When Alex came to stay a couple of years ago, when Kristen was pregnant with Andrew (which made her really sick), he loved to watch this series of videos: Signing Time. I still know the song, but have almost no memory of the signs except for milk (mimic pulling on a cow's udders with both hands squeezing open and shut) and cookie (hand cupped into a C, and I think you put it on your forearm--not quite sure).
I could have used a few of those signs today as I have been rendered mute by some sort of laryngitis. I could feel it coming on last night, when I talked with a very husky voice, and today the silence is complete. If I try to talk, I squeak. If I try to whisper, I remember that the Mayo Clinic's website said that does harm to the recovering vocal chords.
It's been an interesting day. I didn't realize how dependent I was on the phone, on my voice. Dave's probably in seventh heaven, as he's more of an introvert and doesn't mind lots of silence.
I generally don't mind it either, except when its forced upon me, by some random thing floating around in the air. I don't feel too bad--just a little more tired--but realize I can't do anything because that would require me to talk. Which I can't.
I have a job in my church which I've titled "The Mute Calling." It's Primary pianist and except for a pair of hands and eyes, nothing else is required of me. I am learning to appreciate the low-key calling, giving me time to rest for a season from my labors, but it is interesting to be mute at church, typically a place of lots of talk, chatter and action.
I recently read a book by Anne D. LeClare called Listening Below the Noise. She chooses one day every two weeks to be completely silent, infusing this with a spiritual quest. I liked the book, and could handle the religiousity bits. But I never thought I would like to have a day like that. I can find stillness in my life and I don't need to shut out the noise (although, again, it was an interesting read).
Apparently one challenge for writers is dealing with the silence, the constant isolation. I've read that many park themselves in the middle of a busy place, tapping away at their keyboards. They're not necessarily involved with the busy place, but let it swirl around them as they live in the fictional worlds they've created. If I ever write a novel, I can already tell I'd be one of those type of writers.
As for me, Dave's made me some chicken soup (I mimed it) and I'm headed down to eat. This ought to be an interesting meal--Dave will have to do all the talking!