city blues

After two and a half days out in Harvard, IL, I'm feeling kind of glum, back in Chicago. Twenty four hours ago we were listening to acorns drop from tall trees, light breezes swim through the oak groves, birds rustling in trees and thousands of insects singing in a range of pitch and tone.

Back in the city, it's a different story. Shared a train car with a pair of the most foul-mouthed, angry drunks you could imagine (now I'm not one to mind an expressive/emphatic word choice, and have been known swear up a storm without too much provocation, but...this was different. Aggressive. Insistent. Really, really unpleasant.) And as I type this sirens are screaming off in the distance - getting closer.

It's enough to make me wonder if my switches are lined properly - a question I've been thinking about since N. dropped me at the train station in Harvard earlier today, to catch a train back to Chicago. I'm beginning to have my doubts.

Pin Drop Melody

When I learned my dear niece was checking in here, realized it was high time to post some thoughts that have been rattling (quietly) around in my head - and which don't actually have anything to do with Monkey.

I'm almost finished reading this book about one man's intense quest for preserving silence - just one square inch in a national park out in Washington - in the so very noisy world we live in. Author Gordon Hempton gets a bit too vainglorious (new favorite synonym for 'proud') at times but i'm down with his basic premise - that silence in the natural world is endangered, and that this does not bode well for humankind. ("My aim," I explain, "is to establish the Hoh Valley as the world's first quiet place. This would be essentially a no-flight zone.")

At the same time I'm reading a book by John Cage, which in some ways counters One Square Inch by, among other things, exploring some of the very noise that drives Hempton crazy as music in its own right, and well-worth our recognition of it as such. ("Was it an airplane? Is it a noise? Is it music?") Instead of lamenting the "aural graffiti" scrawled by aircraft, motorized vehicles, espresso machines and other basic sounds of 'civilization' - Cage composed with them.

Combined, these books are giving my ears and brain quite the workout. I'm more aware than ever of just how much noise surrounds me, every moment of the day (right now the crickets outside my parents' back deck in Ohio are screaming - almost eclipsing the sound of the highway traffic a mile or so away.) While I'm finding this hyper-awareness somewhat excruciating, there are also moments when the noise transcends /crosses over into music, with tones, rhythms and lyrical expression. At which point I'm more amused and gratified (majestic / bewildering) than neurotically irritated.

In any case, I think there's plenty that Hempton and Cage have in common, despite their obvious differences. It's in the listening, and the thinking about the listening, and the devotion to the listening, and the writing about the listening, and the caring about the listening. I imagine these two might actually enjoy taking a long walk together through a beautiful forest or down a back city alley - Cage pointing out the sounds of their footsteps and Hempton noting (dejectedly) how many decibels they register at. To which I say, [very very softly,] amen.

"We're passing through time and space. Our ears are in excellent condition." (Cage)

Who knew?

Now I know what kind of sound I make when the cat trots into the room with a squirming mouse in her mouth. Evidently...I scream. Not once, not twice but three times. Like in the cartoons - high-pitched and hysterical. At least I didn't jump up onto a chair, or start swatting blindly with a broom...

In my defense - I'm not scared of mice, it was just very startling when Monkey interrupted our card game to proudly show us her new friend. So startling that I screamed, which startled Monkey who then dropped the mouse, which startled me more so I screamed, which startled the mouse who then started scrambling (with a limp) away, which made me scream again, which startled Monkey again but not enough to prevent her from grabbing her friend and heading downstairs, away from the screams.

Eventually we were able to rescue(?) the mouse from Monkey's jaws and take it outside, in a La Croix box, so it could scurry (with a limp) away to freedom. I doubt it survived the night - it didn't seem long for the world and let's not forget the trio of astute feline hunters living next door. But the box was empty this morning...we'll never know. Back to the screams - I was kind of surprised, myself, by my blood-curdling response to the wriggling little furry guy. Felt a little silly, but also amused, when the whole adventure was over.

