8 o'clock found me weighing the risks of creeping down the driveway to get the Journal without getting dressed or brushing my hair. I finally reasoned that those up are either already at church or dressing for it at home; I decided to go for it. I inhaled deeply as I sauntered down the drive, looking decidedly vivid in my Nick & Noras, baby blue pajamas festooned with large images of breakfast foods.
I was just reaching down for the paper when I heard it - a car approaching suddenly from the street that intersects my own. I immediately turned to go back up the driveway so as not to be spotted. Was it a pre-latte sluggishness? The remaining damp of yesterday's snow shower? The weightier essence of the Sunday edition? I lost my balance.
I looked up from where I lay, on my back, legs sprawled, just in time to see a neighbor and his wife driving past, a few minutes late for the start of the 8 am service. In keeping with the Carolina Neighbor Code, they each raised one hand in a wave and smiled at me. I did the same, pretending for a moment that there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, that I meant to be lying on my driveway early on a cold, Sunday morning, before darting like a wet squirrel back to the warmth and dryness of my home.