Skip to main content

Rationalization

It is loud, this wide world.
It is loud, watching the cars, the busy intersections where I now catch my buses.
The cars crowding themselves, like another form of sub-species, lives of their own, different sounds from each. Listen to the big trucks coughing up their lungs. Sputtering as the fit slows down. Don't they sound like the chainsmoker?
Hell, last night, even my kid said people are just not quiet anymore.
And then there are the people at my new Everyday.
2, 000 less people than the town I grew-up in, if you can believe that.
Thousands of sounds circling the never-ending building on a not-so-big lot of land.
To be sure, it has it's moments.
But it does not matter where you are or where you go.
There is always sound.

Except for at my house.
For the first 10 minutes of my day, I get to control sound.
O.K. Usually. Almost. Mostly.
Because my children seldom slip-up. They even encourage each other quietly to be quiet, if the need arises.
They smile encouragingly at me when I look their way.
Both of my kids are nasty buggers first thing in the morning, too.
But all in all, that is pretty much the only quiet I need all day.
Because I can tune out 100 cars. 13, 000 people. The whiniest of voices.
I have mastered the art of ignore. I can create quiet for myself.
But that is not as good as it all sounds, people.
It is often the reason I am THAT girl.
Quietness. Hmm.
I will blame everything on that instead of my hair.
Great. That sounds so much more grown-up.
And not even fun.
I mean how can one make a conversation about quiet interesting?
So much for that theory.
Next!

Comments

Jennifer said…
I hate noise too. I wish I could tune the stuff I don't want to hear out!

Popular posts from this blog

The Village Itself

Across the road from my home is an apartment building. It is made of brown brick and has three stories. It also has plenty of windows I often forget about while I go about my daily and nightly routines. I also forget my curtains are white, lacey and see-through scraps purchased from an aisle in Wal-Mart. Fifteen apartments. That may all house people with binoculars. It was the muggiest night this past summer had owned. Brenda was down for a visit and when she comes, it usually means a night spent over on my couch for her. Brenda lives in another town. It was one in the morning, no sleep to be found between the two us. We sat slouched on my front porch trying to capture the occasional breeze offered, sucking it deep into our lungs, praying it would cool us down. Our glasses of Pepsi sweated warning us how warm the drink would taste in our mouths. "Tilly! Tilly!" the shout sat our spines straight as we looked across the street to the where the sound was coming fr...

Rosy Cheeks

My son's circle and lined wall, created with the permanent red marker, became something he liked to show-off. I guess the other kids who come here liked it, too.   I guess he wanted to show-off more. That is one of the many hypothesis I have about how the Map of Africa came to be. I just keep hoping my kid is some kind of odd little genius.  On the morning I discovered the map of Africa, I was not speechless and I could breathe. "What is this?" I demanded. And loudly. My son shrugged his shoulders. "I like it. It's nice. Took a long time." He had chipped paint off the wall. His walls are white. That morning, it was discovered his room used to be beige.   And it was starting to look like a room in an abandoned house. I thought to myself that maybe this look would be the in thing  20 years from now and he could make millions. He could be a visionary. It was a good enough excuse for me to leave the room. I used it...

..What Are You Waiting For?

She had a real calm smile; it took its time creeping up into her eyes. And there she was looking up at me. She was sitting, right down there on the sidewalk, up against the wall of the bank. Her hand was wrapped around a red pen; buried into a magazine. And I was walking by her. Her eyes were brown. I did not smile back at her. One can never be too sure about anyone who is downtown. A few days later; it was grey and chilly, and I saw her again. With the same simple smile; this time growing into recognition. She stood just inside the entrance way of the video store, ducked, despite the fact she was barley five feet tall and the doorway was at least ten. Funny girl, I thought. Her smile passed by quickly, and then she bent her head down, to the inside of another magazine. She took a long, lipstick drag off a cigarette. "What are you doing?" she asked, when I was passing by her a day and a half later. And I stopped my step, for I was truly stumped. I looked down at my br...