a moment of silence

Life is really noisy.  We are both driven by sound and drawn to it.  An alarm clock on my phone wakes me up every morning.  ( Dun-nun-nun-nun dun-dun nun-nun-nun) The gurgling of boiling water for making coffee reminds me its time to pour my cereal.  I crunch on my Weetabix flakes while I browse my subscriptions on Google Reader, the latest Brooke Fraser album playing in the background.

I climb in the car and the engine vrooms.  For a reason unknown to me, it sometimes takes another turn of the key to get it to really start.  These days, I like NPR in the mornings, whether its commentary on US foreign policy or a side-splitting interview with David Sedaris.  I like to listen to other people's stories.  I pull up to work where the bells on the door handle jingle at my entrance...followed by hellos and friendly greetings from people huddled over paintings and craft projects.  They are chatting boisterously and listening to "Stand By You" from The Pretenders.  The printer is thinking (loudly) and the phone rings occasionally - it will be this way for the next several hours.

On the way home, the high school marching band is practicing in the parking lot.  The drumline plays a cadence as I pass, and I feel almost regal.  Remove your hats, ladies and gentleman, the president is driving by.  The dog is barking in the neighbors' yard and friends are laughing and visiting in the living room.  Even in my room, where it's only me, the fan that blows in the cool breeze from the window is putting in its two cents...click, click, click, click.  If I'm lucky enough to doze off into dreamworld, I will wake shortly to a lawnmower's roar and the blades of grass protesting their violent demise.

Later, at my parents' house, the television is on, in both the kitchen and the den, so that it's possible for Mom to watch SVU reruns and whatever awful thing being broadcasted on Headline News Channel.  The cat wants to be let out, the conductor of the nearby train is bragging of his arrival, and dinner is being prepared on the stove, where cooking onions sizzle and pop.

It's 2010 and quite possible to spend every waking moment with some kind of sound, noise, talk, or music filling your eardrums.  The world is sometimes a giant Abercrombie & Fitch store shoving a paralyzing dance beat down our throats.  Did the universe not get my message today?  Did no one read the memo?  I am looking for a little peace and quiet.  I'm on the hunt for a moment of silence, but like an endangered rare bird or mythical creature, I'm not really sure that it even exists.