Sunday, June 15, 2014

Stories Told by Mack Trucks and Planes Sooth the Recesses of My Heart


Certain sounds have always drifted throughout my nomadic mind only to penetrate the depths of my memories and bottomless soul.  They either bring me back to places I’ve traveled to or as far back as to my childhood.  Waking up early in the morning while the world is still sleeping on this side of the horizon has become a ritual for me over the last several years.  The sky’s dark, shaded arms still reach above the hemisphere while hugging the remainder of an endless dome of stars.  As the sun slowly reaches out to touch what is left of the moon, the darkness drifts back behind an epic light making its way back from the other side of an unknown part of the world to me.
 
While I sit and bask in the wonder and painting of this magnificent miracle taking place right outside of my window around 5 am, this is when I hear them… the cars and trucks scattering down a highway not too far away from my house.  The sound of their tired tires treading along the road echoes throughout the trees and hills while landing right outside of my window; sending warm remembrances of my youth straight to the right side of my brain. 

 

The whispers of Mack Trucks are my favorite.   Their adventures and journeys flutter along the passing by of one another as they are driven to some distant destination.   I remember being around four years old and living with my grandparents after my mother and Daddy C had separated for the first time and hearing the conversation of trucks… or at least imagining I did.  We had moved in with my grandparents since my mother was a single mom of two and dropped out of college when she became pregnant with me. 

I was never a good sleeper growing up and often found myself lying next to my grandparents or mother when I had bad dreams and ghostly apparitions.  My grandparents’ house was in the heart of Camden, New Jersey, and built in the early 1900s.  Before Camden had become shaken and stirred with drug addicts, crime and people who destroyed this once, beautiful town, its spirit resonated throughout the compassion and communication between one neighbor to the next and ultimately; one friend to another.  This house was extremely haunted but I will save those stories for October.
 

At night, when I couldn’t sleep well while living with my grandparents, I would climb into their Queen bed and snuggle in between them.  Sometimes, when my sister, who was two and a half at the time, noticed I wasn’t in our bedroom with her, she would mosey on down the hall and pull herself up on the bed with us.  And there we were; four bears in the bed… so the little one said.  (That one was for you mom).
My grandparents’ bedroom had one of those large, circular front windows with three long rectangular smaller ones making up one big oval.  In the summertime, we would sleep with all of the windows open.  And yes, we are still talking about Camden, New Jersey.  Back then, you could sleep with your windows open without having to worry about someone climbing through them and murdering you. 

 
As the softness of the wind and the noises of the night eroded from the highway right through the portals of my mind, I heard the sound of the Mack Trucks come bustling softly in throughout the night.  The sound of their tires zip-lining down the road would bring a soothing to my aching soul and I didn’t realize, at the time, how much I would come to love and attach myself to those very noises.  These were the only sounds other than bedtime stories and my mother’s delicate voice which provided enough solace and warmth to secure my childlike dreams.

So when the day was done and I was left with the imprints of Mack Trucks making their way across state lines and beyond, I felt at peace with the world and ultimately; my little self.  After my mom married my step-father and we moved out of the heart of New Jersey, we shifted ourselves to a new city which provided even more noises throughout the night.  Not only did I hear Mack Trucks passing by, but I was introduced to the treasures of airplanes as they flung themselves off into the air and right over our heads leaving from the Philadelphia airport and venturing off to some exquisite island or unfamiliar continent.
 
 
By this time, I was six years old and began to depend on the silent whispers of big tire tracks on trucks treading off the highway and massive wings of air planes swimming across the sky.  I’d hug my pillow and lift my head up and notice how my sister was delicately lost and silent in her dreams.  We always shared a bedroom growing up until my parents managed to make enough money to move us out of the cities and into a small suburban town.  There, I no longer heard the sounds of Mack Trucks and slowly learned to depend on silence, the shadows of hundreds of secretive trees and darkness to fall asleep.


The town I reside in now is a couple of miles shy of the highway and a small, local airport where personal and company airplanes take off.  Still, all the same, the sounds which carry on outside of my window and straight to the right side of my brain bring me back to my childhood and the warmth of protection and feeling that the whole world is in my hands.  When you are a child, the world seems as vast and carefree as our dreams and imaginations take us to higher places and childlike musings.  We didn’t have a worry in the world other than playing with our friends, where we would build our forts, and what games and adventures were going to make up.

