Writer's Haven Goes to Hell

I do most of my writing in my bedroom. I designed this house with my in-laws in mind, so we each have our own area at opposite ends of the house. From my room, I cannot hear their TV. I made our bedroom large enough for our sitting area. I have two wing-back recliners with a table between them.

When I look straight ahead from my chair, I can just barely see the neighbor's house, as the leaves are starting to fall. In the summer, I see only trees. When I look to the side, through the doors to my deck, I see pasture and more trees, sometimes goats and horses. It is a very peaceful setting... a true writer's paradise!


Beyond the pasture and woods is a bike path, which borders our property. The grandkids love that feature! Across the bike path, there was a welding shop. It was sold to some guys that cut firewood. Then it stood empty, waiting for the new owners. Well, they've moved in...

It is now home to a dance school. How nice. Apparently, the instructors believe in fresh air. Yes, they do routines outside the building. Ordinarily it wouldn't matter, since it's so far away. Ordinarily one does not associate a loud bass drum with a dance class.

At first I thought there was someone parked on the bike path with those big woofers blaring. The bass sounded like a cadence for a marching band. I thought about putting on my industrial strength earmuffs, but decided it should quit soon. It didn't.

Hubby came in from splitting wood. "How do you like having a dance place next door?" he asked.

"Is that what that is?" I yelled over the ba-da-da-DUM, ba-da-da-DUM.

He smiled. "Every Saturday."

"Oh, well. Dance classes only last for about an hour, don't they?" I guess I'll write later...