BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. Mornings start with a ritual Mr. Philately does not understand. I hear Kat�s alarm. I walk into her room to see her sitting up. I say nothing to her. She says nothing to me. I�m up and she knows it. She�s up and I know it. Silence is okay because we know. The morning has enough sounds without words.

CLINK, CLACK, SHHHH. Kat putters around the kitchen getting out her bowl, spoon and cereal. The sounds drift slowly back as I step into the shower and let the water run down. Some people sing in the shower. Sometimes I sing if I shower later in the day. But never in the morning. In the morning, I stand stupefied and wait under the water for a glimmer of my own intelligence. Some days I�m disappointed.

CREEEEK, PATTER, PATTER, THUNK. Kat goes downstairs in search of clothes. Never mind that I folded a mountain of clothes yesterday and she probably still has them piled on the chair to her desk. Never mind that all of the clean clothes are up here. Kat, like her mother, is a creature of habit. One looks downstairs for clothes on a Monday morning because one looks down there other days. The lack of a basket and the empty dryer will clue her in and, PATTER, PATTER, CREEEK, she�ll be back up.

MMM, MMMM, MMMM, CUNK. The computer gears up in counterpoint. On mind-clear days, I remember to turn on the server as well as the monitor. On mind-cloudy days, I realize I�m missing a sound and come back and turn the server on, cursing my fuzziness silently. When all goes well, my CLICKETY-CLICKETY on the keys accompanies the SHUSH, SHUSH, SHUSH of the water Kat runs for brushing her teeth.

RUSTLE, RUSTLE, SHUSH. Kat glances at the comics while I brush my teeth, put on makeup, and fight with a cowlick. I then hear nothing and hope she is stuffing her backpack. A quick word, sometimes from her and sometimes from me, and she�s set.

BBRRRRROO, BRRROOOOOOM. The bus pulls away. Kat wis on a bus that came on time. I don�t even have to look. I recognize the sound and, the absence of subsequent sound. The door doesn�t re-open. The doorbell doesn�t ring.

Mr. Philately, who wakes more alert, does not understand the sounds of Kat�s morning and mine but we are happy this way. He and Day-Hay wake to whistling and cheery words. As for Kat and me, we like our morning. We don�t wake the sounds of silence but it�s as close as we can get.

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