I write this surrounded by packing boxes. Most of them are full. And in between packing boxes, life goes on. Children are taught in the schools I’m in. Rehearsals are happening for the next concert. Yoga is practised (although I have to admit, I’m tired) and taught. And in between I’m packing up my life.
Long-suffering-husband and I have lived in the same house for 8 years, and for the most part, we’ve loved it. It’s a beautiful house, made of sandstone. I have a beautiful room in which to practise, and a great veggie patch out the back. It’s in a great location. We have fabulous landlords that leave us alone. So why are we moving?
It’s funny that two musicians living in a house are not the noisy people, isn’t it? It’s the noise from our neighbours. Shouting. Constant shouting. Adult to adult. Child to child. Adult to child. Child to child-across-the-street. There’s tantrums that would win at least a Logie, if not an Oscar. Sometimes I think that something genuinely has happened to one of the kids, like a limb has been amputated. But no.
There’s also industrial noise. Grinding of motorbikes that are being restored. And spraying of something that smells so awful I get headaches. Paint? Glue? Varnish? Who knows.
As someone I spoke to said ‘It’s human-ing at it’s worst.’ Yep. It’s hard not to want to totally remove yourself from society. Is everyone that thoughtless? It’s been hugely upsetting. It’s been hard to practise. It’s made me feel anxious and incredibly angry.
The good news? We have a beautiful house to go to. It’s quiet. We even know the neighbours. It has a dishwasher (our house, not the neighbours. Actually, they have one too…). We’re moving soon. But right now, surrounded by boxes and dealing with noise and paint smells, things aren’t all beer and skittles.
But it’ll be over soon.