Eerie Weary, Dearie
Posted on April 3, 2020by meemselle
I do freely admit that I have complained bitterly, in more than a Few Words, about the noise levels in This Dusty Whore Town I Call Home.
However, in our Age of Curfew and Containment, I find that I actually miss the noise. As you know, if you have been paying attention, Darlinos, our curfew begins at 5 pm and extends till 6 am. And this is ironclad. No joking around, no “negotiating” with the police on this.
Now, when I hear a car or a concho on the street, I take note. How things change.
The sound of silence is a strange thing, especially in a culture that is noted for its…..errrmmm….exuberance of social expression. Music is always shared. Local trucks have speakers advertising manzanas, uvas, aguacates at top volume. Many of you, Gentle Readers, have previously commented how lovely it must be to live in a quiet, Caribbean town.
It is so not quiet. Or it WAS so not. Quiet. It surely is now.
Currently, and for another 15 days, with our pretty restrictive containment and curfew measures in place, it is quiet. As quiet as a dormouse. It is eerie.
So quiet it’s hard to sleep. I am grateful to still have my Hammacher-Schlemmer white noise machine in working order. There was a horrible moment when I moved it here to my safe space that I thought it was broken. So I twisted and turned parts and paper-towelled out dust, and yes, Listerine was involved. It turns out that I have developed more patience than ever dreamed possible. (I am not noted for patience: maybe it’s a redhead thing.)
Anyway, not totally advocating a return to bachata blasting all day Sunday, or rapid-fire Dominican Spanish at full-throated volume, or constantly back-firing motorcycles, but like, hey: sounds of life.
But I guess the sound of silence is what may insure future sounds of life.
Stay inside! Wash your hands! Stay safe!
¡Permanecer en el interior! ¡Lava tus manos! ¡Mantenerse a salvo!
Posted on April 3, 2020by meemselle
I do freely admit that I have complained bitterly, in more than a Few Words, about the noise levels in This Dusty Whore Town I Call Home.
However, in our Age of Curfew and Containment, I find that I actually miss the noise. As you know, if you have been paying attention, Darlinos, our curfew begins at 5 pm and extends till 6 am. And this is ironclad. No joking around, no “negotiating” with the police on this.
Now, when I hear a car or a concho on the street, I take note. How things change.
The sound of silence is a strange thing, especially in a culture that is noted for its…..errrmmm….exuberance of social expression. Music is always shared. Local trucks have speakers advertising manzanas, uvas, aguacates at top volume. Many of you, Gentle Readers, have previously commented how lovely it must be to live in a quiet, Caribbean town.
It is so not quiet. Or it WAS so not. Quiet. It surely is now.
Currently, and for another 15 days, with our pretty restrictive containment and curfew measures in place, it is quiet. As quiet as a dormouse. It is eerie.
So quiet it’s hard to sleep. I am grateful to still have my Hammacher-Schlemmer white noise machine in working order. There was a horrible moment when I moved it here to my safe space that I thought it was broken. So I twisted and turned parts and paper-towelled out dust, and yes, Listerine was involved. It turns out that I have developed more patience than ever dreamed possible. (I am not noted for patience: maybe it’s a redhead thing.)
Anyway, not totally advocating a return to bachata blasting all day Sunday, or rapid-fire Dominican Spanish at full-throated volume, or constantly back-firing motorcycles, but like, hey: sounds of life.
But I guess the sound of silence is what may insure future sounds of life.
Stay inside! Wash your hands! Stay safe!
¡Permanecer en el interior! ¡Lava tus manos! ¡Mantenerse a salvo!