Tess' 100th Birthday and the Blasted Clock Radio
What do you think it is like to live for 100 years? If you reach that age you will be called a centenarian. This, of course, does not happen to a large percentage of the general population. It has, however, happened to my Aunt Tess. Aunt Tess recently became a centenarian, and this was a celebration too big to be missed. So it is that we made plans to go from the east coast to California to be with Tess on her big day and to meet, for the first time, two more newly found cousins. What follows is an accounting of our trip.
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| Theresa Barbella Mattice |
We have a clock radio in our bedroom, but it is rarely used. We use it to tell what time it is. We have never used the alarm or the radio, but this morning, we needed to rise at 4:30 to catch a plane to California. We set the alarm, but we did not sleep soundly. Bothersome questions kept running through my brain. Did I set it properly? Was it going to be loud enough? We went to sleep early, but I kept opening my eyes staring at the blasted clock radio. We had enough on our minds about being sure we packed everything required for the trip. We didn't need this angst about the alarm.
Around 4:00 AM, I finally closed my eyes and lapsed into a sound sleep. At 4:30, the alarm went off and I couldn't believe that there could possibly be a more annoying sound. This harsh, grating alarm completely shattered the silence of our quiet suburban home.
I had trouble moving out of bed. My bones felt stiffer, older, and more brittle than usual as I urged my stumbling feet to move towards the awful sound of the alarm. I stared blankly and unknowingly at the dark buttons on top of the radio. Not only couldn't I see them, but I didn't have a clue which one would shut the danged thing up.
I turned on the lamp. I pushed a button only to replace the alarm sound with blaring music from some noisy radio station. I frantically pushed one button after another, only to alternate this instrument of aural torture from grating alarm to noisy radio. Finally I hit the magic button and there was silence.
The pleasure of achieving radio silence was mitigated by the uncertainty of the button I pushed. Was the radio going to remain off, was it in a "snooze mode", or tomorrow in our absence would the grating alarm reactivate, with no one to turn it off? Would we come home in four days to find the radio in continuous alarm mode?
We managed to get ourselves into gear and began to pack our remaining items. Tickets were conveniently located in a carrying case with our electronic gadgets. We wolfed down some breakfast cereal, packed the bags into the car and off we went. California, here we come!
At the Manchester, NH airport, we separated; usually a bad mistake (and no exception this time). I left Gay (my wife, the boss) at the curb with the bags and I went off to park the car in the long term parking lot. After cruising several aisles in the lot, I finally found a spot for the car. A short time later I was on the shuttle bus back to the terminal. I glanced casually down the sidewalk and did not see Gay. I went into the terminal and examined the Southwest Line, and did not see Gay. I looked up the escalator toward the security area and did not see Gay. I went back outside and scrutinized the sidewalk area and did not see Gay. In panic, I had Gay paged. Just as her name blared out of the PA system, garbled by airport noise, she suddenly appeared, standing by the door. I didn't ask.
Airport security was next. Now, this is not a hard thing to do, but it is annoyingly hectic. Bag in one tray, shoes in another tray, jacket and pocket contents in a third tray, CPAP machine in a fourth tray. Through the X-Ray machine and rush to your trays. Shoes back on. Jacket back on. Pockets refilled. Machine put away. Finally we reached our gate and had a few minutes to relax, waiting for our plane.
A good book was all it took to make. Short work of the flight to Denver. Irregardless of the fact that this had to be the most cramped airplane seat I have ever been in, we reached our destination. The flight attendants gave us our connecting gate. It took a very long time to disembark from the rear of the plane, and by the time we reached our next gate we barely had time to use the rest rooms before they were boarding the connecting plane.
This was a relatively short flight and we spotted LA as we came over the San Bernardino mountains. We collected our bags and got onto the rental car shuttle. Before long we were headed North on the 110 freeway to Glendale.
Driving up the freeway, I was aware of something in the air. I mean, it has a clean look about it, but at the same time, there is a general "fogginess" that makes one wonder if the air is as clean as it looks. Should I be breathing this stuff? Is it just haze?
I recall a trip to Los Angeles many years ago. We were descending into LAX. We were going down through some cloud layers, but then we came to a layer which was definitely not a cloud of the usual type. We passed through a disturbingly distinct layer of brownish, yellowish gas. This was my first positive ID of LA smog. I knew I was not going to want to breath deeply that day.
