I was horse-leading along a few lessons ago, walking Noble Steed up the barn’s drive-way, which has a black-top surface. The rider announced, “I like that sound!” meaning the 1-2-3-4 pattern of hoof falls. We use that sound, along with the kinesthetic feel of the body’s sway at the walk, to cue especially auditory learners into the rhythm and sensation of riding a “sound” horse (sorry).
Um, whatever. I like that sound too! I was in Melbourne, Australia (go if you ever get the chance), on the other side of the world from all that is dear and familiar to me, and feeling homesick. Then I heard the rhythmic beat of shod hooves on asphalt, clip-clop, clip-clop right there in the middle of the city. A couple of police horses were out on patrol, and just the tattoo of their hoofbeats settled my feathers and made me feel less of a stranger to my surroundings.
I’ve been adding sound to my end of day ritual, in the form of ten or fifteen minutes of usually instrumental music. My playlist is pretty trite: The Goldberg Variations, Bach’s Air on a G String. The Prelude to Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in C major. The Maple Leaf Rag, Solace. The second movement from Beethoven’s Pathetique Sonata. Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 in E-flat major. These are calm, mostly lyrical old friends from my way back youth, when I had some musical proficiency. Like the sound of equine hoof beats, they soothe and please me regardless of context.
My daughter’s voice is a heart-sound I don’t hear enough, though some of it comes through in her texts. The voices of close friends and family, the sound of Travis the Cat purring me to sleep, the slow song of crickets in September, the morning aria of the robin coming through my bedroom window in Spring.
I may lose my hearing someday. My mother did, and the prognosis for me is not exactly cheerful, but for now, I have these heart-sounds in my treasure house, and my hope is, if I can appreciate them thoroughly enough, I might still have them even if my hearing disappears. For right now, they have become a conscious part of my daily self-fortification routine and a source of pleasure and joy that I can have for free, no subscription fees apply.
What are your heart sounds? Do you get to hear them enough?
Oh, gosh, I’m just the opposite. I don’t like a lot of background sound and I told my audiologist (yes, I already have my hearing aids) that hearing was the sense I’d probably miss the least. That doesn’t mean I don’t love music because I do and I have an app on my phone with all sorts of sounds, nature and others, on it. But I use that app only to keep me from hearing the loud music from my backyard neighbors. I think I mostly self-soothe by reading and escaping into someone else’s life (doesn’t sound very healthy but I think it’s true).
Karen, I’m a bit like you. For me there is no such thing as a background sound. I don’t understand how people tolerate having the TV on “in the background,” or have their playlist going all day as they do other stuff. I would go nuts… at the end of the day, I listen to my faves, I don’t do anything else at the same time. I listen. Period.
Who doesn’t appreciate the cadence of horses walking? I don’t even ride, but if I hear that sounds it Hass my immediate attention. I lost my dad this past April, but Daddy’s voice is definitely a heart sound to me. Along with the Astros play-by-play voice of my youth. If fall asleep listening to Gene Elston’s voice in the summer. When I hear a clip of his voice in a play back, it brings happy tears. Music-wise, anything by Burt Bacharach always makes me happy. (Showing my age, for sure!)
Looking forward to Hope on Friday!
Bacharach’s stuff was such a nice counterpoint to loud, thumping, insistent rock n roll, and most of it was both musically well crafted and touchingly sentimental. There’s a reason his work was wildly popular.
Heart Sounds, what a great concept! I have no musical talent but I love it. My local classical station serves as my background. The commentators explain things in-between plays and I love the learning. That is the station I leave on when I have to leave my dogs for a long period of time. I love them totally, but the kitty purring against my chest to put me to sleep is something I really miss.
My families voices are also heart sounds now that you mention it. I even love a good text as you mentioned it Grace.
To that list I will add, rain on the roof, waves against the shore, and wind in the trees. My secret wish is to move back east and live in sight & hearing of a big lake and amongst the trees.
There’s a place on northern PA called Cedar Run, so small it hardly qualifies as a town. The mountains form a natural bowl along a bend in one of the forty zillion pine creeks (the creek is about fifty yards wide), and I have never heard “wind in the trees” quite like I have there. It’s big, even at breeze speeds, and majestic and imposing.
There used to be Environment records. We had the Rain and Thunderstorm, Waves, and either Wind or Forest. It was nice to play in the evening after a busy day at the ofice.
I have always been very noise-sensitive, but with my chronic illness I am now super intolerant of virtually all noise. Sometimes I’ll get a song stuck in my head, but I can no longer listen to the actual song to “scratch that itch” so I have to imagine the song playing. It’s been an interesting process to struggle through.
