Stomp the yard, not the floor

Oh, Sunday. How I love thee. There is nothing like a Sunday afternoon; lounging on the couch and watching football. Especially when the Seahawks got the memo and showed up for the game today. And then to win, too yet! A tip of the helmet to you, Seahawks.

Today's thankful prompt is, "I am thankful for...something I hear."

Hmmmmm.....this could be a lot of things.

I'm thankful for the sound of children laughing in class. Unless it's AT me, in which case it is not so enjoyable.

I'm thankful for the sound of my dishwasher running, because that means I don't have to wash dishes by hand.

I'm thankful for the sound of my mom's voice on the other end of the phone line.

I'm thankful for music. All kinds. Except rap. I hate rap. I am not thankful for rap.

I'm thankful for the "United flight 123 to Denver is now boarding" voice over the airport intercom.

I'm even more thankful for the "United flight 456 to Sioux Falls is now boarding" voice over the Denver airport intercom.

I'm thankful for the "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have begun our final decent into Sioux Falls" voice that booms through the plane; interrupting my sleepy stupor.

I'm seeing a pattern here. I must have a visit to Iowa scheduled soon.

Anyway, I am thankful for a lot of things that I hear. But if I can only choose one, I'm going to say.....

I am thankful for white noise.


Oh the power that this little piece of plastic has over me. I can't sleep without it.

It started back in college as a way to muffle noise coming from the apartment next to us. Then it continued when I moved home for a year after college to complete my student teaching. I took a break while I lived with Uncle and Auntie here in Lynden, but the need for noise soon found it's way back when I moved into my first apartment. You know, the one in the ghetto. I needed something to suppress the sounds of late night parties, arguments in the parking lot, domestic disputes in the backyard, and the sound of gun shots ringing through the neighborhood. OK, so that last one is a bit of a stretch, but you get my drift. Communal living. It's not all it's cracked up to be, people. But I digress. I got myself a nice little fan, and I have managed to sleep like a rock the past 3 1/2 years.

Even in my current living arrangements, the need for white noise is paramount. The tenant who lives above me is NOT a quiet dweller. He makes his presence known. After listening closely and taking detailed notes of sounds heard over the past year, I've managed to narrow it down to 3 possible explanations for all the stomping:

A. He's a marching band instructor and he's writing lessons plans. With his feet.
B. He's training Clydesdales for their next Super Bowl commercial.
C. He is of Native American decent and the "Stomp Dance" is a sacred ritual celebrated by his people.

I'm really hoping it's not C. I'm not about to argue with the chief of stomp dancing. And B, well, I'm afraid of being crushed by a herd of wild, stampeding Clydesdales. As for letter A, I can take letter A. As a former member of the world renowned Rock Valley High School marching band, A doesn't scare me. I see your trombone, and I'll raise you my clarinet.

So what have we learned? Ghetto Barbie needs white noise to sleep, and she also is under the influence of the good stuff if she thinks her high school marching band was world renowned. Hey, we tried. We didn't try hard, but we tried.