Creeping along the freeway on this day, we came to a hill overlooking downtown LA where we could see for a long distance. The tall buildings in the distance were obscured by the "fogginess" which had suddenly taken on a brownish hue. I was saddened by the knowledge that so many years of "going green" and other costly and concerted efforts to clean the atmosphere were of little effect in LA. Definitely; no deep breathing on this trip.
The freeway we chose to travel to the hotel was the wrong choice. Although it was a lot shorter, it made its way through downtown LA. This was the only free parking lot we were going to encounter on this trip. As we drew closer to the hotel, we got off the freeway and began navigating by the seat of the pants.
With the help of a phone link with cousin Dennis and his wife Debbie, we managed to find our hotel, and pulled in. They were there waiting for us. A few handshakes and hugs later and we were sitting in the lobby discussing the plans for the next few days. Although we had never met in person, we quickly became acquainted.
After freshening up, we went to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory, We were hungry. Other than our hurried breakfast we had nothing but airplane peanuts for the last twelve hours. Dennis and Deb chauffeured us to a magical outdoor mall and we had dinner. We sat and talked for some time in the restaurant and got to know each other a little better.
After that it was time to call it a day. We had enough excitement and drama for one Friday. We returned to the hotel and retired.
Saturday morning came and we were hungry. We were still suffering the lingering effects of yesterday's airplane peanuts. The hotel buffet did not appeal to us, not only because of its expense, but, more importantly because we knew that buffets are a good excuse to overeat. so, instead, we decided to stroll down the main street to see what the alternatives were. We had seen a Panera's about a half mile down the road. Just before we reached it, we came to place that was teeming with locals; Porto's Bakery and Cafe. This turned out to be the find of the trip. Here we found great food at a very reasonable price. We had breakfast here three of our four mornings. They had the best blueberry muffins I have ever tasted. We Probably would have eaten less at the hotel buffet..
When we returned to the hotel we joined cousin Dennis and Debby in the hotel restaurant. They were finishing up their breakfast. We talked for a bit and then decided to walk the few blocks over to Tess' nursing home and say good morning to the birthday girl. We found Tess in the cafeteria enjoying an early lunch. After wheeling her back to her room we had a nice visit, thoroughly enjoying her company. Tess was clearly happy to have the company and excited about the coming birthday party. We left Tess to give her a chance to enjoy a pre-party nap and walked back to the hotel. After freshening up, we were ready for the big party.
Dennis picked up the cake, picked up Tess, and came back to the hotel to lead us in a caravan to the restaurant. When they drove into the hotel driveway to get us, we looked, with surprise, at their car. We could see Dennis at the wheel, and Deb was in the back seat, but we could not see Tess. "Hey Dennis, did you forget someone?" No, we had to lift ourselves a little higher, but there, in the passenger seat, we could just see the top of Tess' head barely visible in the window. We should have gotten some pillows for her to sit on. Off we drove to the Olive Garden.
We got ourselves seated at the restaurant. There she is, sitting across the table from me. Tess has a few friends around her and a smile which is literally screaming out just how happy she is. Aunt Tess has lived through the great plague, World Wars one and two, the Great Depression, the assassination of a US president and so many other catastrophic man made events. She has lived through the invention of television, manned space flight, and the internet and she is still smiling, seemingly not bothered by it all.
Tess is a beauty. True beauty is in the heart, but you can always see beauty in the eyes. I've always believed that. Aunt Tess may be 100 years old. She may be shrinking in size. Her face carries the wrinkles which belie a long life full of happy times and sad times. But her eyes sparkle with an intensity that can only come from a beautiful person. I was in a state of reverie, just sitting there looking at her, and I could not begin to express how wonderful it was to be here for this occasion.
My reverie ended the minute cousin Patrick walked into the room. Patrick was the final cousin for me to meet, and he is, indeed, a dynamo of enthusiasm. It was clear that he was happy to be here. After greeting Dennis and Deb he came over and gave us hugs and kisses. The quiet was definitely broken by his non stop exuberance, and the wine definitely began to flow a little quicker.
We all enjoyed a good meal, and singing was extra loud as the birthday cake was presented. It was a full day for Tess, and when she returned to the nursing home, we expect that she slept soundly.
