At 8 a.m. Pete asked me what time it was, and after I glanced up at the alarm clock, I told him it was 5 a.m. We both went back to sleep, with us both waking up at 9:30 a.m. We both got out of bed fairly quickly. It was then a mad scramble to get the human fed and looking presentable before he headed off to work.

Getting up at a righteous hour was complicated by the fact that it snowed last night; about eight inches or so. We were able to sleep in because it was so very quiet. It is, generally pretty quiet around here. But the snowfall and the darkness (we are looking at getting five hours of daylight) made it seem even quieter.

I’m ashamed of the fact that we slept in. And I’m even more ashamed of the fact that we aren’t early risers. In fact, this absolutely pains me. It’s (of course) all my doing. I’m the one who is supposed to get up first because I’m the livestock manager. And when it comes to getting

When friends come by we stop what we're doing

up, I’m weak willed. But not totally. I’m now getting up at 5:45 a.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays, in order to attend a 7:15 a.m. yoga class. This is called morning practice. At first I was grumpy in class, but I’ve gotten better. However, I’ll never be billed as Little Miss Sunshine.

On yoga days, I remain tired, but virtuous. Today was, quite obviously, not a yoga day. Rather than feel like a virtuosin, I felt like a sloth. I even moved around like one, hovering in the dark recesses of the cabin and peering out from behind chairs and the couch. I’m actually a card carrying member of Utah Phillup’s Sloth and Indolence party, though I’m not indolent.

Pete and I compensate for getting to bed early by getting to bed late, seldom before midnight. This is when I get my second wind.

Friends and people who know us would describe Pete and me as being industrious because during our waking hours we appear to be human dynamos. Pete and I are always doing something. We have that kind of a place and live that kind of a lifestyle. For example, in the next few days we’ll be moving snow around. But, if someone stops by for a visit, we’ll stop what we’re doing and offer them a cup of tea.

I recently heard someone on the radio say that we live in a society which values industriousness. For example, one is in good societal graces if they’re seen shoveling snow. But one is in bad societal graces if they’re seen making snow angels in the same snow.

I would like to strike a balance, or err on the side of non-industriousness. I have not made any snow angels lately, and this is a really sad comment on my otherwise very good life. Sleeping in – well, this is one way in which I am striking a balance.

Next: 366. 12/13/12: Mother Nature’s Song and Dance