I love waking up without an alarm. There’s a reason it’s called “alarm” and I can’t think of any good ones.

I remember years ago a friend of mine, one of those people who reads too much Zig Ziggler, called his an “opportunity clock.” I rolled my eyes.

Opportunity, my ass...I’ll stay right here in bed for a bit longer.

Wait a minute...I didn’t finish that plastic bathroom cup of wine that’s on the nightstand last night. I can fix that.

I’m in my Wigwam, number 5, and I hear the train going by. They really soundproofed these. Good job! No horns blaring...just a rumble and a whoosh that lets you know it’s here.

I’m looking at my “white noise” app and don’t see “train rolling by your Wigwam in Arizona” as an option. I’ll draft a letter.

As soon as I solve my coffee crisis this morning, I’ll be writing some postcards. I started doing this years ago after I discovered some old letters to me from my grandmother. Yes, I cried reading them. And it occurred to me that in this digital age, our kids and grandkids won’t have that.

So I’m giving them that. They all may have ended up in the dustbin, I have no idea. What they do with them is their choice to make. But I’m glad i held on to my grandmother’s letters. I cherish them now.

Choosing postcards isn’t always easy. Do I go for an artistic picture, one that gives a good overview of where I am using lots of pictures, do I pick one with my favorite place on it, or one that’s funny, or with a message. Last night I grabbed a bunch of the Wigwam Motel.

So I’ll start my day, eventually, by walking the two blocks in my pajamas and slippers, to grab coffee at Trinabops Cakery & Coffee, then back here to write postcards, get ready, then hit the road.

I’ll see you all out there on Route 66 soon.