Silent in the Morning

Everyone maligns the Grinch who stole Christmas. As far as I can see all he wanted was a little peace and quite from his noisy neighbors. It doesn't seem like too much to ask.
What he really needed was a 6.5-foot tall, 264-feet long fence running along the Who's property. That, however is another story. One likely to be written by author Peter Abrahams in the near future from the restored quiet of his garage.
Seeking a little quite myself, on Sunday I set out to weed the garden after a nine-day vacation-induced absence. I foolishly brought H and C along.
The best thing about gardening is the zen-like practice of weeding. Isn't doing any mindless task zen like? Or do we just tell ourselves that in order to feel better about having to do mindless things. If household chores resulted in zen-like clarity of thought our Puritan forefathers would have brought statues of Buddha with them from the Old World instead of Bibles.
Anyway, there was no time to contemplate any of that because C was talking, talking, talking, in my ear the whole time.
"What happens when you steal something?"
"What if you're only six?"
"Who would see you?"
"How do you get caught?"
It was just like the time we drove by Amber Wave's former location and he mused about how he might tunnel under the store and break in despite my reminder that there wouldn't be anything to steal once he got inside.
"Maybe there would be some shelves left."
I don't know why he's so obsessed with petty crime.
Several nights later he told me he'd been working on his routine to divert audience attention while performing magic tricks, namely the disappearing handkerchief trick. He plans to spin a little tale about how angry his mother's going to be if he loses her "favorite scarf" while he works the false bottom of the magical velvet bag.
"I'm very distracting," he said proudly.
You're telling me.
H and I were picking blueberries up at Coonamessett on Monday, which would have been a quiet, peaceful, activity except for the farm's new alarm, strategically placed mid-blueberry field to scare off birds. The noise was deafening. I assumed the screeching noise was the war cry of a large bird of prey. It sounded like a pterodactyl.
Later we learned that it was the cry of a bird in distress, meant to frighten off other birds.
A pterodactyl in distress.
But of all the noises that can drive one crazy, is there anything more annoying than a single fly, buzzing through your otherwise silent house at night?

song: Silent in the Morning • artist: Phish