Today's post is a little late.
I have been attempting to write but there's too much going on in here right now.
It's usually just me, Buzzy and the humming of the fridge but Seth is leaving late and is a whirlwind of preparation as he prepares to depart for the day.
I am easily distracted and require specific conditions for specific activities.
For example, I cannot write, read or study if there's music on. Or someone is prancing around me (like right now). Or, if the TV is on. Or, if the moon is full. Or, if I'm hungry. Or, if I've just eaten. Or...you get the idea.
When I was in school, I used to marvel at other students who could do homework in a crowded, noisy library...or tapping a foot to tunes.
Even as a tiny kid, I used to have to seal myself up in a tomb of silence to concentrate properly and tombs of silence in my house, at that time, were hard to come by.
There was lots of yelling. To be honest, all we did was yell. Maybe it was an ethnic characteristic...or maybe we were just totally nuts but the same volume was employed whether you were sitting next to someone at the kitchen table as when they were two floors away.
To add to the cacaphony, my grandfather was very hard of hearing, so when the TV was on, the volume was turned up high. My aunt was listening, and dancing, to salsa upstairs and my other aunt was always on the phone which, never having been relocated from the moment that phones were first installed in the ancient house, still could be found on an old-fashioned table in the hall.
As far as specific conditions, sleep was, and continues to be, a big issue.
As a small child, I shared a bedroom with my mother and grandmother. Before bedtime, I would settle in to enjoy a few shows on the clunky black and white TV that had been placed there for my benefit.
I would watch happily until my poor grandmother, who worked like a dog all day to the point of total exhaustion, would fall into bed and, immediately, start snoring. She snored on the out breath in a long rattle often accompanied by an unearthly wheeze. Erratically timed, you never knew when to expect the wheeze, so add the element of stressful suspense to the mix.
My mother was a night owl who stayed up late to read and worry but when she came to bed, she added to the sound effects. She, however, snored on the in breath in a kind of a loud, zooming hum.
They did not snore in unison so, in essence, my nights were just one blended snore. I developed a multitude of nervous habits as a result of this nocturnal symphony and contemplated running away from home to live in the forest many times.
Where I thought I'd find a forest in the middle of New York City remains a mystery but, as a little girl, it was always my imagined destination where silence ruled and I could slumber happily on a soft bed of moss, watched over tenderly by a family of bears who wore clothing.
As a result of all this mayhem, I was terrified of marrying a snorer.
But, of course, did.
Seth's snores are legendary. I now employ a white noise machine to help absorb what my son Tom once called a "gruesome symphony."
There are some who say I snore but until they can provide proof with dated video, I say they are slandering villains trying to deflect attention from themselves.
Sometimes my boys snore but it just endears them to me further which is additional proof of a mother's love. Remember that when you're picking my nursing home, kids, and please, if you can, get me a private -- and quiet -- room!