For the past three Summers I’ve been house sitting in Escondido, CA. The beautiful house sits on three acres packed with colorful flowers, orange, apple, peach and fig trees. There’s a housekeeper and a gardener. I feed and brush the two large dogs. It’s very quiet here.
In La Paz, Mexico roosters and church bells are my alarm clocks. Trinidad, the newspaper hawker drives by at 7 o’clock in his old van with a loud speaker. Neighbors play Ranchero music. I shake these old hips in a Gringo version of Salsa. Mothers walk their children to school and say, “Hola, Senora”. Mexico is a country full of sounds.
In Escondido the only sounds I hear are crows, lawn mowers, and the click-click of dog’s nails on the wood floors. I’m suffering from “Too Much Quiet”…sometimes called Loneliness or Boredom.
I daily walk passed huge homes with lawns mowed in straight lines. I don’t see kids. I did see a basketball hoop above a garage door (which was probably against the CC& Rs) but no children. I’ve glimpsed enormous motor homes behind fences. Do the home owners long for human contact? Do they leave their large homes to wedge themselves into camp sites? Is it possible their temporary neighbors will offer them coffee. Perhaps their kids will play ball together. I wish I had my pup tent. I’d take the dogs camping. We’d tent close to a family. We might overhear them talk. Or watch them play a game. Maybe I’d offer them coffee.
Walking Sunday morning I passed a woman wearing a long beige skirt and heels. She said “hello”. Had she been to church? People gather there to listen to something uplifting. They sing. And afterward have coffee. It’s called “Fellowship”. Instead of camping…maybe I’ll try church.
Huffing up a hill, I noticed a weathered sign, “Lost Parrot. Reward.” And a phone number. The same sign was there last year. Have they found their pet and neglected to remove the sign? I have a talkative umbrella cockatoo. When I walk with Howlie in La Paz, locals ask “How much did she cost? Where do you live?” Afraid that someone might steal Howlie, I lie. “She was a gift. I live over there” as I wave my arm in an arc. I have empathy for owners of missing birds. Maybe, instead of going camping or going to church, I’ll call and ask if the bird was found. Who knows? They might invite me over for coffee and we can talk about parrots.
I thought of how quiet it is in Escondido, empty streets, hidden motor homes, lost parrots, Mexican roosters, church bells, salsa music, Trinidad’s loud speaker. And as I neared the house, I realized I was no longer bored; I was playing with ideas and getting ready to write this piece. Maybe I don’t need to camp, join a church or call the parrot person - I just need to write. It’s so much easier in Escondido because it’s quiet enough that I can actually hear myself think.
