My young neighbor
Joe is quite talented on his skateboard. He tells me it takes practice
to be a pro. We've talked about sponsorships and competitions - he loves
skateboarding. He practices night and day and I've watched him as he
zooms over wooden ramps, hops curbs, does flips. The sound of his skateboard
in the street has become a treasured part of my evenings now when the
windows are open.
"I'm sorry if I bothered you," Joe says when I tell him I
heard him practicing late last night.
"Don't even say that," I tell him. "I like hearing you
having a good time. It's a happy sound."
I'm a solitary person by nature and that seems to be increasing as I
grow older. When I was young - the oldest sister in a large, noisy family
- I used to wake in the middle of the night and slip out to the porch
to listen to the quiet music you miss when you sleep. Bird calls and
crickets chirping, peepers in the swamp, a rare passing car, and a train
winding through the far off hills of my Allegheny Highlands home. The
yowl and screech that signals a dramatic end to some creature's night.
As much as I love the sound of ocean waves, nothing soothes my soul
like the rustle of leaves in night breezes.
Back then I thought that when I was as old as I am now I would doubtless
be this eccentric but fascinating artist. I gave up on being eccentric
and fascinating a long time ago - now I think I am just peculiar. But
I think that is okay, too. I don't understand people who live within
a wall of constant sound - radios and television blaring, yakking non-stop
on cell phones as they walk down the street giving everyone the privilege
of listening to their babble, all the yelling. Is it my imagination
or are people just louder now? It seems the pleasure of private conversations
is gone forever. Everyone shares their tiniest thought with whoever
happens to be in the vicinity. Why can't we be quiet and listen?
As the days grow milder and windows stay open I reconnect with the pleasures
of my neighborhood and its sounds. Down the street someone has a basketball
hoop in their driveway and I love hearing a bunch of kids shooting hoops
on a warm night. The familiar thunk-thunk-thunk of the ball and the
jeers and laughter are nourishing to the heart. It is the music of happy
kids, alive and full of life. I hear the gentle swoosh-swoosh of Maria's
broom as she sweeps her porch. Sometimes when I'm working late I hear
the man across the street start his truck. He drives an emergency road
service vehicle and when I hear his truck grumble into life I know he
is off to rescue some poor wayfarer who has a flat tire or a dead battery
or who has run out of gas. Those travelers don't know that they are
in good hands on this night.
During the winter I listen to the radio as I work in my little studio.
I gave up on television years ago but have become addicted to books-on-tape.
It is the grown-up version of tell-me-a-story, I've decided. While I
work, some talented story-teller lets me enter the magical worlds good
books bring to us. Sometimes I put CDs on - Allegri's Miserere or Bob
Seger's Silver Bullet Band; Vivaldi, Corelli and Scarlatti, or Francis
Cabrel and the Gipsy Kings.
And sometimes I just listen to my own thoughts. That has taken some
getting used to. For most of my life I didn't like a lot of what went
on inside my head but that is changing. If I don't want to listen to
what I have to say, why would anyone else? It takes patience and compassion
to listen to the mad ravings that go on in this head sometimes. But
occasionally, in all the cacophony, an idea worth pursuing emerges.
But the best nights are those when the windows are open. If I'm lucky
I can hear the fog horn out on Eastern Point, or a football game over
at the high school, or the soft patter of rain on leaves, or old friends
sitting on front porches sharing stories and laughter. In a world that
seems to have gone completely mad, these homely, warm, familiar sounds
remind me that, while mankind sometimes seems incomprehensible, people
are still people.
Then I turn the radio off and open another window. Out in the street
I hear the wheels of Joe's skateboard. He's practicing his heart out
again tonight. Sounds like he's getting really good, too.