When I’m lying in my bed now, gazing out into the infinite, dark sky, listening to the distant commercial planes from an even bigger airport about 20 miles away, my mind drifts off to tropical places and distant lands I haven’t ventured to yet and am not sure if I ever will.  I think about places like Cairo, Medjugorje, Tokyo, Bali, Rio, the coast of Thailand and South Africa and wonder to myself; what are the people doing there and where are their devises and desires taking them at this very moment? 
 

 

Like all creatives, my mind is constantly thriving on the unimaginable and coincidently, the imaginable.  Both go hand in hand when you’re a writer.  My brain depends on the musings and recollections of my childhood and all of the things I thought were true and have learned and are still learning about throughout the years.  My untamed thoughts frolic beyond the meadows of the paintings I’ve managed to hold onto in my mind.  My fingers get lost and tangled in my mother’s long blonde hair as I look over to my desk at her graduation portrait and feel the warmth of her memories engulfing me and soaking me in the decadence of my adolescence. 
 

 
 
Between the airplanes and the Mack Trucks, my reflections and longings for distant shores bounce back and forth from the mind and heart.  They rock my soul and jolt every creative chord being strung throughout my body.  I am a puppet where sensations and sounds like these are my masters.  The world is an audience for all that I am made of and a plateau for the stories I am destined to create and consciously, or subconsciously, breathe life into.

 
What about you?  Are there certain sounds that bring you to different places in your life?  Are there any noises or musical tunes you like to listen to when falling asleep or being creative?

35 comments:

  1. What a beautiful story! I have to admit, I was surprised to read that you like the sound of Mack Trucks interrupting your otherwise serene morning experience. But when you explained why, it made perfect sense. Can't wait to read your ghost stories in October.

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  2. Most people are surprised I love listening to the sounds of Mack Trucks drive by. I guess it's not as loud as one would expect since it's more like an echoing of their tires treading down the road... it's quite comforting... almost like a lullaby. At least, this is the way it makes me feel=)
    I will be looking forward to sharing those stories with you in October, Stephanie!

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  3. When I was growing up we always had a ton of crickets chirping at night. My mom hated it but it sounded like home to me and I still love the sound today.

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  4. Crickets are nice to hear, too, Kelly. They remind me of summertime and sleeping with all of the windows open with the cool, rapturous, summer breeze.

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  5. Ahh, what a beautiful post. Thanks so much for sharing it, Gina. And the pictures were perfect. Hugs

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  6. Sandra, I'm so happy you enjoyed it:) Hugs!

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  7. This is so beautiful, Gina. I felt like I was in that house with you. The house I lived in following my divorce I could hear the trucks on the highway. I actually didn't mind the noise and it was a little muffled in winter with all the snow. In summer it was a bit noisier. I like to listen to the pattern of sound. Lots of noise, then no noise for a moment then one truck...for some reason it always mesmerized me while lying in bed at night. Your writing is lovely!!

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    1. Thank you so much for your sincere thoughts, Lisa. I really appreciate them=)
      I'm glad I was able to bring you into my grandmother's house with me. Whenever I hear the sound of trucks on the highway, I am taken right back to them days... everything seemed much simpler during those days. But then again, I feel much more at peace with myself nowadays.
      Thank you for sharing!

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  8. Mack trucks and airplanes! It's amazing what can bring us back to our childhood. Believe it or not, the sound of a train whistle does it for me. I grew up in a house that was right across from a rail road track, and my family and I would sit on the porch for hours, drinking coffee (and gossiping!) and when the train would pass we couldn't hear each other so we'd have to shout. Hearing that always reminds me of my childhood. Thanks for sharing!

