There is noise, then there is noise. The noise I am living with now seems without end and while I wish it could become a backdrop to my life that I can ignore, that’s not happening….
The work crew arrived right at 8 a.m. They were in a great mood. Lot of hollering, talking, mostly in Spanish. On one level it was nice to hear a bunch of guys enjoying each other’s company. On the other hand, it was a reminder that my constant companions into May will be noise and clutter.
The work ripping off balconies, tearing down siding, putting up new rain shielding and then putting everything back started last March, took a break for summer so we could access the pool and started back up Oct. 1. The company says their worst case scenario is it will go until May.
I am not a hoarder, but I feel like one. All the chairs, flower boxes and such from my patio are jammed into a corner of my small living area, in a one-bedroom apartment. Other stuff is in a closet that now is jammed full.
But it’s the noise that’s eating away at my peace of mind. I found myself going back to the newsroom at the Xenia Daily Gazette where I started my reporting career in 1972. It was a noisy place and, in its midst, I was able to do some decent writing.
Thinking about that I realize there is noise, then there is noise. The noise of the newsroom was of a whole – I was part of it. The click-clack of the old Associated Press Newswire, the muted voices of reporters on the phone with sources, the banter of co-workers. Back then, add in the sound of manual typewriters. It was a noise that actually inspired a certain kind of creativity.
The noise I hear outside my patio door this morning is, well, it’s just noise. It’s crashing, banging, sawing, hammering, drilling and yelling. It jars its way through the walls and hangs over my head. I had some writing to do today that I would call creative. It’s not just recounting a situation, like I am doing now. It was stringing diverse threads together, trying to paint word pictures on a canvas. I gave up.
I have been hoping that at some point the noise would become a muted backdrop to life, something I could eventually ignore, but that has not happened. From 8 to 5, Monday through Friday, it moves in with me.
I have thought about packing up my computer and going to my son’s house, or to the library, but that’s now how creativity works, at least for me. Usually, it comes in bursts and I have to let it in or let it go in that moment.
I have said before I should be grateful that I have a roof over my head and food in the fridge. And, I am. But at some level I think the human soul needs peace, respite. We live in an increasingly noisy world it seems. Or maybe I am just turning into a grumpy old men, the kind of guy who chases little kids off the lawn for no good reason. I hope not.
I am trying to think about how to best live out the next few months of noise outside my door. Moving would be a drastic option. It’s one I have considered and rejected. No matter where you go these days there will always be something and there are no guarantees that what you go to will be better than what you left behind. Several of us have gone to management seeking some kind of compensation, some kind of recognition of what is happening to our quality of life, but the response has basically been “tough.”
So, I will keep the white noise machines going, put in the ear plugs. Wait it out. Keep telling myself “this too shall pass” and at some point I will be able to settle back into my home. May seems a long way off, though……
Rich Heiland is a retired journalist and semi-retired consultant, trainer and public speaker. During his journalism career he was a reporter, editor, publisher, college instructor, part of a Pulitzer Prize-winning team and a National Newspaper Association Columnist of the Year honoree. He also writes the intodementia.com blog about his family’s experience with dementia. He lives in West Chester, PA and can be reached at [email protected].