Writing in the Suburbs

Seriously, someone please invent a leaf blower that works quietly.

At first, there was nothing. No sight, no sound, no scent. Then I opened my eyes and the world began.

Not really. It just felt that way. It feels that way every morning. Consciousness goes away and everything stops. Then an alarm clock or your internal rhythm causes your eyes to open.

Unless you live next to the guy with the roofing contractor hammering on the house next door. When that happens, the world has begun before the eye-opening part. It is a lousy way to begin the day.

I grab a cup of caffeine and head to my laptop, intent on writing words of wisdom or at least entertainment. Pound, pound, pound. I watch the liquid in my cup shudder.

Ok, writing is a no go. I decided laundry must be my morning activity. I get a load started and begin unloading the dishwasher.

By the time my husband gets home for lunch, the roofing crew is packing up. They will be back tomorrow, but the afternoon forecast is for a quiet neighborhood and lots of writing.

We catch an old Law & Order on television and eat our microwaved leftovers. Soon my husband is headed back to work, and I am settled back at my keyboard. Where was I?

Then a new sound begins. What is that? Are the roofers back? No, it sounds like it is coming from the other side of the house.

Oh. It is a landscaping company. Someone has one of those gas blowers and is trying to get all the leaves in the yard from one side to the other.

“This won’t take long, right?” I ask one of the cats. He lays his head down to take a nap. How can he sleep with all this racket? I look for my other cat.

Her reaction makes more sense. She has run to the other side of the house and is huddled on the rug in my bedroom closet. I lean down to pet her and say “I know. Hopefully, they will be done soon.”

Maybe more coffee will help. I pour a cup. The sound is so annoying. I turn the television back on and try to drown it out. Doesn’t help with my writing but at least I can try and focus on Jack McCoy interrogating a witness. I turn up the volume. Again.

At some point, the sound finally stops. It takes a while to get back to the keyboard. Laundry has sucked me in. There was a lot of folding and hanging. My cat came out of the closet and followed me to my chair.

We sit together. I pet her and wonder what I was writing about when I was interrupted. I see a few lines typed on the screen. They make no sense.

The phone rings. Caller ID says “local call” but the area code is Denver. I let it go to voice mail. Robocall.

The cat looks at me, stands up, and puts a paw on the keyboard.

“Hey, if you can do better, go for it.”

She sits back down and licks a paw.

“That’s what I thought. Lay down or you have to get off.”

She lays down. I stare at the screen. I look down at her. I look back at the screen.

I type “My Cat is a Superspy. Is Yours?”

As I begin to tap away, gaining speed as I go, Anya settles in with a yawn and goes to sleep.

If you would like to read the story Anya helped me write, here it is: