Just another day…

Oct 20, 2012 | 0 comments

I am often reminded of my father’s remark that living in this house is like living in Grand Central Station.  He was referring, of course, to the fact that because of its rather ‘central’ location across from the church, people often come to the house for assistance or information or to drop things off or to pick things up.

That was compounded, of course, by the fact that, for years, he and my mother oversaw many of the activities at the church – its restoration, its use for vespers and weddings and funerals, for instance.  They also kept the supply of walking tours available in the church lobby and collected the money from the Poor Box for deposit at the bank.  Their garage was often a repository for tools or paint stored by men working on the church.  And, before the SaniCan was installed behind the church, theirs was the nearest bathroom…

The fact that they lived here full-time compounded the situation somewhat by making them ‘available’ for other matters (not church related) concerning Oysterville.  Strangers called from elsewhere to find out the hours of the Oysterville Store.  Occasionally a tourist would have car trouble and would knock at the door asking to use the phone.  And, of course, there was the perennial query from ‘lost’ travelers looking for that bridge from Leadbetter Point to Tokeland.

Things haven’t changed much from their occupancy to ours.  All of those contacts still happen.  Just as my parents didn’t mind, neither do we.  It keeps things lively and, sometimes, keeps us current.  Yesterday around lunchtime, for instance, a nice-sounding woman called to say that she had seen water gushing “five feet in the air right near the store.”  She apologized for bothering us but was concerned that there was a problem and thought “someone should know.”

We had just finished filling out our ballots so we decided to take them up to the post office right then and check out this ‘water problem.’  We made a couple of passes to and from the store but saw nothing out of the ordinary.  Then it occurred to us that maybe she meant Oysterville Sea Farms.  Sure enough, a block to the west of the cannery building, we saw water spewing forth from a pipe.

We thought it looked like an overflow set-up but just to make sure we called water engineer Mark Clemmens.  “We’re flushing the line,” he explained.  “No problem.”  There was a “Hydrant Flushing Ahead” sign but, as luck would have it, it was not visible from the direction we had approached and, apparently, not visible to the woman who had called us to report the ‘problem.’

As we got back to our day, I couldn’t help think of my father’s “Grand Central Station” comment.  But, we did get our ballots mailed a day earlier than planned…

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