The Noisies

 I walked to Parc Bercy today. It's near Gare Lyon.  I saw it on a map so I figured I'd walk over there.  Wowza.  The place is incredible, even in this wintry time.  Fountains, and ducks, pansies and labyrinths and a small vineyard. There's a movie theater nearby designed by our own Frank Gehry. Some French kids had their gym class in part of the park and had to run around a rectangular path.  The same path I happened to be walking on.  As small groups passed, we smiled and said, "Bonjour."  When a group of boys approached they started singing loudly. I had to smile at them, but their teacher, across the rectangle, yelled out for them to pipe down.  The boys ignored him and acted like they couldn't hear.  When they got around to his spot, quiet descended on the park once again.  I felt for the boys and I felt for the teacher too.  They were adorable, but there are limits to free-for-alling in shared spaces. 

Husbandman and I enjoyed listening to the workers drywalling the hallway during our lunch time.  They were so noisy in their language which I took to be some kind of eastern European number.  Or maybe Russian. Their laughter was nearly constant and surprisingly uproarious, considering their task was drywalling. During lunch, it was impossible not to laugh when the sounds of their riotous cackling filled our apartment.  After lunch, when we were trying to work, the cackling wasn't as much fun.  Husbandman opened the door and asked for quiet and they cooperated, despite the language barriers.  I would never have opened the door and asked for quiet.  It's just not my way. Sometimes I think I'm slightly too wimpy, but at least I'm not as keyed up about noise as Patricia Highsmith who serendipitously wrote about noisy people in a book that I'm reading now.  I'll share her words thusly: 

"I do not understand people who like to make noise, consequently I fear them, and since I fear them, I hate them. It is a vicious emotional cycle."