Silence Machine

I am extraordinarily sensitive to noise, especially if I am agitated or have a migraine, though I love being in the city. I'm OK with some noise, and other noise drives me crazy. I'm not sure why there is a difference. Some noise makes sense, and doesn't bother me, and other noise is invasive, distracting, and irritating.

I remember visiting my grandmother on Brighton beach as a child. On the hot summer days I'd hear voices and radios and the surf from the beach. She lived next to a racquetball club with outdoor courts, and I would awaken to the sound of the balls being hit and bouncing off the walls. It all was a pleasant noise to me, the sounds of that time and place.

What were the sounds of a hundred years ago? Did Charles Dickens get irritated by the sounds of hooves on cobblestones when he was trying to write?

I love early morning and probably the silence has a lot to do with it. As the day progresses, I might have to make noise to have my silence. Like ski resorts that make snow I'll manufacture white noise so I can have the silence to work. A fan is a good Silence Machine, creating just the silence I need to drown out the urban ghetto in the ever-ripening spring.

Once I left my studio radio on and forgot about it. When I woke in the morning I heard sound from the radio. I was furious that someone would violate the silence of a Sunday morning. Darn, I'll have to call the police, I thought, as I got out of bed. When I fixed my tea and went up to my office I found the radio playing in my studio. I was so embarrassed. The jerk violating this pristine morning was me!!