For as long as I can remember, Saturday mornings have been special…a respite from either school or work. I often have lots to do on Saturday, but those first few moments on Saturday morning–when you wake up on your own and not because an alarm clock is blaring inches from your head–those moments are sacred.
When you live in a neighborhood, even one with big yards like ours, you have to respect the rights of those living around you. You pick up your dog poop, you maintain your property and you observe the sanctity of Saturday morning.
Today, at 7:15 a.m., my neighbor decided to fire up the weedeater. It’s spring, and my windows are open. He might as well as fired off a shotgun. So I was jarred awake by his rudeness. This isn’t the first time he’s done this. Once it was a leaf blower at 6:10 a.m.
I would really like to know what makes him think that operating power tools at that time of day is acceptable behavior. It’s not like I was going to lay in bed until noon. I would’ve been up soon anyhow. But under my own power, not his.
I called his house. When I asked his wife if she didn’t agree that 7:15 was a little early for weedeating she equivocated and said that it wasn’t too early for him. He stopped for a while, but was back at it by 8:30…still too early if you ask me.
The thing about noise is that it knows no boundaries or property lines. Noise skips around corners, climbs up stairs and trickles into open bedroom windows.
My sister theorized that he was just getting back at us for torching our yard few weeks ago.