Get up early? Me?

This may make some folks look at me askance. If so, so be it. They can call me a low-class American, with no appreciation for pomp and circumstance, if they so desire. I might even be labeled a spoilsport and a fuddy-duddy.

But I’m writing this on Sunday afternoon. And by Monday afternoon or Wednesday, or whenever, when I hear people talking about how impressive the funeral ceremony was for Queen Elizabeth II, I won’t be joining in the conversation.

Nothing personal. I have nothing against the queen or the royal family. But there are some things I don’t get up early for. In fact, there’s hardly anything that will get me out of bed earlier than I want. It has to be an emergency, like an early doctor’s appointment in Memphis, or the house being on fire or something like that.

Just out of curiosity, I looked up the times for TV coverage of the funeral. Depending on one’s television provider, or whether or not they have the right Internet connections, folks here in the Central time zone could start watching at 5 a.m. Or some of them could start as early as 4 a.m. or 3 a.m. Seems I saw where something would be watchable as early as 2 a.m.

If a person wanted, he or she could probably stay up all night, if that was his or her thing.

Frankly, I wouldn’t get up at 5 a.m. to go to my own funeral, much less to watch the funeral of a person I don’t know and whom I’ve never even met, in a country thousands of miles away, in which I’ve never set foot.

I remember seeing film of the queen’s coronation, lo those many years ago. But like I said, it was film, shown after the fact, and shown at a decent time. It was before instant world-wide communication. These days I can’t decide whether all that that instant stuff is a blessing or a curse

So, good-bye Elizabeth, and God Save the King. Like I said, nothing personal. It’s just a reluctance – nay, a downright refusal – to get up so doggone early just to watch a funeral.

This is a life-long thing with me. I’ve long held the belief that there has to be a better way to start the day than getting up in the morning.

And yes, I know there are people who thrive in the morning. There are morning people, and there are night people, that’s just the way it is. I know, because of the way I grew up.

In our household, Dad and the Baby Sister were morning people. Mom, the Baby Brother and I were night people. Generally we got along okay, although Dad and the Baby Sister would start drooping when nightfall came, just when the three night folks were getting frisky.

Of course. there was that one time – and we never stopped kidding Dad about it – when he fell asleep in his chair (not an unusual occurrence). Mom poked him and said, “Russell, go to bed!” He opened his eyes and said, “I thought I did.”

Night people like me soon learn that the world is geared to the convenience of morning people. We had to get up to go to school. We had to get up to go to church. We had to get up to do almost everything. And all the best TV shows came on after it got dark, when we got chased to bed. It seemed so unfair.

And then there was those four, long years in the Air Force, when I had to get up whether I wanted to or not. And jobs. For some reason, bosses expected me come to work in the morning.

Needless to say, my circadian rhythm got all messed up, and my body and I adjusted to this morning-oriented world.

Now some would say that proves there’s nothing to this morning person-night person stuff, that it all depends on what you get used to. And to that I say, not so fast.

You see, the day came when I retired. Free at last. I was no longer required to get up at a certain time. And what happened? Without the alarm clock standing over me like the Sword of Damocles if I don’t get up, I gradually fell into my natural rhythm – later at night, later in the morning. Ahhh, it was wonderful. And still is.

Yes, I still occasionally have to get up early for those early appointments in Memphis or Jonesboro. And I set an alarm so I’ll get up in time for church on Sunday. Other than that, I’m free as a bird.

“No alarm?” Alice, following a habit she developed right after I retired, will ask me right before bed.

“No alarm,” I answer. I never get tired of saying it.