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    1. In just this short paragraph, Quanie, I could picture you being on your porch and hearing the train whistle. Especially after reading your novel (which I loved and everyone should read "It Ain't Easy Being Jazzy"), I definitely get the feel of your childhood as it resonates from your writing=)

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  9. Gina, Encore, Encore, didn't want it to end, I wished for more! That's an author. You are there. No doubt in my mind. And the soft chirping of the crickets always takes me back to great grammy's house, rear bedroom overlooking Cedar cemetery. Well I'll also have to save that one for an October comment! Even when you writing from that beachfront home that you will someday have, I hope that you will continue with your blog, for all of us, who so thoroughly enjoy them. Love, mommy

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  10. Mommy, you are too sweet. I can't ever say it enough but thank you for reading my blog posts. Words will never justify how blessed and grateful I am to have you still here, with me, as I continue forward on the journey I have created and God continues to help pave for me.
    Ahh, grammy's house next to the cemetery.. I do remember it well. I am going to have some frightening tales to tell this October!
    And don't worry... I will always be blogging away and sharing stories.. whether I'm sitting outside of my beachfront property or here in my cozy condominium. Writing engulfs much of my heart these days so I carry it along with me everywhere I go=)
    Love you, too!

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  11. Wonderful storytelling, Gina. I can hear and picture those soothing, humming trucks and even the planes nearby. Great connection to how it comforted you as a child, as you yourself travelled about within and without and had your own treks and journeys.

    As for myself, I have to say that I don't really have anything that takes me back to childhood. No sights, or smells or sounds. Not that I had a bad childhood, but I just didn't connect to much. I was born and raised in the same city I live in now, and l guess it all sounds the same. I know some folks who can recall grandma's clanging jewelry or the smell of wood burning fires, or the crunching of Uncle Jake's tobacco bag, etc. but growing up was just...plain. lol. I think it probably says more about my state of mind (clueless!) growing up than anything else.

    Anyway, this was a lovely piece...as per usual. You are really in touch with a lot, and it just seems to be a gentle and tranquil place. What a wonderful thing to witness :)

    Hope you're doing well!

    Paul

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    1. Thank you, Paul. It's strange how much our wants and desires become more peaceful as we grow and continue to flood our minds and hearts by embracing the world around us... sober.
      My mother and I have had long conversations about this lately... how the journey is constantly changing; in a more meaningful way. Certain memories, sounds and needs tickle my soul in a way I never imagined. And even when I take a deeper look into my surroundings, they are so much more significant now.
      I guess when I hear the sounds of Mack trucks and planes, they bring me back to an age of innocence; a time where the entire world was anew and I had nothing but hope and love for my kin and myself. And strangely, this is where I am ending up now.
      I'm doing well and I hope you are finding happiness in everything within your life, my friend!

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  12. Whew! I found your blog. Had to Google you; you need to add a link to your Google+ page. LOL

    I enjoyed reading this. It reminded me of sounds I heard as a child. I didn't hear the highway when I was at my mat. grandmother's. She lived in the country, so nothing by silence broken by the rooster's crow in the early morning. But the home I grew up in was near a main freeway. In the early morning hours, when everything was quiet, I could hear the distant hum of the big rig tires even with the windows closed.

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  13. I love this, Melissa.. "the distant hum of the big rig tires even with the windows closed." I was trying to picture the tires going down the highway when I wrote this piece and humming would have been a great way to describe their affect on me.
    Uh, so sorry about not having a link! I have to figure this out now. Any suggestions? I'm not very tech savvy, lol
    Thanks for finding me!

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  14. Gina, Another excellent post that had me conjuring memories of days gone by. I, too, grew up in Camden. When I moved out of the city in 1977, and, relocated to WIlliamstown, I had difficulty falling asleep at night because it was too quiet. To this day, I sleep with a fan running, just to have noise in the background. In addition, I find certain smells to be a trigger of my past memories. As a child, waking up and smelling liver sausage(ugh) told me that my Dad's brothers had come-by for breakfast and I would find Mom cooking it downstairs. The same was true with anchovies, which she would fry with eggs and which I avoided at all costs. Now, certain odors, good and bad, can open the memory floodgates. Your point is well-made. No matter the memory, good or bad, we wrap ourselves around the positive feelings that we receive from them. Keep the posts coming, I admire your spirit, intelligence and maturity!!!

