The music of life
The basement is filled with music at odd times: drums, piano, guitar, saxophone, clarinet, even the occasional sound of trumpets. The sounds are punctuated with song and laughter, steps running up and down stairs, and scents of baking, of pizza or other, odder concoctions. I sit in the upstairs livingroom and enjoy the sounds of happy life and activity from a discrete distance. Listening, I understand something about why my mother is so unhappy about her empty, quiet house. Large houses need sounds like these, sounds and scents and footsteps, doorbells ringing and the vibration of the bass notes through the floor, sudden flurries of happy voices as a couple of longlegged teen-agers run from downstairs to the computer, or pay a quick visit to the refrigerator. Did I mention I love having my kids around?