Yesterday I confessed my intense hatred of wind chimes, so today I thought maybe I’d explain that a little. First, if you are a lover of wind chimes, please don’t be offended. It’s not personal. (Unless you move to my neighborhood and try to hang them. Then it’s personal.)
I was never attacked by rogue wind chimes as a child. I don’t believe they ever played a part in the ending of a past life, either. I simply despise them because they’re noise. Just noise.
Let me ask this—what would happen if I stood outside of your house in the middle of the night and clanged a bunch of metal spoons together? Or maybe rattled a bunch of wooden sticks? More than likely you would grow tired of it and call the police, who would charge me with a noise disturbance.
That’s all wind chimes are—metal or wooden (usually cheap metal) items tied together for the sole purpose of making a racket.
Do you find clanging metal or rattling wood soothing? Not so soothing you hang them from your bedroom ceiling fan, do you? No, you exile these soothing noisemakers to the outdoors, where you inflict their cacophany of sound on your poor, frazzled neighbors.
As I was drafting this post, Jaci Burton told me she loves wind chimes. And that’s okay. Because she’s my friend? No. Because she lives 1570.39 miles away from my bedroom window.