Before we retired for the evening, we spent some time with Dennis and Deb in the lounge of the hotel. We talked about family. We talked about Italy. We talked about Dennis' imminent retirement. We got to know each other a little more. Then, being somewhat tired ourselves, we said good night and went to our rooms.
The first order of business on Sunday morning was attending mass. The church was conveniently located just across the street from our hotel. There were a large variety of different nationalities in the church. It was Saint Patrick's day, but to my surprise the Sunday event at this church was some type of Italian breakfast.
We walked the half mile to Porto's. Once again we were pleased with the food and the prices. Today we had an omelet on a croissant and a blueberry muffin. We split a large orange juice and had two cups of coffee, all for $13. What a deal. We need one of these places in our hometown.
We walked back to the hotel and joined Dennis and Deborah in the hotel restaurant.
In the afternoon we drove the few blocks to Tess' nursing home and spent a few hours with her. We wheeled her out to the facility patio and spent some time going over the family history that was our gift to her.
That evening we drove to the Smokehouse Restaurant in Burbank to meet with cousin Pete and Melinda who drove over from Woodland Hills to see us. We had met the previous year and it was really good to see them again. We had a nice dinner and then we drove to a local pie shop in North Hollywood for some dessert. There we formed a plan to visit Tess together the next day. We talked for several hours, catching up on family events, and then we called it an evening.
On Monday morning, we had breakfast in the hotel and met with Dennis and Debbie. We said good bye to them and let them go off to say goodbye to Tess, and then rush to the airport to catch their flight home.
Gay took a two hour walk to see what trouble she could get into. Cousin Pete called about 11:30 and we made a plan to visit Tess around 1:30. He and Melinda drove over and picked us up at the hotel. We drove over to the nursing home and spent several hours with Tess. She was glad to see Pete and Melinda. After a while she recalled who "Peter Boy" was. Pete gave Tess a birthday card and he could not get over the fact that she could read it without glasses. We had a lot off laughs. This day, March 18, was Tess' actual birthday, and there was ice cream and cookies provided by the nursing home. It was near dinner time when we said good bye to Tess.
After the visit the four of us drove down to the Cheesecake Factory for our final dinner in California. The evening was warm and the plaza was bustling with people. I don't remember what I ate, but I do remember just how much I enjoyed the conversation and the company. After the dinner, we walked around the plaza and enjoyed a little "people watching". Pete and Melinda drove us back to the hotel and we said our final good byes.
We spent the evening in the lounge on the 19th floor of the hotel nursing a couple of drinks. The view up there was spectacular. The busy city was below us and the towering mountains were in the distance, dotted with their mansions. While we drank and chewed on some salty crackers, we had time to reflect on the trip, and just how satisfying it had been. We watched the city lights come alive as the light faded into darkness, and then, pretty exhausted, we retired.
The next morning we got up and busied ourselves with packing for the trip home. We walked down the street and had our last breakfast at Porto's. We returned to the hotel and completed checking out. Now it was time for a white knuckle ride to the airport in our uninsured rental car. The freeways were maddening.
The San Diego freeway, south to the airport was a little better and we made good use of the carpool lane. We managed to check the car in and get to the airport. We knew there was an ongoing snowstorm back home, so we were apprehensive about the fate of our flights. Now it is time to find out about possible cancellations.
The flight from Los Angeles to Baltimore was late by about twenty minutes. We weren't too concerned because we had every expectation that the flight from Baltimore to Manchester would be canceled. Nevertheless, we decided to seat ourselves separately in seats which were nearer the front of the plane in case we had to exit the plane quickly and make a mad dash for a connecting flight. I managed to find myself seated between two young girls who talked across me for the entire four and a half hour flight. It did make the flight seem much shorter.
We were surprised that, despite the snow storm, our connecting flight was still listed as on time. We did make a dash through the terminals, and actually had some time to pick up a few sandwiches to have on board. The flight from Baltimore to Manchester was mercifully short; just an hour.
Gay went to the baggage return carousel while I boarded the parking lot shuttle to retrieve our car. The search for the car caused a panic attack. All of the cars were buried in snow and they all looked the same. "No problem", I said, as I pulled out my car remote and pushed the horn button. Hmmm! No horn sounding. I walked a little bit through section 8 and tried the button again; still no horn. It seems I wasn't pushing the button hard enough to sound the horn. As a result, I wound up walking through the lot twice before I finally found my car buried in snow. I got as much snow as I could off with my snow brush, managed to find my way back to the terminal to retrieve my wife and our bags.
