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My house is not quiet. I’d blame the kids but if you have met me, well, you know that I contribute to the non-quiet-ness simply by being present in a room. I’m kind of loud. I don’t mean to be loud. I’d actually love to be more quiet, more reserved. And I am when I first meet people. Once I trust you? All bets are off. I don’t really have an inside voice. Laugh? Loud. Cry? Loud. Talk? Loud. Whisper? Yes, I even have a loud whisper. It’s no surprise that my children are equally loud.
But that doesn’t mean I never get Noised Out.
Toys make noise. The exhaust fan in the kitchen makes noise while I’m cooking supper. The dryer buzzes. My cell phone beeps. The neighbor doesn’t have a muffler. And while I’m glad that the birds are back and that Spring is near, man, those birds are loud at times. Sometimes, I just need quiet.
I don’t get much.
Sometimes I wake up before the boys do, though it’s hard to get up before BigBrother. His internal clock is set for Early O’Clock. Lately he’s been struggling to stay in his room until his digital clock reads seven-zero-zero. But sometimes I get to have a cup of coffee by myself in the wee hours of the morning, thinking about my day and planning our adventures before they begin.
Sometimes I get to have a glass of wine by myself at night with the television off, the radio off, the noisy toys quieted and the children fast asleep. Sometimes I get to read in my bed during those hours as well, every third night finding FireDad sleeping at the fire station for his usual shift. Sometimes the kids even leave me alone in the shower, the hot water erasing the stress of the moment. Those moments, however, don’t last long. What is it about a shower that sends absolutely everybody in the house to the bathroom door? I need a sound proof bathroom. That’s the fix.
To be honest though, I can only stand so much quiet. Yes, I crave it. But when it’s too quiet, I hear little noises. The sound of silence is actually too loud for me as we discovered in January when our electricity went out due to the snow storm. It’s deafening, that silence of nothingness. And so, while I get overwhelmed sometimes, I’ll take the noise even if it means that I sometimes get startled and spill my coffee on my robe, pants or new floor. The noise, of course, is just a sign that we’re happy and healthy and able to make that noise.
Or, that’s what I tell myself on the days that I want to run off and buy ear plugs.
For more quiet, visit today’s challenge at I Should Be Folding Laundry. Next week’s challenge is reaching. Hmm.
54 degrees in March after over 30 inches of snow in February? I was most definitely outside yesterday. I explored two different parks in Columbus with my camera in hand. Of course, I always have my camera in my hand, it being mostly attached to my face.
One of the parks was the Columbus Park of Roses. I didn’t know it existed. Despite the fact that no roses were in bloom (it is only March, after all) it was still fantastically beautiful. I caught some beautiful photos of the rose bushes that will soon spring forth with beauty, color and new life.
Throughout the park there are beautiful pathways. These pathways have 12×12 (and 8×8) engraved stones that people have purchased in honor or memory of someone in their lives. I enjoyed reading some of them as I walked and soaked up some much needed sunlight. Some included eulogies, like my favorite, “She never slowed down.” Others were wedding dates and names, most likely having been married during blooming season at the park.
And then I tripped over this one.
I literally read it as my foot passed over it and I had to stumble backward and reread it. I took a few pictures. I stood there for a few moments and wondered what individual or group of individuals thought to dedicate a stone in a park of roses to these firefighters. Was it someone who lost a loved one? Was it another firefighter who, living in Ohio, felt helpless in 2001? Was it a group of firefighters? Was it a family who felt a tug to honor their heroes? I don’t know the answer. Someone spent $200 to forever remember those firefighters.
I wish I could thank that person myself.
Fire life seems to touch so much of my own life. As we walked down the Short North last night after supper, a group of Columbus fire trucks raced to a scene that I assume was a false alarm. The aerial truck responded and a bit of fear pulsed through my veins. I didn’t get a picture because my fingers were frozen at this point, the sun having dipped down behind the buildings. But, like the stone in the park had said earlier that day, I gazed upon the scene with a hopeful heart that everything would be okay and said a prayer and a brief thank you. They may not be my firefighters from my department but they’re still part of our fire family, wherever I happen to be.
Even in a rose garden.
