There is a children's book I read enough times to know by heart. In it a man goes to a wise elder to complain about his house. It is too noisy.
"The roof creaks, the floor squeaks, the wind blows in the trees swish swish, and the tea kettle whistles hiss hiss."
The wise man tells him to get a cow. Which he does, and is unhappy with the constant mooing. He goes back to the wise man.
"Get a sheep." He obeys, and is irritated by yet more distractions. Things proceed with a donkey, a dog, a cat, and a hen in that repetition known only to picture books. Well, sometimes real life too. You know.... make breakfast, do dishes, make lunch, do dishes, make dinner, do dishes. Repeat.
The man is unnerved by the cacophony. Exasperated he goes back to the wise man once more.
"I am going crazy!"
"Let the cow go, let the sheep go, let the donkey go, let the dog go, let the cat go, let the hen go."
Having accomplished this, the man sits down at his table. The roof creaked.
"What a quiet noise."
The floor squeaked.
"Such a quiet noise."
The wind blew through the trees swish swish, the tea kettle whistled hiss hiss." The man smiled.
A week ago I was confined to my home as was everyone I know. It felt restrictive. Then I did something I haven't done in two years. Unable to sandwich quilts on the large table in the costume room I taped the backing, batting, and top to the living room floor. In a process that can only be described as awkward I crawled on hands and knees putting pins all over it in preparation for quilting. By the time I cut the thread on the quilted star I knew I was in trouble. I lay down on the couch in
submission to the collective revolt of my vertebrae.
John massaged my back and I assured myself all would be well in the morning. It wasn't. A thoughtful friend brought me her electric pulsing gizmo and a curved back support, both of which I used expectantly for the next three days. The twins and John generously did all the meals, and dishes, on top of homework and zoom meetings. I meanwhile grew increasingly grungy while spooning soup into my mouth from a bowl perched on my chest. I was going crazy.
A wise friend heard about my troubles and sent me a pair of remedies which I took with waning optimism. Another wise woman suggested that if I could not exercise my back I could start gently moving other parts of my body. Which I did. I tentatively stretched my creaky limbs enough that I dared to take a shower. The water swished across my back. It was a quiet noise.
Wearing clean clothes I walked downstairs for the first time in almost a week. I saw plates in the sink and eagerly placed them in the dishwasher. I enjoyed the freedom afforded by the first floor. Then I made dinner. Smiling.
