Sawing Logs

The deep, rhythmic rumblings that sometimes accompany slumber (commonly dubbed snores) weave their way through the beloved memories of my childhood.  Though I try occasionally, I can not recall an evening when they did not sing me to sleep and it is a likely thing I was lulled into slumber by Mama's snoring while yet in the womb.  Despite the negative reputation that accompanies them, their low growls are a familiar sound which I find comforting.  Usually.

Mama had a distinct talent for producing an amusing snore, particularly when sleep found her in an upright position.  No simple sighing or wheezing was good enough for a woman who slept with such intensity that it overtook her unawares.  Instead, her lungs magically transformed into a small electric motor, which she then revved when both inhaling and exhaling. 

While enjoying a family evening of television, her head would slowly slump over her shoulder and her body would relax into a deep sleep.  Soon afterward the sounds of our talking and giggling would be overcome by her steady motoring, which would be barely audible in the beginning and gradually increase in intensity.  Sooner or later, an episode of sputtering would reset everything and the cycle would start all over again.  For some reason, Mama was ashamed of her talent and vehemently denied its very existence until her death, much to the rest of the family's amusement. 

Daddy was much more assured and masterful in the art of snoring and approached this task as he did every other, with his whole being.  Every evening for the edification of all, he would procure a heavy unseen plumber's chain, which he would then drag slowly and deliberately through some invisible toilet.  Obviously, such profound snoring was only necessary on the inhale. 

These deep throaty snores would set the family sleep patterns for the night.  To him, being the family patriarch was a great responsibility that did not stop when sleeping.  As though it were part of the universal order of things, the household would tune its breathing to the tempo created by Daddy.  Some evenings, when the windows were left open, it even seemed the wind adjusted itself to the comforting rhythm as we all did. 

For the more submissive of us, getting in line with Daddy's rhythm would eventually cause considerable discomfort.  Unfortunately, he would periodically forget to drag his chain, leaving the family to lay trapped in non-breathing suspense as we waited for him to begin once more.  Even worse, sometimes he would stop breathing mid snore.  Shocked bodies would jerk violently into wakefulness and we'd sit, terrified and waiting for our fearless leader to breathe.  Usually he started again once he woke up or was hit by Mama.

All good things are passed from one generation to the next.  It was of course destined that I should also snore.  After years of having been told as much, I woke one night to the sound of a small invisible sewing machine running in my bed.  It seems my slow exhale produces a rather amusing snore, at least when I am congested.  I can't live up to my parents, though.  It's a daunting task to try, but it is just as well since it is a lot of work to snore with such professionalism.

It is said women marry a reincarnation of their father.  I tried but was only mildly successful.  I did find another chain-dragger, though he failed to hold the family breathing in thrall.  He compensated with the annoying habit of opening his mouth while at the height of his inhale.  This changed the sound to that of a cranky diesel engine coupled with the sputtering of his lips on the exhale.  He would also inhale in stages, destroying any hope of rest at that point.  This is the only type of snore I can not abide and if I was not asleep when he started I was driven past the point of madness. 

Of course the products of that union snore; it's genetically impossible for them not to.  My oldest saws his logs in a manner resembling a chain saw.  The youngest, being inexperienced, wheezes on the inhale and buzzes like a bee when exhaling.  Even the family pet, a sheltie, makes quick, low rumbling noises while sleeping.  Apparently, the Almighty felt it was a good thing to place him into a home of snores so he would not have to spend evenings outside in the cold.

Because my sister and I are somewhat competitive, it is no surprise she would not only marry another snorer, but also go on to produce a champion.  Anything to outdo me, right?  During a recent stay at her place, I lay awake and listened to the sounds of my sleeping kin.  It is a perk of belonging to a snoring family - we know the other members of the household are well and resting comfortably without having to actually look at them.  As I reveled in the comforting sounds of my sons at rest and was amused by the dainty, barely audible groaning of my sister and nearly masculine gargling of my niece...another, more dominant rumble ravaged the apartment.

My tiny nephew's room was filled with dreadful, ground shaking thundering guaranteed to wake even the dead.  The term snore is an understatement of the highest order; in fact the concept does not even approach a description of this noise.  The child's body writhes as it produces jagged, growling inhales and his lungs expel ear shattering, heart-rending sonic booms.  It remains a mystery to me how a body which barely weighs thirty pounds can produce such abominable disturbances. 

Our family is generally tolerant; after all, we are all noise polluters.  We accept those who snore so our own disturbances will be overlooked.  It's largely a satisfactory arrangement, except where it concerns this boy as he has clearly upstaged us all.  This minuscule slip of a child can disturb the sleep of entire villages, change air pressure and cause unnatural animal migrations.  And since he sleeps heavily, it is impossible to subdue him.

He is barely five, and one wonders how much more the world must endure as his lung capacity increases and his voice deepens.  I shudder to think of it and often consider whether I should alert the military, lest they detect him and mistake his snoring for an act of terrorism.  One thing is certain however.  He has many more years of snoring left and one day he, as with the rest of our children, will mate and produce a new generation of noisy sleepers.  It's genetic; it's inevitable and it's likely to get worse as time goes on.  We apologize in advance.