As we stood in the kitchen, recalling the Great Mouse Incident of 2009, N. asked me to promise never to make those sounds again. But something tells me there's no guarantee...

P.S.
As you might imagine, there's no scarcity of images on the internet of cats with mice in their mouths. Or on their heads.

P.P.S.
Screaming at the top of your lungs is actually very cathartic. But famous scientists like Dr. Gregory Whitehead have known this for a long time. Check out some of his most impressive research. (number 20)

Unlikely friends = my first cool milion

Woke up yesterday morning to the sound of scrambling. Sleepy brain translated: cat paws scratching at a window in the sun room. Sure enough - there was Monkey, perched precariously in a corner where the wall met a bank of windows, desperately trying to reach the furry little squirrel calmly sitting right on the other side of the window. I mean RIGHT there. Monkey seemed confused, determined, and sort of gleeful at this turn of events. She's been a little lonely since Pony died...

After a few minutes Squirrel disappeared and I brought Monkey out of the room. About ten minutes later...repeat visit. And this morning - Squirrel seemed to be hanging out waiting for Monkey, who galloped up the stairs when I called down to tell her that her friend had returned. (True!) I'm trying not to think about the damage Monkey's new pal (and its extended family) is causing to our roof, to the peeling paint on the window sill, and to Monkey's fragile, neurotic little brain.

In the meantime - am already imagining the Saturday morning cartoon: Monkey (the Cat) and Squirrel Take on the World. Then comes feature-length Pixar animation, sugar cereal, lunchboxes, TV appearances, Fresh Air interviews, and of course - their own podcast. Any illustrators out there looking for work?

5 sounds from Ireland

1. Altogether, radio from: Czech Republic, UK, Lithuania, Slovakia, Netherlands, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Croatia, Poland, Ireland, Canada, Australia, Germany, Austria, Belgium, Bulgaria, plus my own contribution, from the USA. An impressive array of stories and approaches to storytelling, with distinct national radio cultures defined, challenged, and stretched, as each program played. Didn't come away with favorite stories, rather moments from several: A gravedigger, about to retire, describing looking forward to sitting at his kitchen table tinkering with a clock. Two former circus performers (and lovers) reunited in a nursing home in old age, nostalgic for the dream of a shared future they'll never experience: "running a nice big carousel...". A long, awkward silence between two estranged friends, over the phone. The sound of a mama cow licking her newborn calf. And so many others...

2. Beirut, followed by Sufjan Stevens, from the speakers at the Mermaid Cafe, (the Lula of Dublin?) over the course of a nice long dinner with new and old friends. Always especially pleasing to hear (certain) familiar music when far from home. Also that night, learned that in Ireland (and many other countries) rocket is actually arugula, and that people really do eat pig's cheeks. Which I do not condone.

3. Beautiful, traditional Irish music in a extraordinarily non-extraordinary bar that was far from the city center, or other touristic byways. Was my first experience in an Irish snug - a small, cozy, separate section of a pub where live music is often played for an audience of maybe a dozen. This is not the place to pull out a camera or recorder, fyi. Learn from our mistakes.

4. Young girl walking by me in the airport, holding on to her father's hand. With each step she took her right foot yelped. Realized that her shoe had a 'squeaker' in it - yes, like the squeaker in a dog toy - to help her parents keep track of her, I guess? Though the company that makes them claims they're "fun." Heard that thing for 6 gates worth of airport hallway, as I continued in the opposite direction. Creepy.

5. The rain coming on, across the field, while we rode through the most beautiful Irish countryside in Lackan, County Wicklow. The horses didn't seem to mind the damp - neither my trusty mare Blue, or Thelon's gigantic Naylor (supposedly the second largest registered horse in the country. And I believe it.) Another sound, from this incredible afternoon: the lambs bleating, as we'd ride by and they'd scamper away from the fencelines. The cows, on the other hand, strode right up to say hello.