Familiar sounds can be very soothing. Being surrounded by things we know is always comforting. These routine sounds often drift into the background, almost forgotten. Even loud sounds, like the dishwasher springing to life at three in the morning can be calming. As long as they are familiar.
After nineteen years in my old house, I had heard every sound it had to offer. And felt comfortable with most of them. The creak in the upstairs hallway when you stepped on just the right board. The HVAC units going on and off smoothly. Doors opening and closing as people came and went. The icemaker filling with water at all hours of the day and night. And the sounds of people sleeping.
Then there were a few sounds that weren’t so pleasant. There was an unfamiliar sound of water running one night. That was the water heater exploding under too much water pressure coming from the county water line. And the sounds of gusty winds and rain.
I live in a tornado prone area. In the spring, the winds blow hard, and the rain pours down. And it always seems to happen at night when you cant see a damn thing. Scary, but you get used to them.
Moving to a new house gave me a lot of unfamiliar sounds to adjust to. The dishwasher still comes on in the middle of the night, but somehow seems louder. The fans on the HVAC systems blow after the units shut off. I’m still figuring out how the programmable thermostat works. I think the machine is programming me. The floors creak. In more places. And I don’t think I have found every spot yet. And can’t remember where all of them are. The first time I heard the icemaker drop a load of ice I thought a car had crashed into my garage!
And then there is the rain. Still in a tornado area, and the wind and rain still howl. But the house is down in a holler so it’s blocked by the hills.
The new house has a metal roof. And the sound of the rain falling on it can take many forms. The main house has a lot of insulation in the attic so the sound if mostly muffled. But the back porch, right off my bedroom, has no insulation so the sound can be more pronounced.
In a gentle rain, it’s very soothing. In a hard, heavy rain it sounds like a pride of tigers scratching at that metal roof. Determined to get in. On the porch you have to shout to be heard by anyone else there with you.
Old sounds. New sounds. The new become old with time. And new ones continue to pop up. Until the ears grow weary and hear no more.
That’s part of my story. What’s yours?
personalhistorywriter 