Solace in Ovaltine
I am sitting at the computer, sipping a cup of Ovaltine. If I am finding my solace in Ovaltine, it can't have been a very relaxing week. But coffee is brewing, too. That should do the trick.
Anyway, thinking about what I should blog about tonight, I am listening to 2am house sounds. Or I would be if it weren't for the bleating of the air compressor next door. Across the short hall, in Hannah's room, the humidifier's compressor chunks noisily. It is providing moisture for her trach/throat while she sleeps. Hannah sleeps through it, maybe comforted by the droning white noise. Next to the office, Gabriel sleeps soundly, too.
Hannah and Gabriel seem to have acclimated to the whirs and beeps of Hannah's equipment (though the compressor is, by far, the loudest). Stranger is the fact that I, too, grew up with the compressor noise.
My childhood bedroom adjoined my Dad's workshop. He finished needlecraft, making them into pillows, framed "artwork" (oh so loosely defined), and such. To do so, he ran a staple gun, powered by an air compressor. Particularly during the pre-Christmas season, when he was finishing Christmas stockings, he would work well into the early morning hours. The air compressor wouldn't run constantly, but it would flip on every ten or so minutes to refill its tank for the staple gun.
Strange that Hannah and Gabriel get to "share" my childhood experience. I'm still concerned about decibel level with this particular piece of Hannah's equipment, though. Seems to be louder than it should be.
-- Dad
