My ears are ringing

"It's so quiet here," all the neighbors said when we were looking at homes in the area.

Apparently none of them spend much time here.

Living, as we do, right at the edge of the street, there is not much that goes on that we don't hear. People talking as they walk by. Cats protesting being left out all night to fend for themselves. The garbage truck doing its compacting thing right under our bedroom windows at 5:30 a.m.

And jackhammering, as is going on right now r-r-r-right ou-ou-outside m-m-m-my w-w-w-window.

From next door, we hear the phone ring, the vacuum buzz, the video games blast, and the radio blare. We talk in whispers ourselves, afraid that our neighbors will hear what we are planning to have for dinner.

Of course, since they are renovating the old mill near us and turning it into apartments, you expect to hear some noise. I daresay that when they're done there, I will miss the beeping of trucks backing up, although this will no doubt be replaced by 147 cars beeping and honking and revving.

The other day a young couple was looking at the house for sale two doors down. They came over as I was working in the garden.

"How do you like living here?" they asked eagerly. I could tell they were impressed with the area.

"Oh, it's so quiet," I said. "You won't hear a thing."