Oops! It’s My Mistake
Photo Credit: Emily Giacomini
Vacationing recently on a family reunion in my father’s mountain hometown of northern Italy’s lake district I was enjoying the church bells and old creaky floors of our BnB from the 1800s. One night I had some trouble sleeping and as I lay awake I realized there was a repetitive sound coming through my open window from the narrow street below. I counted how much time elapsed before it happened again and estimated it was about seven seconds. Over and over again. What could it be? How annoying. It sounded like a metal clang, almost as if a car were driving over a loose manhole cover that shifted each time.
No way in the middle of the night could a car be passing by that frequently though. Even in the height of “rush hour” that wouldn’t be the case in this tiny village, let alone the fact that it’s almost impossible the beat of my irritation could have been so regular with the unpredictable flow of traffic. Argh!
I contemplated leaving the comfort of my bed to creep down the steep and uneven stone stairs and across the little vine-covered courtyard, through the big heavy wood entry door without letting it bang shut, so I could stand alone in the dark street and listen for the culprit. I opted to stay in bed and bemoan the interruption.
Eventually I must have fallen asleep and in the morning after (a delicious prosciutto and cheese) breakfast as I was waiting for my parents, I saw a car drive over a manhole cover that rang out a loud clank. That must be it! I walked over and stepped on the cover to hear it resound myself. But really? The metal ring seemed familiar, yet couldn’t account for the rhythmic cadence I’d heard the night before. I reported the disturbance to my folks, along with my brother and his family. No one had any helpful ideas. Maybe I’d ask the BnB propriétaire if she knew what it might be.
The next night I prayed it wouldn’t happen again. I was prepared to go down to the street and tell off any laughing little gnome who might happen to be sitting next to the cover and poking it with a stick at regular intervals, just to keep me awake. I figured it would be worth the inconvenience to put an end to the matter.
I managed to fall asleep and then, yes I woke up again to a slight clanging sound and . . . after I’d counted a few times, I found it was persisting every seven seconds. Sigh! But wait- somehow it was slightly different than it had been the day before, a little more muffled. And whence did it come?
I directed my attention across the room toward the open window . . . could it be? No, really? Could it be the rotating fan on my desk, circling in a half-moon arc and hitting the lavender-hued wall every seven seconds so the metal caging cried out? Wow. How embarrassing. I shook my head and grimaced in relief at the same time. It’s a good thing I hadn’t mentioned it to the BnB owner. Phew! Shifting the fan an inch forward resolved the issue.
What other trouble in my life might I be causing myself? I cringe to wonder and dread to know. Yet maybe, just maybe it could be worth it to find out, if it sweetens my rest and leaves me with greater peace. Lord, show me where I’m getting in my own way. Give me eyes to see the best and worst of myself and thanks for your sense of humor along the way!