A relaxing evening of quiet reading at home. Children are behaving at their best, playing on their various electronic devices in harmony. Then all of a sudden, the silence is disturbed by drumming.
Nothing against drumming. Hey I am Pagan, I love drum circles, and I used to play percussion in my younger days (okay I am not that old, but it’s been a while). I just did not expect to be granted a first row seat – granted I am separated from the scene by the thin walls of our condo – to a jamming session.
Four hours later
The sound dies off, and I begin to hear the shuffling and conversations move toward the front of the building. Mind you it is 11 pm now, the kids and I should have been going to bed, but the drumming had kept us annoyed and awake.
I peaked out of the window overlooking the parking lot, half expecting to find younger and middle aged people to expell themselves from the tiny condo next door. Instead, I was greeted by the shuffling of walkers, and various other people whom could easily be my grandparents.
I could not help but chuckle at that sight, as I turned and went back into the living room, finally coaxing all of us to bed.
Lesson learned here: Age is nothing but a number. I admire anyone who does not allow the clock of this world to define the choices they make, despite their more advanced age. But I do hope they will schedule their next jamming session a little earlier in the day.