The Sounds of Saturday

What I hear from my upstairs office:

  • The muffled beats of country music (Kenny Chesny?) from my neighbor.
  • Barking dogs announcing their presence in the world.
  • Wind against the storm windows.
  • Someone raking leaves.
  • The UPS truck dropping off packages.

My former neighborhood was busy all week with  state workers who claimed parking spots,  spent lunch hours walking briskly in white sneakers, and kept up an overall sense of hustle & bustle.  Come Saturday, however, it was often eerily abandoned and quiet.

But my new neighborhood comes alive on Saturday when people let down their guard, sleep in, catch up with housework, forget about jobs, and return to the labor of house maintenance.  Even within our separate and individual dwelling spaces, we’re united in our shared purpose of preparing for the impending winter.

I realize that many folks might not want to hear the sounds of other people, but I find it deeply comforting.  I may live alone, but I’m part of a community.  Our community may have excessive amounts of fallen leaves, squirrels the size of large cats, and haphazard recycling pick-up, but it feels good to belong nonetheless.

As Martha would say, it’s a good thing.

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One Response to The Sounds of Saturday

  1. dad says:

    well, daughter, i understand the peace that comes from being a “weekend warrior”–that’s what Flanders Lumber used to call us home improvement types…away from obligatory work and back to the work one has chosen for self, the nesting work that makes a house a home. funny how mom and i have sorta reversed this, as all of our social obligations–where we travel somewhere to an exhibit, a dinner out–fall on weekends, while our monday through friday rituals in our rural setting are private and quiet: the laundry, cooking, wood-cutting, rughooking, and such that now provides us with our own version of peace. love to read your thoughtful ramblings, housegirrl! dad

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