Listening to the quiet

My VT sister in law has just left, having stayed here overnight on her annual visit. (She's the one I hooked on making jewelry, and now her pieces outshine mine in size and scope.) We had lunch, talked beading, ate dinner with my husband out on the screen porch, and talked about people, teaching, families, health care, how things have certainly changed over recent years. This morning, breakfast was more of the same: beverages, food and talk. And more talk. Rather, I listened quite a bit and offered a sentence here and there. A visit to my bead lady under our belts, we returned to the homestead for lunch and...you guessed it...more talk, this time about places in VT that my husband knew and their history up to the present, including their connection with sis in law. Lunch over, she gathered her things and new purchases, and she headed westward.

This current experience reminds me, as I sit in the near silence consisting of the drone of two fans running in my vicinity, that many people who find themselves living alone and have little contact with others need to talk when they have an audience. Phone calls from one of my relatives who lives alone and who doesn't get out much typically last an hour or more, and my husband can tell she's on the other end because at least 80% of my speech consists of, "Oh?" and "Uh huh." He also has a sibling who's retired and who "can't seem to stop talking" when he phones him to check up on him. "He never used to talk this much!" my spouse observes after each telephone session as he rubs his ear to get back the circulation.

Because so much of my career time - teaching and selling jewelry and notecards - involves conversation, speaking with and listening to people, and because at heart I'm an introvert, I cherish my quiet time. When I've been alone and then I'm with someone else, the conversation can overload my senses. I make a conscious transition from listening to my own thoughts to sharing the airspace with my companion, and sometimes I'm not terribly quick about it. Thankfully, my husband understands this quirk of mine. He often eases into talk when he returns home - unless it's something about his cross country or track teams - and he gives me space to spend in relative quiet, not taking offense at this need of mine. I'm a lucky gal.

So right now, I'm at peace, the monotonous voices of the fans keeping me company. Their kind of noise I can enjoy any time.