I often wonder what all our wall-sharing neighbor can hear Team Thompson doing, saying, singing or thinking. Neighbor lives alone so he is inherently more quiet than we. He has no one to talk to, no one to scream “kill that bug!” to, no one to serenade from the shower, no one to listen to rants about poor work days, no one to laugh with until he cries while watching reruns of Frasier or 30 Rock.
Overall, he keeps quiet. He even sleeps in on the weekends until just one hour of daylight remains...but that’s another story for another time.
There is, however, the witching hour. It falls anywhere between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. about every other night, just as Team Thompson is tucking itself in for a long winter’s nap.
Last night was one of those nights.
We were both just about five minutes into REM sleep when I woke to a bang bang bang, hammer hammer hammer.
See, it’s our bedroom wall that butts up to Neighbor’s abode.
Bang bang bang, hammer hammer hammer. Bang bang bang, hammer hammer hammer.
It soon woke Justin. We kept still for about five minutes, just listening. I made myself a deal, saying that if he went on for an additional, and generous, five minutes more, I’d have to go over there.
Bang bang bang, hammer hammer hammer. Bang bang bang, hammer hammer hammer.
Up I got, grabbed my robe, and headed for the front door. I waited outside his door to see if the hammering would continue.
It did.
I knocked…magically in-sync with the hammering.
I knocked again…just as Neighbor started hammering again.
I knocked a third time, louder. The hammering stopped. The porch light was flipped on and it blinded me. Neighbor opened the door, just a crack, and I whispered, “we’re sleeping.”
Neighbor apologized, he is quite kind, by the way, and I replied, “ok, night night,” and went back inside.
Then JT and I lay giggling and making jokes about what it is we think Neighbor only feels fit to do after 11 p.m., or once the neighborhood is asleep.
“Maybe he’s making an armada of tiny wooden ships,” said Justin.
“Maybe he’s making small, wooden puppets that come to life in the moonlight,” said Christine.
“Maybe he’s hulling out a fallen tree to make a canoe,” said Justin.
“Maybe he’s getting started on that fence he keeps talking about,” said Christine.
This went on until we laughed ourselves back to sleep.
I wonder if he could hear that?
Overall, he keeps quiet. He even sleeps in on the weekends until just one hour of daylight remains...but that’s another story for another time.
There is, however, the witching hour. It falls anywhere between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. about every other night, just as Team Thompson is tucking itself in for a long winter’s nap.
Last night was one of those nights.
We were both just about five minutes into REM sleep when I woke to a bang bang bang, hammer hammer hammer.
See, it’s our bedroom wall that butts up to Neighbor’s abode.
Bang bang bang, hammer hammer hammer. Bang bang bang, hammer hammer hammer.
It soon woke Justin. We kept still for about five minutes, just listening. I made myself a deal, saying that if he went on for an additional, and generous, five minutes more, I’d have to go over there.
Bang bang bang, hammer hammer hammer. Bang bang bang, hammer hammer hammer.
Up I got, grabbed my robe, and headed for the front door. I waited outside his door to see if the hammering would continue.
It did.
I knocked…magically in-sync with the hammering.
I knocked again…just as Neighbor started hammering again.
I knocked a third time, louder. The hammering stopped. The porch light was flipped on and it blinded me. Neighbor opened the door, just a crack, and I whispered, “we’re sleeping.”
Neighbor apologized, he is quite kind, by the way, and I replied, “ok, night night,” and went back inside.
Then JT and I lay giggling and making jokes about what it is we think Neighbor only feels fit to do after 11 p.m., or once the neighborhood is asleep.
“Maybe he’s making an armada of tiny wooden ships,” said Justin.
“Maybe he’s making small, wooden puppets that come to life in the moonlight,” said Christine.
“Maybe he’s hulling out a fallen tree to make a canoe,” said Justin.
“Maybe he’s getting started on that fence he keeps talking about,” said Christine.
This went on until we laughed ourselves back to sleep.
I wonder if he could hear that?
1 comment:
The possibilities of what he is making over there in the middle of night are endless...maybe he's making wooden crates to store all the various produce he's growing in the yard??
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