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    1. Well, thank you so much for your admiration, John. Truly, I don't know what to say... so kind of you=)
      I, too, found it hard to fall asleep when all was quiet. It took some getting used to which is probably why I found myself sneaking into my mother's bed because she would rub my head until I fell asleep. The silence back then was just too strange. However, now, silence is one of the keys to searching for that inner peace inside of me.
      Ahh, the sound of fans and even air conditioners to fall asleep! Our birds (or more like our children) wake us up around 430am! It's nice to have the air running and AC on to drown out there chirps but these sounds also remind me of Wildwood days. Whenever I hear an air conditioner rumbling, it takes me right back to those little motel rooms with the small pools not so far from the mile-long beach we had to walk across to get to the ocean. Not to mention the immense boardwalk, rides and go-carts. I love what sounds and noises do to trigger our memories and musings. It's quite beautiful, isn't it?
      Thank you so much for reading and sharing your words here. I always tell my mom how much of a great deal they mean to me.

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  15. You're the first person I've ever known who likes traffic and plane noises. I live near an airport and am not a fan of having my windows rattle. But I understand how certain things can feed your imagination. I grew up in the Midwest and had a poster of the New York skyline at night. I looked at the thousands of tiny lighted windows and enjoyed imagining stories for all the people who lived behind them. I ended up living in NY for ten years. I always loved it there. :)

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    1. My windows haven't rattled since college. I went to Rutgers University which was an hour train ride to Manhattan. During my time there, my roommates and I lived in the downtown area next to the train station. At first, I hated the sound but after some while, I got used to the rattling of my window. Even now, whenever I hear a train go by, it takes me right back to our little apartment and all of the memories college life provided me.
      I can see why you miss NY, Lexa. I grew up in a small town a few hours away from the city and no one ever ventured there. I, however, had different plans and found myself driving there almost every weekend as soon as I got my license. Back then, the city was different and everything was so vivid, alive and new. I still go back for dinner from time to time and the skyline always provides such a magnificent portrait=)

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  16. I'm very sensitive to sound. Always have been. Learning how to sleep while living in NYC was an interesting adventure. As far as music goes, I have certain songs that define time periods. Every time I hear them they take me right back to the moment and emotion first associated with them. Other sounds though, not so much.

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  17. Songs do the same thing for me, too, Crystal. I think creatives are even more sensitive to sounds and songs because they allow us to reflect or embellish in our writing. Music triggers my deepest thoughts and it provides inspiration for a lot of my work. Thanks for sharing!

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    1. Agreed, but I'm also a composer, so there's slightly different angle on that. My world is defined by music. =)

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    2. How interesting! You know... they often say composer's are geniuses as well. I admire you for your creativity and astounding work=)

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  18. Such beautiful proses. When I read blogs like this, I'm inspired. The photos are stunning, the words make me feel hopeful. I live on a lake. It's quiet. Sometimes the loons will cry and I'll remember where I am.

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  19. Awe, Joylene, I am all smiles at your words regarding my meandering thoughts... thank you so much for sharing. I am happy you enjoyed my post and found my words to be hopeful. Very thoughtful and kind of you to say=)

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  20. Just stopped by to say, 'hey' Gina. Hope your weekend was fabulous.

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  21. Thank you so much, Sandra! I had a great weekend and I hope you had the same=)

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  22. Thank you, Sandra! And a happy Monday to you too:)

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  23. Hi Gina!

    I too grew up near an airport and the sound of airplanes flying overhead soothes me. I enjoyed reading about your childhood and the memories that these sounds bring.

    Nikki

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  24. Nikki, I'm currently away and I miss those sounds. It's strange how important those noises are to us and how much we need them to calm our minds and boost our creativity. I'm glad to hear you can relate=)

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  25. I like quiet when I'm sleeping and when I'm being creative. My thoughts often seem much louder then. I do enjoy the sound of tree frogs in summer, though, and the wind rustling the leaves.

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  26. I love the sound of wind rustling against the leaves. This reminds me of a cool, summer's eve and autumn... two of my favorite times to be out on the patio or taking a nice, brisk walk.
    I, too, enjoy the silence. Because I grew up with city sounds and then moved to the suburbs, I was surrounded by the best of both worlds=)
    Thanks for sharing, Cherie. I'm looking forward to reading your book this summer!

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