Once upon a time, I used to yearn for silence and treasured every moment of peace and quiet when they came. Raised as an only child with parents who were at or in their 40s when I was born, ours was a quiet household. My sister's, not s'much. With seven children, everyone talked at once and at high volume and I was a nervous wreck when I came home. Boarding school with over 100 girls was anything but quiet, even after lights out. And then I had my own children. "Mama! MamaMamaMama!" Later, when the Kids were older, they all played their stereos with the sound cranked up. Aaargh! Even in my working life as a transcriptionist, I had some doctor speaking through the headphones in my ears hours and hours on end.
As I've said, Steve's eyes and his mouth opened at the same time. That man was a talker! As a backdrop, he would turn on the television on his way to the kitchen whether he watched it or not. I'd go to sleep with the bedroom TV on. There was no quiet until and while he'd gone to work. Ahhh, I could breathe at last.
Now that I live alone and am in control, I'm a different person. I do not like a quiet house. I, too, turn on the television (but after I've finished at the computer) in the morning and leave it on for background noise all day. I find myself walking slowly and silently if the house is still as if I would disturb spirits if I tromped around or clanked pots and pans in the kitchen. After a lifetime of hearing voices, a quiet life is not really what I wanted after all.