SILENCE…PLEASE

JULY 28 2012                              

I just had to ask Joel for the date. At least I knew it was July. Still, on hearing that it’s almost August I had one of those but-how-can-that-be moments. We left New York mid-May and now….Joel said, let’s not talk about it. So I won’t,

We just got back from one of our vacations within a vacation, or as a friend of ours calls it “The luxury-slum shuffle.” Not that we’re living in a slum, but it is basic here on the farm, and that’s the way we like it. But every once in a while these 2 old codgers feel like lazy lizards, especially this week as we are somewhat wrung out for the anxiety of our granddaughters surgery, which we are pleased to report was successful. So, we packed our overnight wheelies and drove 5 miles to Bosca Della Spina, a lovely bed and breakfast inn with a swimming pool and a fine restaurant open to the public. I had taken my niece there a few years ago for her birthday and we’d enjoyed a memorable dinner overlooking the valley, the fairy tale Etruscan village of Murlo twinkling on the next hilltop.

The restaurant is still good and the whole place, which was successfully renovated a few years ago, has managed to marry a harmonious blend of contemporary interior design with its medieval exterior. And the establishment itself, seemingly run entirely by women, has pulled off that hard to do and rare to find blend of laid-back efficiency. Although for a moment we thought it might prove to be a bit too laid-back.

We had unpacked and donned our swimsuits by 2:30 pm and headed down to the lovely pool for an afternoon of sun, shade, swimming, reading and above all, peace. Only to find that 3 French families travelling together had abandoned their 6 kids, ranging from 8 to 12 years old, poolside while they, the parents, enjoyed a late lunch on their private terrace.

The kids were atrocious, as unsupervised kids tend to be. Lord of the Flies comes to mind. They were screaming and yelling and jumping non-stop into the water with such force that we and the only other couple were intermittently soaked. It was impossible to contemplate entering the pool without risking life and limb – they had taken over.

Within minutes I turned into an indignant, self-righteous elder, bemoaning the lack of discipline and respect in today’s young parents. I tried glaring, from which I have yet to obtain a successful result – and I’ve got a pretty mean glare. I tried looking at the other couple for support…nothing. Although Joel, good tempered soul that he is, was beginning to get riled.

I lay there for a while debating with myself, the whole live-and-let-live, just-relax-it-will-pass, you-were-young-once, don’t-make-a-fuss-you-just-got-here etc., etc. But I kept coming back to, what the hell, we’re all paying guests here, we have a right to the pool, too, and frankly if you want to let your kids scream all afternoon take them to the public pool or the beach, but not to a small inn deep in the tranquil countryside. I was encouraged by Joel who, after 45 minutes said, I’m giving it another 5, then I’m going to the front desk.

I hate confrontation. I hate having to ask for fairness. I want everyone to behave in a decent, kind manner, which is pretty rich when I think back to some of my outlandish drunken episodes of a couple or three decades ago. When did I become so perfect? Besides, what if they tell me to f—k off, or worse, tell “everyone” what an old biddy I am? Well guess what? I am an old biddy, and I’ve looked forward to reaching an age when I can reprimand young people for their selfish behavior.

So, I’m lying there rehearsing my opening salvo to the parents when I see the 2 older boys ripping vines off the wall and shoving them into a run-off from the pool. Armed now with their criminal behavior – an accusation so much more persuasive than, “Your kids are too noisy,” I went in search of their parents whom I found on their terrace, nicely rested from a leisurely, kids-free lunch complete with wine.

I zeroed in on one of the mothers who, with a ballsy stare, confirmed that oui, les enfants terrible belonged to them. I informed her of the boys’ behavior and received the gaelic glare. So I took the epee and shoved it in a bit further, suggesting that ramming the pool’s filter with foliage was probably not a good idea, d’accord? And then, with pounding heart, held her stare until she blinked first and agreed to see to it. Score 1 for the old biddy. Within minutes the children were called to order and I am pleased to report that when they returned to the pool, much subdued, I had the pleasure of hearing one of the kids say to the rest, nodding in my direction, “It was the blonde one.” No mention of an old hag.

It was then that Joel seized the moment to reclaim the pool by entering it and swimming formidable laps. The kids watched in sullen silence and then, seeing that Joel was just hitting his stride, they slunk away. The next morning they were all gone and we spent a lovely peaceful couple of days in and out of the water.

As I mentioned recently, I’m reading “One Square Inch of Silence,” a book about the vanishing silence of nature. When we think of the sounds of nature we include, along with the sound of wind and waves, the sound of animal voices and we do so for the most part with pleasure. We humans are also part of the sound of nature and as such our voices too can give much pleasure, whether it is a beautifully sung aria, a mother talking tenderly to her child, or a peal of laughter.

Many years ago I lived next to a school in New York and loved the high-pitched, high-energy sound of the kids on their break. Who knows, maybe it is easier to enjoy that kind of volume when you know it is finite, or maybe part of the pleasure is that it reminds us of our own childhood….the good bits. Or maybe it’s that there is a place for everything and when sounds come from their organic place they resonate with us. When you go to a public beach you expect to hear the roar of the crowd meet the roar of the ocean, the energy seems right. When you are by small pool overlooking a Tuscan valley shared by a few paying guests you expect peace and quiet.  Aah, expectation.

Like everyone before me who has reached their later years, I am experiencing a world changed from the one in which I grew up. The loss of peace is one of the hardest for me. I grew up in an era where very few people on our street had cars. We had no refrigerator, no phone and no TV until I was 10 and then only on weekends. Think about how much “noise” is eliminated by the absence of cars, fridges, phones and TV’s. When was the last time you entered a store or a restaurant or any public place and heard no music playing?

As I sit here at my desk I hear the clickety-clack of Joel’s computer keyboard, the fan whirring, the farm’s tractor. Once the tractor stops, if I were to turn off the fan and ask Joel to stop typing, I would here the scratch of my fountain pen, the wind in the trees, the wood doves cooing. A cow might moo, a rooster crow…

So imagine our joy yesterday evening when sitting on our terrace in the tiny village of Lumpompesi, we heard the silence broken by the hooves of two horses being ridden up the narrow street.