I was told to sing a song that had become an ear worm. I think that moves it to a different place in the brain than if you’re actually hearing it or imagination hearing it. This illness is requiring all sorts of new skills of you!
The sounds of my childhood were the mill whistles, fog horns and jet engines. They still mean home, although the mill whistles and fog horns are mostly silent. Even the jet engines are quieter, although that might be my hearing.
My family and extended family is musically gifted. As one of the lesser lights I was encouraged to try harder which limited my enjoyment somewhat. My preference now is for voice or live piano. I’d rather hear something out of key than something over-produced without emotion. I want to hear the story…. (and, Grace, hear the clip-clop in “Little White Donkey” by Jacques Ibert)
My mom’s later childhood was in a house in Paoli, PA. The main Philly train line ran literally through her backyard, roaring through even in the middle of the night. She loved that sound. It scares the livin’ peedywaddles out of me when we went to visit Grandma!
Chickadees in early spring, Couperin’s Les Barricades Mysterieuses, the wind off Lake Ontario in the century-old trees in back of my house, the patter of raindrops, and yes, late summer crickets. In September, my son and his girlfriend, visiting from their home in Dublin, spent time together on our back deck in the dark listening to those crickets. So relaxing, they said.
The most terrified I ever was involved hoofbeats in the night. There I was ensconced in a 14th century dorm room at a certain college at Oxford & had just overcome jet lag & the moaning sound the wind made in the boarded up fireplace that my bed rested against. So there I was, sleeping the virtuous sleep of the studious who had also exhausted herself climbing towers, exploring cobbled back alleys, & wallowing in the treasures of the Bodleian bookshelves, when I was jerked awake in the predawn hours by the distinct sound of cavalry. Jingling, snorting, an entire squad of obviously saddled, bridled, & fully tacked horses trotting at a smart pace down the High!
I leapt from my bed, raced to my tiny arrow slit of a leaded window & wrestled it open.
Nothing. No one. Not a crest, not a head toss, not a flick of a tail. Just the clear sounds of a departing squad of horses headed toward the center of Oxford at a smart trot.
Of course, being on the 3rd floor of an ancient building with narrow leaded glass windows did not lend itself to clear views. But I did NOT sleep the rest of the night for obvious reasons.
Fortunately, when I dared to broach the query in the Hall at breakfast – had anyone else had heard the ghostly cavalcade? – I learned of a local outfit bringing their rental horses in at a time of night when traffic was light with most tourists & pub crawlers tucked safe in their beds. Less hazards for the horsies & easier to ride the squad than make multiple trips through narrow ways with a horse box.
But the sound of hooves after dark cue a replay of the atavistic terror I felt alone in that ancient room.
I love to drift off to an audiobook version of a beloved book as I tend to sweet dreams as a result, even if it’s a murder mystery, etc. as my sleeping mind fills in the bits that made me love the book. Thunderstorms I adore when under a secure roof. Ocean waves, but they need to be long rollers, not fast lapping. I’m between kittehs, but purring always. And music like Secret Garden, the Piano Guys… it needs to be instrumental & andante.
Grace, there are cochlear implants for deaf people. I don’t know if they work for all kinds of hearing loss. My brother-in-law wore hearing aids in both ears his entire life and got cochlear implants just before he retired. He is very happy with them.
The rain. I immediately go to a room upstairs where I can listen to it on the roof. I also love the sound of the wind or the sound of thunder in the distance. A hot cup of tea on a stormy day and I’m in my happy place. No other sound needed.
Fingers crossed that you keep your hearing. Did your mother lose all of her hearing? I’ve lost about a third of mine and so far, it hasn’t progressed.
I don’t listen to much – I read instead, but I enjoyed reading your playlist. I did some vocal la-la-laing since I used to play the piano decades ago, and played some of those songs.
Dear Grace, A beautiful choice of music. I looked up the word trite. These pieces may be well used but that is surely for a reason. One of the pieces I go to is the first movement of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony, very calming. I hope you will always enjoy enough hearing to enjoy Music.
Kind regards.
The coo of mourning doves takes me to several places in my memories. All good.
Like Elizabeth, I love the sound of the rain, but even more the sound of the waves on the shore. So soothing and relaxing. I’m smiling just thinking about them.
Reply to Beth: Wow! What an experience!
Late in life, I’ve realized I am very particular about sounds. I don’t leave aTV or radio on all day. Living in a rural small town, it’s by nature quite quiet, only the occasional whiny of a house next door to break the silence.
But because I sing in a local choral society, I often have mental songs going through my head. Right now, they are all Christmas songs, as we get ready for a December concert. “Past three o’clock” and Rudser’s “What sweater music can there be?” are two I’m enjoying today.