Before anyone is awake - including the neighbours with the screaming, elephant-footed kids, the slamming doors (house and cars) - the cats, the dogs, and my husband.
It's not only quiet, it's warm and peaceful - perfect for writing - or is it?
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Don't writers need some angst, some difficulty to overcome in order to get the creative juices flowing?
I've had plenty of that over the years, it would seem - and although I didn't realise it at the time, my childhood was not the same as everyone else's.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't in mortal danger, abused to the point of death or worse (and yes, there is something worse than death) but as I look back on the childhood we tried to provide for our kids, I realise the lessons I learned came from my parents-in-law, not my parents.
Back in those days, when I was a child (the middle-ages) it wasn't normal to tell each other, "I love you."
I never heard those words. Not even from my beloved Granddad.
The first person I said, "I love you" to and started saying it (and meaning it) on a regular basis was Trev.
I was 15 years old when I met him. I was 16 and still at school when we started seeing each other.
(bottom pic)
Personal, intimate details here, skip through if it makes you uncomfortable, I'll see you on the other side.
I went out with Trev because he was the opposite to what I was supposed to go out with. He was NOT clean-cut, sharply dressed (or even tidily-dressed). I instinctively thought that my parents wouldn't approve and that was one of the strongest reasons to say yes when he asked me to go out with him.
"What the bloody hell have you brought home this time?" my father asked when Trev left our house after our first date. With that sentence, I knew I had been right in my estimate that he wouldn't approve on face value.
The "I love you" moment came a few months after, in Trev's bed at his parents' home (they were out).
I turned to him and said the words. I knew that by saying those words first, I was offering my heart in blind trust that he would not stomp it into the ground (every girl's fear with her first love).
I waited and hoped that he'd say the words back to me in return, but he didn't.
And I'm glad he didn't.
He waited and he thought about the words. He didn't just say "I love you too" as a reaction. He waited until he was sure he felt the same way.
Intimate moment finished
As we grew up (or at least 'older') bought a house, made it a home and had kids of our own, the words "I love you" have been an every day part of our lives. Not an everyday part - said because it's become second-nature - but said because we want the other to know we DO indeed, love them and want them to know it, always.
I no longer speak to my 'family' - I finally found out what a toxic mess they were and how they were adversely affecting not only myself, but also starting to impact my children and I put a stop to it.
I've embraced Trev's parents as family as my own (of course! I've known them for two thirds of my life!) but we don't say "I love you" to them - but our kids do!
I don't care whether we've had disagreements, harsh words or fallen out completely, whenever I speak to my children or my husband, we always end the conversation or leave with the words "I love you". Not as a trite, conditioned throw-away comment (Have a nice day) but because we mean it and need the other to know that.
The last time I spoke with my Granddad, I hugged him and felt his ribs painfully close to the surface of his emaciated body. Emphysema ravaged his body and contributed to his death later that week. I must have subconsciously known he had come to the end of his time because we sat chatting and I watched him intently. He held my daughter and I watched him studying her.
Danielle in my Granddad's chair
He touched her hair and smiled and I said, "I suppose she's your favourite now?"
"Oh no," he said. "That's always been you."
I hugged him and whispered the magic words, "I love you, Granddad."
"Yeah," he said.
I know he loved me but I don't remember him ever saying it and that's a shame.
I do use the words, but I only use them when I mean them because to use them wantonly depreciates their value, makes the words less magical, less potent and important. My children and grandchildren always hear the words. Some friends, some family do too and the list is growing - steadily, slowly, but growing, not shrinking.
Say the words. Don't not speak them because it makes you somehow weaker. Not only does it make you stronger, it also gives strength to the person you say it to - as long as you mean it, of course.
The most magical words in the world are 'I love you' and it's time to use them to their maximum effect. If you're fortunate enough to know someone that you love, tell them. If someone loves you enough to tell you, treasure it.
Oh bloody hell, this turned out different to what I thought it would be.
Still... I like it enough to keep it.