I'm a napper from way back. I'm not talking about my pre-school days, when napping was de rigueur. I was a high school napper, a college napper, a young-adult napper. Now that I'm in my early dotage, catching afternoon z's might seem a sign I'm winding down--for perpetuity. No. This is the way I've always done it.
My problem is a simple one. I like to stay up late. For most of my life, I've had to rise early. Ergo, I need naps.
I'm not talking all-nighters here. Approximately 11 p.m. seems a good time to retire. And it would be, if I could get up at 7 a.m. to be at work at 9 a.m. Unfortunately, as a school librarian, I have to launch myself from my bed no later than 5:30 a.m., in order to be at work at 7 a.m.
I should be in bed by 9, which would give me a few minutes to read before I doze off. But I usually have a hard time getting to sleep, whether I've napped or not. I'll eventually zonk out, but then I'll awake at 3 a.m., not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but not able to get back to dreamland either.
Recently, after I awoke at 3 a.m., got a drink of water and fed the perennially starving cats, I decided I simply could not afford to lie down and obsess about the day ahead. I had to count sheep, or sing Beatles' songs in my head, or mentally recite "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," or "Paul Revere's Ride."
It took a mélange of these techniques, but I fell back to sleep, only to dream of a bossy talking cat who wanted me to make changes in my life. Now, I have four bossy talking cats in real life, but this dream cat spoke English!
This does not happen when I wait until 11 p.m. to go to bed. I sleep right through. Of course, I am tired in the morning, which means I probably need to take a kip, as the British say.
Luckily, I am an expert kipper.
I know I need to find a quiet spot, lie down, have a light blanket over me, and, possibly, play some soft music.
My husband, Paul, likes a nap as well, but he never takes the time to do it right. He insists on napping on his recliner in the living room. The living room is in the front of the house, and if our mail carrier happens to stroll up the walk to the porch, our chocolate lab, Aquinnah, will go into a full-on barking frenzy. It's amazing how often this happens just as Paul closes his eyes.
Sometimes I take pity on my better half. I close the front shutters. I take the dogs into the family room at the back of the house and close the door to the kitchen. I set Pandora to "smooth jazz radio." Everybody is copacetic. Except, when I ask Paul later if he had a peaceful nap, he says, "I slept for about five minutes."
So, if I'm not in a tolerant mood when Paul says he feels a nap coming on, I'll bark at him, "Go upstairs and lie on the bed!"
The truth is that Paul's natural nap time is after dinner. Ever since we have known each other, he has had a hard time keeping his peepers open after the evening meal. Once while we were dating, we went to dinner and a movie on a weeknight. He fell sound asleep during the film. Reader, I married him anyway.
Naps are useful in the summer, when it is too hot at 1 p.m. to do anything but lay about. This can be true even when Paul and I are spending time on the coast.
I find the urge to nap to be strongest in autumn, when the days are growing shorter. I seem to develop a tiredness that is not relieved until we "fall back."
Some of my best naps occur in winter, when I have a snow day off from school. On such days, I go into my "book nook" (a corner of the family room equipped with comfy chair, giant ottoman, reading lamp, and table for tea or cocoa). I throw a spread over my lap and Aquinnah and his sister dog, Martha, settle in on the ottoman, on and around my feet. Sometimes I leave the interior door that leads to the deck open, so I can see the snow falling through the glass storm door. Though I am ostensibly reading, I generally drift off after a few pages.
Spring is, perhaps, the least "nappable" season. As the days grow longer, as the world blooms, who wants to sleep?
Just the person who stayed up until 11 and got up at 5:30. I plead guilty, your honor.
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