The World According to Rico – Here comes the sun

I love mornings. Simply love them.

It’s that beautiful time of day when the dark is slowly transformed with hues of sunlight through the window.

I can hear the Beatles singing. “Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say it’s alright.”

I love that song.

Did I mention I love mornings?

The night is special in itself because for hours I know exactly where my folks are at all times. I lay in my bed and hear them snore on their big people bed. Sometimes they have dreams and talk in their sleep. I can hear them roll over and mumble things about aches and getting old.

But I know where they are all the time.

And as soon as one of them gets up for a drink or a bathroom visit or to put a log on the fire or to change the TV channel to Fox News, I’m right there following their groggy bodies, rubbing up against their legs and begging for a belly rub. They instantly believe I have to go outside, which I typically do, and we get to have a few minutes under the stars.

I know them like the back of my hand. And play them accordingly.

Sure, I sleep and snore and dream as well. But when it hits about 5 a.m., I start preparing for the best time of the day.

In my puppy mind, I hum the Beatles lyrics and groom myself for the moment when they lift me up into the bed and I lounge with them. It usually hits about 5:45 a.m., when I gently pop my head up by my dad’s pillow and stare at him. If he doesn’t move right away, I whine just a little or lick whatever I can reach.

Every day, he whispers, “You have to go to sleep.” So I turn on the charm and rub my little head against his hand.

“Will you be good?” he always asks.

I promise that I will, but seriously I can’t guarantee anything.

“Here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I say, it’s alright,” the lyrics run through my little puppy brain as I pray he will lug my growing body up to Utopia where there are pillows and blankets and things I shouldn’t pee on.

His magical arms come down and lift me up. I’m suddenly transferred to a land where I’m not yet big enough to enter on my own.

My mom is always still asleep so I immediately jump on top of her and lick her face. She always begs for me to let her wake up but subsequently asks for a “kissee.” Of course, I oblige.

For the next 45 minutes, I wedge myself between them, snuggling in the forbidden covers and feeling them scratch my belly, armpits and head. I try to crawl in the little cubby hole in the headboard, where I used to sleep when I was only four pounds, but being about 40 pounds now, only my head or or one leg fits.

It’s OK. Now I’m grown/mature enough to appreciate it all. And sing that Beatle song while the light slowly seeps through the window blinds.

We never know what the day will bring. But during those early morning hours, before we really jump into reality and we are just coming out of slumber, it seems like we can relax in the moment and appreciate the quietness of it all.

I could have been a Beatle, if I’d only been born decades earlier. But I can do a heck of a cover, while I sing the song to myself.

Here comes the sun, little darlin.’ Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun. And I say, it’s alright.

 

 

 

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