That’s a quote from p. 78 of The Art of Noticing (“Listen Deeply”).
Problem is: I’m not sure I can think of any.
Cicadas, I suppose. Swing jazz (like Count Basie and Benny Goodman) (because my grandpa used to play their records all the time, and I spent so much of my childhood hanging out with my grandparents). Maybe the ticking of a clock in my Great-Aunt Carmie’s house. Certain songs, for sure. These are the sounds I most remember: music sounds.
R.E.M. and Guns N’ Roses and The Beatles and my dad’s doo wop cassettes.
But it’s funny that I have no real memory of non-musical sounds. (Maybe the sound of the screen door slamming/swinging shut at my grandma and grandpa’s?)
My memory is driven by sight, by smell, a little bit by touch/feel, some taste. And songs. Lots of songs. But non-musical sound seems to be less memorable. I wonder why? I wonder if I should cultivate my sound awareness. Do more “sound noticing.”