We arrived home to a driveway that, while snow covered, was passable. We got the bags inside and tended the trash for the morning pickup. We finally got to bed about 2:30 in the morning.
Now about that clock radio. Remember, we weren't sure we had disabled it properly. We were very happy to find that it was not sounding its wake up alarm when we walked into the house. However, that morning, after a mere two hours of sleep, it unfailingly notified us of the arrival of 4:30 AM.
Around 4:00 AM, I finally closed my eyes and lapsed into a sound sleep. At 4:30, the alarm went off and I couldn't believe that there could possibly be a more annoying sound. This harsh, grating alarm completely shattered the silence of our quiet suburban home.
I had trouble moving out of bed. My bones felt stiffer, older, and more brittle than usual as I urged my stumbling feet to move towards the awful sound of the alarm. I stared blankly and unknowingly at the dark buttons on top of the radio. Not only couldn't I see them, but I didn't have a clue which one would shut the danged thing up.
I turned on the lamp. I pushed a button only to replace the alarm sound with blaring music from some noisy radio station. I frantically pushed one button after another, only to alternate this instrument of aural torture from grating alarm to noisy radio. Finally I hit the magic button and there was silence.
The pleasure of achieving radio silence was mitigated by the uncertainty of the button I pushed. Was the radio going to remain off, was it in a "snooze mode", or tomorrow in our absence would the grating alarm reactivate, with no one to turn it off? Would we come home in four days to find the radio in continuous alarm mode?
We managed to get ourselves into gear and began to pack our remaining items. Tickets were conveniently located in a carrying case with our electronic gadgets. We wolfed down some breakfast cereal, packed the bags into the car and off we went. California, here we come!
At the Manchester, NH airport, we separated; usually a bad mistake (and no exception this time). I left Gay (my wife, the boss) at the curb with the bags and I went off to park the car in the long term parking lot. After cruising several aisles in the lot, I finally found a spot for the car. A short time later I was on the shuttle bus back to the terminal. I glanced casually down the sidewalk and did not see Gay. I went into the terminal and examined the Southwest Line, and did not see Gay. I looked up the escalator toward the security area and did not see Gay. I went back outside and scrutinized the sidewalk area and did not see Gay. In panic, I had Gay paged. Just as her name blared out of the PA system, garbled by airport noise, she suddenly appeared, standing by the door. I didn't ask.
Airport security was next. Now, this is not a hard thing to do, but it is annoyingly hectic. Bag in one tray, shoes in another tray, jacket and pocket contents in a third tray, CPAP machine in a fourth tray. Through the X-Ray machine and rush to your trays. Shoes back on. Jacket back on. Pockets refilled. Machine put away. Finally we reached our gate and had a few minutes to relax, waiting for our plane.
A good book was all it took to make. Short work of the flight to Denver. Irregardless of the fact that this had to be the most cramped airplane seat I have ever been in, we reached our destination. The flight attendants gave us our connecting gate. It took a very long time to disembark from the rear of the plane, and by the time we reached our next gate we barely had time to use the rest rooms before they were boarding the connecting plane.
This was a relatively short flight and we spotted LA as we came over the San Bernardino mountains. We collected our bags and got onto the rental car shuttle. Before long we were headed North on the 110 freeway to Glendale.
Driving up the freeway, I was aware of something in the air. I mean, it has a clean look about it, but at the same time, there is a general "fogginess" that makes one wonder if the air is as clean as it looks. Should I be breathing this stuff? Is it just haze?
I recall a trip to Los Angeles many years ago. We were descending into LAX. We were going down through some cloud layers, but then we came to a layer which was definitely not a cloud of the usual type. We passed through a disturbingly distinct layer of brownish, yellowish gas. This was my first positive ID of LA smog. I knew I was not going to want to breath deeply that day.
Creeping along the freeway on this day, we came to a hill overlooking downtown LA where we could see for a long distance. The tall buildings in the distance were obscured by the "fogginess" which had suddenly taken on a brownish hue. I was saddened by the knowledge that so many years of "going green" and other costly and concerted efforts to clean the atmosphere were of little effect in LA. Definitely; no deep breathing on this trip.
