I wouldn’t want to leave the impression that I’m a total noise grouch. This place is normally quiet and most people are considerate and cool. And there are lots of sounds that I love, to say nothing of music per se. One of my favorite sounds is the chime of this clock, which lives in my living room.


Kind of a crappy picture, but I didn’t want to use a flash. Anyway, it belonged to my grandfather, and it was made in 1870 and it sounds beautiful. It sat on the mantle of their living room for years before I was even born, and now they’re gone and it’s here with me. I like to hear it tick but especially its very simple, homey chime; so much so, that I often mute the TV, close my eyes and listen.

It reminds me. Lets me believe in a time and place where I was safe, where there was this clock keeping the hours until dawn, ticking with the sound of Grandma’s steps on the kitchen floor and Papa’s snoring, and the only worry I had – if you can call it that – was the abject anticipation of a sleigh impacting on the roof. So can you blame me for cherishing not silence but peace?