Our new place is a furnished mother-in-law apartment in the daylight basement of a nice home in a very nice neighborhood. The area is very Bellevue-like here (read, self-aggrandizing). The homes, grocery store, nearby restaurants, and the people who populate it all adhere to whatever the codes are for exuding wealth (yoga pants, and Audis). We are only nine miles east of where we were before but we have literally crossed the tracks.
I used to be able to hear the railroad tracks. Not just the horns the trains blow at intersections, I could hear their wheels making squeaking protestations on the tracks as they hauled mile-long cargo. Now, I live high above the tracks where I can barely hear the train whistle over the active quarry next door. At least, we're not in the flight path of PDX anymore which is a definite improvement.
Starved for extra noise, we found ourselves living beneath hosts who walk like an army of elephants. Only two people, their children grown and gone, they make up for the emptiness of their household by making extra tracks. Truly, the home is beautiful with a large deck and and expansive view of the river which makes upstairs neighbors and the fact that we have to creep around the side of the house to enter at the back a mere side note.
Luckily, our landlords have also scheduled to refinish their hardwood floors this week.
We shall sleep well, I'm sure. The gentle grinding will be like the waves of the ocean . . .