The freeway we chose to travel to the hotel was the wrong choice. Although it was a lot shorter, it made its way through downtown LA. This was the only free parking lot we were going to encounter on this trip. As we drew closer to the hotel, we got off the freeway and began navigating by the seat of the pants.
With the help of a phone link with cousin Dennis and his wife Debbie, we managed to find our hotel, and pulled in. They were there waiting for us. A few handshakes and hugs later and we were sitting in the lobby discussing the plans for the next few days. Although we had never met in person, we quickly became acquainted.
After freshening up, we went to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory, We were hungry. Other than our hurried breakfast we had nothing but airplane peanuts for the last twelve hours. Dennis and Deb chauffeured us to a magical outdoor mall and we had dinner. We sat and talked for some time in the restaurant and got to know each other a little better.
After that it was time to call it a day. We had enough excitement and drama for one Friday. We returned to the hotel and retired.
Saturday morning came and we were hungry. We were still suffering the lingering effects of yesterday's airplane peanuts. The hotel buffet did not appeal to us, not only because of its expense, but, more importantly because we knew that buffets are a good excuse to overeat. so, instead, we decided to stroll down the main street to see what the alternatives were. We had seen a Panera's about a half mile down the road. Just before we reached it, we came to place that was teeming with locals; Porto's Bakery and Cafe. This turned out to be the find of the trip. Here we found great food at a very reasonable price. We had breakfast here three of our four mornings. They had the best blueberry muffins I have ever tasted. We Probably would have eaten less at the hotel buffet..
When we returned to the hotel we joined cousin Dennis and Debby in the hotel restaurant. They were finishing up their breakfast. We talked for a bit and then decided to walk the few blocks over to Tess' nursing home and say good morning to the birthday girl. We found Tess in the cafeteria enjoying an early lunch. After wheeling her back to her room we had a nice visit, thoroughly enjoying her company. Tess was clearly happy to have the company and excited about the coming birthday party. We left Tess to give her a chance to enjoy a pre-party nap and walked back to the hotel. After freshening up, we were ready for the big party.
Dennis picked up the cake, picked up Tess, and came back to the hotel to lead us in a caravan to the restaurant. When they drove into the hotel driveway to get us, we looked, with surprise, at their car. We could see Dennis at the wheel, and Deb was in the back seat, but we could not see Tess. "Hey Dennis, did you forget someone?" No, we had to lift ourselves a little higher, but there, in the passenger seat, we could just see the top of Tess' head barely visible in the window. We should have gotten some pillows for her to sit on. Off we drove to the Olive Garden.
We got ourselves seated at the restaurant. There she is, sitting across the table from me. Tess has a few friends around her and a smile which is literally screaming out just how happy she is. Aunt Tess has lived through the great plague, World Wars one and two, the Great Depression, the assassination of a US president and so many other catastrophic man made events. She has lived through the invention of television, manned space flight, and the internet and she is still smiling, seemingly not bothered by it all.
Tess is a beauty. True beauty is in the heart, but you can always see beauty in the eyes. I've always believed that. Aunt Tess may be 100 years old. She may be shrinking in size. Her face carries the wrinkles which belie a long life full of happy times and sad times. But her eyes sparkle with an intensity that can only come from a beautiful person. I was in a state of reverie, just sitting there looking at her, and I could not begin to express how wonderful it was to be here for this occasion.
My reverie ended the minute cousin Patrick walked into the room. Patrick was the final cousin for me to meet, and he is, indeed, a dynamo of enthusiasm. It was clear that he was happy to be here. After greeting Dennis and Deb he came over and gave us hugs and kisses. The quiet was definitely broken by his non stop exuberance, and the wine definitely began to flow a little quicker.
We all enjoyed a good meal, and singing was extra loud as the birthday cake was presented. It was a full day for Tess, and when she returned to the nursing home, we expect that she slept soundly.
Before we retired for the evening, we spent some time with Dennis and Deb in the lounge of the hotel. We talked about family. We talked about Italy. We talked about Dennis' imminent retirement. We got to know each other a little more. Then, being somewhat tired ourselves, we said good night and went to our rooms.
The first order of business on Sunday morning was attending mass. The church was conveniently located just across the street from our hotel. There were a large variety of different nationalities in the church. It was Saint Patrick's day, but to my surprise the Sunday event at this church was some type of Italian breakfast.
