setting a new Olympic record for the ‘hop, step and creep’, making my way over and around cricket bats, deflated footballs and broken pavers. Bill and Ben, the garden gnomes, watched me in silence. Bill wore a red hat and Ben wore blue … unless it’s the other way around. In any case, they’re a closedmouth pair and my secret was also safe with them. Did I dare go through the squeaky old gate? You bet I did!

I knew the grumpy barista – whose motto: “Order big or eat at home!” hangs over the door – would have a skim cappuccino and a croissant ready and waiting. The woman in front of me told him she loved him. He told her to move on because she was holding up the queue. He’s a sweetie.

For 20 brief minutes, I was alone in the morning sun. No-one needed me to iron a shirt, sponge-clean a tie or find money for the school excursion they forgot to tell me about. I never thought I’d say it, but I miss those days.