Ahhhh, Saturday. The weekend. The break between one work week and the next. A chance to … to … to what?
Around here, it’s a chance to play a game of Scrabble with Gay while the kids hang with dad in the garden, pitching in with the yard work … or pretending to … while a relaxed and quiet atmosphere prevails.
Or not.
Today, not only did we have the now-constant racket of puppies a-whinin’ and a-howlin’ and perpetually-hungerin’ loud enough to beat the band somewhere in the upper octaves, these often ear-splitting wails were accompanied by the whine-whirl, vroom-vroom of weed-wacker, the deeper bass growl of chain saw, with assorted power tool embellishments.
Yes, it was men-doing-stuff day, and in my world that means NOISE.
From eight o’clock this morning until about fifteen minutes ago I could, almost literally, not hear myself think. Three men doing stuff … cutting the grass, building something, propping up the banana trees, getting the kennel ready for the puppies to move off the verandah … can make my Saturdays a practice in concentration, a day-long search for a quiet moment, wistful wishing that I still owned a mouth guard so I could take some measure to keep my teeth from rattling out of my head.
Our house is a work in progress, so some Saturdays include carpentry work. Our garden is over an acre of lush growth, so the grass needs cutting and shrubs need pruning and coconuts need picking up. Mark’s list of chores never seems to get any shorter, so there’s always something that needs doing, and just about everything requires some piece of equipment with a motor attached to do it.
There’s an hour lull for lunch … Didn’t I just clean this kitchen? … when the machines are switched off and the mouths on. With the conversation completely in Creole, I don’t spend any time trying to listen in, not that I’d need to strain my ears. Three Seychellois men munching down fried mackerel and baked breadfruit somehow manage to carry on conversation without pause and seem to crank up the volume with every bite. The talk must be engrossing, as there’s not even a second’s let up, but whenever I ask Mark what all the yack was about, like an evasive teen his answer is always, “Nothing.”
Lunch over, it’s vroom, growl, whine all over again, and seeming even louder for the absence.
Knowing that think time would be limited, I opted to clean the shelves in my kitchen, so instead of something deep and interesting for the last NaBloPoMo Saturday post, you get this.
A thought, though, before I go …
If women worked with power tools more than men did, do you think we’d make them quieter?
A collection of my short stories:
I'm in this one, too ...
And I'm in here, as well ...
Paradise Preoccupied 
The power tools I use keep getting quieter thanks to innovation:
My new dishwasher is a whisper compared to my last.
My icemaker doesn’t wake the house when the ice drops like my last one did.
I used to have a microwave with a “mute” option (I loved that).
My vacuum is pretty loud but it could suck a golf ball through a garden hose, so I’m willing to put up with the noise in exchange for the clean it gives me.
In answer to your question – Yes, I believe power tools would be quieter if women worked with them more. BUT I also believe that men need their tools to be loud because they are afraid of not having their efforts acknowledged:
“If she doesn’t hear me working, she won’t believe I did.”
Silly critters, men.
The men folk around here are like most guys, talk loudly about nothing when it is just the guys. I didn’t notice just how loudly they all jabber until I brought Ella home and she would jump out of her skin when they would start talking!
A recent 2 year old “gentleman” caller to our house upon leaving scanned the garage and then said “chain saw.” Satisfied that we had the necessary equipment, he waved goodbye.
Please note that Ella beat him into tears during the play date. Shame on her – he was a sweetie.
Would women have quieter tools?
You better believe it – how else could we talk and work at the same time?
I’m SO glad you are doing daily blogs this Na Pl…blah blah month.
I heart the idea of Mark sweating outside in the yard:)
L.
Reading your blog is always a joy. It transports me. I feel like I’ve been on holiday.