How to get to Peace Street

I had a rough night last night. It happens sometimes. What it meant was that I slept in this lovely summer Sunday morning. Part of the previous evening I’d spent reading the new Ode. The words of my title are the title of a lovely article about Sesame Street and teaching peace to Middle Eastern children (see Exchange article).

Then I thought, as I lay half in and half out of sleep, what if we all could live on Peace Street? What would Peace Street look like to you? Better, what would it sound like?

As if on cue, the cacophony which can be Sunday mornings in my urban Boston neighborhood began. First, an electric weed whacker.
Then, a lawn mower.
Someone decided to chime in with a power sander.
Three different birds sang their own not-completely-complementary ditties.
The lady next door arrived on her porch with her coffee and her cellphone and had a loud conversation with a hard of hearing brother.
Cars raced down our hilly street.
Sirens wailed.
A train blew its soothing horn.
Someone across the way sneezed four times so hard that I wanted to offer her a tissue.
The phone rang next door, a strange quasi-musical tone series.
I heard a kettle’s whistle.
The normal diesel drone of trucks on 93 North.
The adorable upstairs dog had been left alone too long and was barking maniacally.
Our phone rang, another electronic tone.
My partner sent an email from her Mac and there was the standard MacWhoosh.

Peace Street, for me, is a little quieter than my street. With all the talk of environmental pollution, I think we might consider less noise as a contribution to peace.

What might we want to address to turn our own addresses into Peace Street?