I live pretty rurally; the next town is fifteen minutes south, the next city is fifteen minutes north so it might not seem like it. But it is rural enough that we don't have cable television or internet even available. There is no quick response to emergencies because everything is either volunteer or twenty minutes away. (fire = volunteer department, ambulance = at least 20 minutes)
The historical societies call the small communities in the area "hamlets" which always kind of puzzled me. It feels feudal, medieval if you will. It could also be called a settlement, a group of houses gathered together in numbers less than 50.
Anyway, the nerd in me got away for a minute there.
I went to the post office last weekend, in another hamlet that is ten minutes away. (the closest post office to our house) Because it was Sunday, it was closed so I didn't expect anyone there.
There was a car backed up the door, which was odd and when I peeked it looked like maybe a cleaning crew was there. I though that was odd because: post office but whatever.
The door was propped open, also strange, and then the scent of pine-sol and ammonia punched me in the nose. Immediately it is the 1970's and a summer day.
My mom used to kick us all out of the house for a FULL DAY to "strip and wax the floors". A FULL DAY. You best not need anything from the house because you were not coming inside. Neighbors on both sides had outhouses so even that was taken care of. (yes, outhouses. I grew up feral, I keep telling you)
EVEN THEN, as a small child, I was suspect that it was a tactic to Keep The Children Out of The House and I still believe that. The house was small to begin with and the asbestos linoleum (hello 1950's) wasn't maybe a quarter of the house. Estimate the size of a main bedroom and bath, at the most.
Anyhoo, I'm off topic sorta. Again.
I said aloud "Wooo, there's a smell from my childhood."
There was an older gentleman sitting on the floor with a squeegee and a scrub brush scrubbing the asbestos linoleum floor. He commented that I couldn't have been from the fifties and I answered "No, I had a Depression-Era mother."
This is when I spot a woman standing off to the side. She laughed and said "I was one of those" Then continued "I was born in 1935" (sidenote: at what point do people begin bragging about their age again? It seems like somewhere in their seventies?)
I laughed and told that was exactly the year my mom was born so clearly she understood what I was talking about. She laughed too then excused herself and left.
I got my mail and the gentleman on the floor mentioned "We're mailbox neighbors!" In case this isn't Hallmark Movie enough for you, wait for it.
"I'm cleaning the lobby all up today. Did you hear we have a new Post Master?"
I answered that I hadn't and gosh, isn't that nice of him to do.
"Well, we have to make a good impression. This is all of our place to take care of." Then he asked if I noticed the windows, which he had also cleaned, and the tile on the windowsills. I had not and once I did, I was impressed. Spotless on both sides and there was green subway tile on the sills that I had never noticed in, like, ten years of going there.
"This place was built in the fifties, replacing the one in Edison" he tells me. Then he points out the walls, which are 1950's paneling that has been white-washed. These are the things we don't notice in our day-to-day travels but really should.
Then he gently, tentatively, comments about the whole Speaker of the House goat rodeo.
Not knowing exactly where he was going to stand on the situation, I was trying to carefully phrase my answer. BUT guessing that it's the same as mine - because he's sitting on the floor, scrubbing it, for free, on a Sunday so it looks nice for someone he doesn't know.
Whew...ooof....run-on sentence from Hell. My apologies to my high school composition teacher.
Turns out we agreed that it was awful and concerning for the next two years. His final words as I left is "We're all in this together."
You have to love small towns in the PNW. You just never know what you're going to experience.
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