The Wedding of Suria and Aaron

We often say, “All roads lead to Oysterville.”  It’s a bit of a take-off from my Uncle Willard Espy’s book Oysterville: Roads to Grandpa’s Village but, as the years go by, it seems to become increasingly true.  We just experienced yet another perfect example of this phenomena.

Young friends of ours were married in the Oysterville Church yesterday.  It was a very grand affair. The three o’clock ceremony was followed by champagne and oysters on the half-shell (and fabulous cheeses and French bread and other delights) at beautifully appointed tables on the schoolhouse lawn.  Then it was off to dinner at the Shelburne Inn which was otherwise “Closed for a Private Event” according to the sign on the door.  Nyel and I estimate that there were about ninety of us.  Whatever the number, we filled the pews at the church and, later, the dining room at the Inn.

On the Schoolhouse Lawn

The most unusual aspect of this wedding, at least from our perspective, was that all the guests (except for us) came from afar – from Los Angeles, from Detroit, from New York and from other far-flung places.  There were three folks from Oregon and the parents of the bride and groom came from Seattle — that was as ‘local’ as it got.  Except for us.  We felt honored in the extreme to be included in this gala and joyous occasion.

At the oysters and champagne part of the celebration, we sat across from a young couple from Los Angeles and my conversation with the young woman, Stephanie Estes, went something like this:  Me – “Oh, my son lives in L.A. in the Silver Lake District.”  Stephanie– “That’s right near me.  I live on Los Feliz Boulevard.”  Me – “What do you do in L.A.?”  Her- “I’m an actor.  How about your son?”   Me – “He’s an actor, too, but is also a retired script-writer for Saturday Morning cartoons – most famously, perhaps, Pinky and the Brain.”

Stephanie Estes on the Right

Then our conversation got interesting.  Stephanie – “Oh, that’s one of my favorites!  I loved it when I was a kid.”  A pause.  And then… “You know I’ve been in a couple of films with a Director whose dad worked on Pinky and the Brain, too.”  It turned out that the Director’s name was James Bressack.   Me – “Jimmy Bressack?!  His dad, Gordon, was my son’s writing partner for more than thirty years.  I’ve known Jimmy from the time he was five or six years old!’

It wasn’t long before we both had our cell phones out –  me calling Charlie, she texting James.  Another of those six-degrees-of-separation-small-world-moments that happen so often in Oysterville!  An added dollop of goodness to a perfect afternoon and evening here on the Peninsula where all roads, indeed, converge.