I-Yensch, You-Yensch

When I talk about the peace and quiet down at the farm, it's more often than not a relative thing. My house sits between an auxiliary Interstate (264) and the oldest operating commercial airfield in North America. My neighborhood is bounded by a couple of fairly busy city roads. Quiet here means light traffic, just a low background hum punctuated by occasional aircraft sounds.

At the farm, Dad always has the TV on. Just for the noise, I guess, because he's only paying attention to the thing about a quarter of the time.

I got down there around 3:30 Friday afternoon. To my disappointment, Mom&Dad had already left, but, hey, at least the dog was happy to see me. I let him in the house, fed him, and we both decided that, hey, let's take a nap. No TV, no furnace fan, just ... incredible quiet. Enough quiet that I was startled awake when the refrigerator compressor kicked on. It was glorious.

We had a couple of good walks, short and over easy terrain because I didn't want to tax his leg - arthritis, we hope and not anything more serious. He has his breed's neurosis, but he hasn't shown signs of the overgrown heart they sometimes suffer from. Such a good boy.

Easy drive back to Louisville. Laundry's started, I'm watching some Farscape. It's been a nice weekend.