We walked the half mile to Porto's. Once again we were pleased with the food and the prices. Today we had an omelet on a croissant and a blueberry muffin. We split a large orange juice and had two cups of coffee, all for $13. What a deal. We need one of these places in our hometown.
We walked back to the hotel and joined Dennis and Deborah in the hotel restaurant.
In the afternoon we drove the few blocks to Tess' nursing home and spent a few hours with her. We wheeled her out to the facility patio and spent some time going over the family history that was our gift to her.
That evening we drove to the Smokehouse Restaurant in Burbank to meet with cousin Pete and Melinda who drove over from Woodland Hills to see us. We had met the previous year and it was really good to see them again. We had a nice dinner and then we drove to a local pie shop in North Hollywood for some dessert. There we formed a plan to visit Tess together the next day. We talked for several hours, catching up on family events, and then we called it an evening.
On Monday morning, we had breakfast in the hotel and met with Dennis and Debbie. We said good bye to them and let them go off to say goodbye to Tess, and then rush to the airport to catch their flight home.
Gay took a two hour walk to see what trouble she could get into. Cousin Pete called about 11:30 and we made a plan to visit Tess around 1:30. He and Melinda drove over and picked us up at the hotel. We drove over to the nursing home and spent several hours with Tess. She was glad to see Pete and Melinda. After a while she recalled who "Peter Boy" was. Pete gave Tess a birthday card and he could not get over the fact that she could read it without glasses. We had a lot off laughs. This day, March 18, was Tess' actual birthday, and there was ice cream and cookies provided by the nursing home. It was near dinner time when we said good bye to Tess.
After the visit the four of us drove down to the Cheesecake Factory for our final dinner in California. The evening was warm and the plaza was bustling with people. I don't remember what I ate, but I do remember just how much I enjoyed the conversation and the company. After the dinner, we walked around the plaza and enjoyed a little "people watching". Pete and Melinda drove us back to the hotel and we said our final good byes.
We spent the evening in the lounge on the 19th floor of the hotel nursing a couple of drinks. The view up there was spectacular. The busy city was below us and the towering mountains were in the distance, dotted with their mansions. While we drank and chewed on some salty crackers, we had time to reflect on the trip, and just how satisfying it had been. We watched the city lights come alive as the light faded into darkness, and then, pretty exhausted, we retired.
The next morning we got up and busied ourselves with packing for the trip home. We walked down the street and had our last breakfast at Porto's. We returned to the hotel and completed checking out. Now it was time for a white knuckle ride to the airport in our uninsured rental car. The freeways were maddening.
The San Diego freeway, south to the airport was a little better and we made good use of the carpool lane. We managed to check the car in and get to the airport. We knew there was an ongoing snowstorm back home, so we were apprehensive about the fate of our flights. Now it is time to find out about possible cancellations.
The flight from Los Angeles to Baltimore was late by about twenty minutes. We weren't too concerned because we had every expectation that the flight from Baltimore to Manchester would be canceled. Nevertheless, we decided to seat ourselves separately in seats which were nearer the front of the plane in case we had to exit the plane quickly and make a mad dash for a connecting flight. I managed to find myself seated between two young girls who talked across me for the entire four and a half hour flight. It did make the flight seem much shorter.
We were surprised that, despite the snow storm, our connecting flight was still listed as on time. We did make a dash through the terminals, and actually had some time to pick up a few sandwiches to have on board. The flight from Baltimore to Manchester was mercifully short; just an hour.
Gay went to the baggage return carousel while I boarded the parking lot shuttle to retrieve our car. The search for the car caused a panic attack. All of the cars were buried in snow and they all looked the same. "No problem", I said, as I pulled out my car remote and pushed the horn button. Hmmm! No horn sounding. I walked a little bit through section 8 and tried the button again; still no horn. It seems I wasn't pushing the button hard enough to sound the horn. As a result, I wound up walking through the lot twice before I finally found my car buried in snow. I got as much snow as I could off with my snow brush, managed to find my way back to the terminal to retrieve my wife and our bags.
We arrived home to a driveway that, while snow covered, was passable. We got the bags inside and tended the trash for the morning pickup. We finally got to bed about 2:30 in the morning.
Now about that clock radio. Remember, we weren't sure we had disabled it properly. We were very happy to find that it was not sounding its wake up alarm when we walked into the house. However, that morning, after a mere two hours of sleep, it unfailingly notified us of the arrival of 4:30 AM.
