I was recently inspired to think about sound, thanks to Trevor Cox’s story in the May issue of Reader’s Digest. I’d never considered the isolated sense of hearing outside the context of music and noise (“Can you please turn that television down?!”). So one afternoon I went for a walk and asked myself, What are my sonic memories? Perhaps you’ll be inspired to do the same.
I’m a kid in the backseat of the family car. I hear the confident knock of my father’s class ring on the steering wheel. I love this sound.
I’m a girl preparing for a piano recital. I hear the steady click of the metronome keeping me in perfect time. I resent this sound.
I’m a traveler who’s walked right up to the edge of Exit Glacier in Seward, Alaska. I hear the creaky groans and happy pops of ice moving, pulling, shifting, settling. I am in awe of this sound.
I’m a new mother, peering into her daughter’s crib. I hear the soft sucking of fingers in a tiny mouth. I cherish this sound.
I’m a daughter, sitting beside her dad in his final days. He’s sleeping in his bedroom under the mustard-color blanket that’s come out of the closet to comfort us since before I can remember. I hear heavy, still quiet. I hear, almost imperceptibly, his beloved cat Lucy licking her paw. She’s curled at the foot of the bed, keeping his feet warm, keeping watch. This is the sound of peace.
Just found the worst page in the entire dictionary. What I saw was disgraceful, disgusting, dishonest, and disingenuous.
Client: We need you to log in to the YouTube and make all our company videos viral.
My cat just walked up to the paper shredder and said, “Teach me everything you know.”
“Just because you can’t dance doesn’t mean you shouldn’t dance.” —Alcohol
@yoyoha (Josh Hara)
My parents didn’t want to move to Florida, but they turned 60 and that’s the law.
Q: What do you call an Amish guy with his hand in a horse’s mouth?
A: A mechanic.