Noise is the subject of today's column. I had almost decided not to write about it, but then the leaf blower started up in the courtyard.

My first thoughts were prompted by sounds from upstairs of a couple who, it seems, were doing close order drill in their bedroom between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. I have been figuring that the usual half-hour of floor creaking is telling me they're getting ready for bed. That's nice, I think, then they'll settle down and shuffle off to dreamland. But last night there were pacing and stomping and dropping things and creaking for two hours.

I know it is not their noise that is the problem. It is my reaction to it. I wasn't angry, just awake, wondering what the dickens they were doing up there.

At midnight, the ducks that live in the park were complaining about something, traffic crescendoed, with an ambulance obligato: a whole concerto of sounds I didn't want to be hearing at that hour. I got up, watched some dreadful TV for a while, and went back to bed with cotton in my ears.

The thing is, there are sounds I like: ducks; teenage young men in our new neighborhood who are loud as they pass by, bantering and teasing; leaves rustling in the wind; thunder; Ann typing furiously on her computer keyboard when she gets up early in the morning; the cats' snoring.

But, there are other sounds I don't like (I call them "noise"). And, late at night, when I lie down to sleep, or when I am concentrating on reading or writing, I want quiet. And, nothing disturbs my good opinion of myself more than when, upon hearing the sounds of boisterous life while I am meditating, I begin a litany of annoyance instead of being empty. ...To be part of the great, loud, never ceasing sound of life, or to lift myself above it.

...To recognize sounds as life announcing itself in all pitches and volumes at all hours of the day or night, or to think my life's rhythms sacrosanct.

...To be aware that there are many choices in life, and bustling around at one a.m. might not be one of them, but buying more cotton balls might be.

And, there is where I catch myself. Last night as the pace quickened upstairs, out of a half-sleep I found myself laughing as the thought popped into my head, Well, Toots, when you're dead, it's going to be quiet for a long, long time.

That thought never fails to calm me right down.

I went to sleep pretty soon after that.

-- Barbara