Our house moans.
I don’t know what it has to complain about. Sure, there’s some dust, but it’s not like it’s abused. Official moaning confirmation occurred this morning at 9:27am when Dearly Beloved finally acknowledged it.
The moaning has been going on for a long time. It is neither loud nor constant, but if one sits on the love seat which parallels the kitchen wall and listens carefully, eventually it will happen.
The first time, I thought I’d left the radio on in the kitchen. No. Later I thought it was perhaps the sound of the bedroom radio traveling down the hall, turning left into the entry hall and through the living/dining room into the kitchen rather than making a simple right turn. My radio station selections are more apt to lean left. No…that wasn’t it either.
What the hell? Am I receiving radio signals through my fillings? Is our neighbor’s TV on full blast? Not likely and no.
During all of this time I would ask DB if he heard anything and of course that was a waste of time. Men don’t hear noises, they don’t see things that need repainting, and they don’t see spots on ceilings from leaky roofs. Anything that might possibly find its way onto a Honeydew List, men don’t see. That shouldn’t surprise anyone.
Unless the mustard jar is spring-loaded to jump into their hands when the refrigerator door opens, they don’t see that either. It is difficult for them to notice pet puke on the carpet. They cannot find phone numbers and they sure as heck aren’t going to look them up in a phone book. That’s too much like asking for directions.
Here’s what they are programmed to find: the leftover Halloween candy that accidentally found its way under the placemats in the kitchen drawer, the last apple you were saving for a fruit salad. If you are reading a book and there is one page in which someone drops the F-bomb or is having lascivious thoughts, a husband can pick up the book and open it to that particular page on the first try so that he can looked shocked and exclaim, “What are you READING???” then tell the grown kids that mom is reading dirty books again.
Hey, I’m not man-bashing. I have discussed it with friends and it is obviously a chromosome thing. Guys can’t help it.
So back to the moaning. . . and yes, it is a moan and not a creak.
I usually hear it at night but I have heard it in the daytime enough times that I don’t think there’s any set pattern. The air conditioning can be on or not, as can the television. It was really beginning to bother me. Not the noise per se–it isn’t that loud–but the noise being heard only by me. It was starting to creep me out.
This morning DB was out in the porch swing reading the paper and I heard it. I quietly went to the door and motioned for him to come in and sit beside me on the loveseat. It isn’t that I think the house is haunted, but still…I wanted him to hear that noise and I didn’t want any molecules shifting before he sat down with me.
I watched him and saw that he heard it, too. He nodded a little and listened some more.
“So what do you think it is?” he asked, then opened his eyes wide in fake horror. “Think there’s a body in the wall?”
Of course he’s joking. Yes, the contractor who remodeled our kitchen did accidentally declare war on Italy and is not above whomping somebody upside the head, but a hidden body? Nah.
So the moaning remains a mystery. It isn’t like wind whistling down a chimney, but more like King Kong watching Fay Wray in the original movie with just a touch of a fire-breathing monster adding depth.
I’d give it a 4. It doesn’t have a solid rhythm, so you can’t dance to it.
DB called out to me later from the porch swing and told me not to worry.
He’ll add it to his Honeydew List any day now.