Matins

An Inconvenience is only an Adventure wrongly considered.

It's just about 7 in the morning, and for the last hour I've been trying to read with my head stuck out the back window of a third floor apartment in my underwear.

I got up about 5:30, put on some coffee, and pulled out my bag of books. Homer, Ovid, the New Testament, the Vulgate, Ivanhoe. It's a cloudy and drizzly sort of morning, so there wasn't much light. I felt all around the kitchen for some sort of limited lighting, but all I found was a small nightlight below the microwave.

We are in H----n, NY, at music camp. J is sleeping in one room, and James is sleeping in the other. All three of us are running on less sleep than we should, and I figured that I ought to keep the apartment as dark as possible.

I set up on the counter beside the microwave with a barstool. Squeak, squeak, squeak. I can't sit on it in a way that doesn't make a ton of noise. Squeak, squeak, squeak. No more barstool. I am standing under the microwave light attempting to read as my water boils and I pour the coffee.

We're up on the third floor, so even though it's relatively cool outside the apartment is stuffy and hot. "Daddy, why the apartment be hot?" "Because heat rises, and so all the heat in the building is coming up to our floor." "Daddy, why does heat go up?" "I'm not sure. Magic, I think."

I've already stripped down to just my boxers, and I lean as far out over the counter as I can towards the window, so that my head is almost touching the screen. Every once in a while a breeze will blow a little bit, and I can feel some cool air on my face. I'd go steal a fan, but I ought to let J and James sleep.

The coffee is delicious and miraculous, but it's hot. I'm dripping sweat on my books as I balance on the counter and try to contort into a comfortable reading position. There are noises coming from James' room that I'm pretending not to hear. It still isn't even 6:30, and he didn't go to bed last night until close to 9. He needs more sleep, especially since he won't get a nap this afternoon.

Nope, he's up. He's chatting away to himself merrily. I climb off the counter, wipe my brow, and put my books away. There's a little coffee left, and I take a swig. I put in my contacts, and look through the hamper of clothes I brought down. Nothing clean left except dress clothes.

I sit down on the barstool to pull on a pair of trousers. It squeaks, and a little voice calls out from the next room, "Hah, Daddy!"

Time to go over to the dining hall in a few minutes. We'll have a hot breakfast, but it should be air-conditioned in there. Then we'll go watch the conveyor belt take our dishes into the washroom in rapt awe. After that we'll go down to the quad and look up at the statue of six birds. There's a plaque beside the statue with a bible verse and the names of six students who were killed in a car crash. James will stand before the plaque, point to the engraving, and read in a solemn voice "These are the birdies which are up in the sky."

All in all, camp isn't so bad.