Really, I should just rename this blog, to something like
The Small Quirky Town Route to Kona or Happiness or Whatever. Because I’ve been
here less than a day, and am already racking up the charming little experiences
that make life great.
But I get ahead of myself.
So, I’ve been in the process of moving into The Manor over
the last couple of weeks. Having all my crap trucked here from Chicago, then my
crap from Portland. The official closing was May 21st, and on May 23rd
I was out here trying to figure out what to do about the (overgrown weedy)
garden, and showing the fence guys where to put up Kona’s fence. One problem –
the water had already been turned off. Damn, these people are fast!
So I went over to the neighbors in back of me to see if the
fence guys could use their water spigot to mix the concrete. Lo and behold, I
met the Most Excellent Debbie and Karl (MEDAK), who not only let us use their
water, but Karl also drove me over to City Hall to see about getting the water
turned back on.
As you would expect, dealing with City Hall was a long
cumbersome process, being shuffled from one office to another, no one knowing
who was in charge, being told the water shut-on would take weeks and I’d need
to pay extra because it had been turned off, etc.
Wait. That’s big city life. It actually took less than 5
minutes, and they promised to send someone over in the afternoon to turn the
water back on.
Anyway, during all this back and forth, not only did I meet
MEDAK, but also the next door neighbors, Laura and her husband Dan. Where I
learned about this quirkiness in marking property lines, that’s called “let’s
put a penny in the concrete and call it a day.”
Yes, it’s true. When I asked my realtor Michael (who lives
across the street from me, of course) about the property lines, his response
was “oh yeah, the listing agent told me that there’s a penny in this concrete
marking the lines.” Say what? Yet somehow this came as no surprise to anyone
around here, who would just nod sagely when told about the penny. Okay then.
It turns out that the penny shows that neighbors Laura &
Dan have a shrubbery and part of their garden bed on my property – so of
course, in typical Chicago fashion, I plan to put up a 7-foot privacy fence
bisecting their garden and so that I never have to see any of my neighbors.
Okay, that’s a lie – I really don’t care about the property
line, especially since the penny cracks me up so much. Plus I like Laura’s
husband, who said he’d take care of the problem by putting in a new penny. Now
THAT is how a Chicagoan would do it.
I also love the fact that all my new neighbors saw my letter in the local paper, which I wrote after being enthralled by the actual parking meters all over the city. Faithful readers will know about
my hatred of the parking meter sell-off in Chicago by corrupt and useless
former Mayor Daley, and hence my delight at seeing actual parking
meters here in downtown Silverton.
This is all well and good, but is all background bringing us
to yesterday, a day from hell when I had poky movers taking all day to move my
stuff in from Portland, a day ending with me driving around town to recharge my
phone since I had forgotten my charger in Portland, and spying – what else –
but a Russian and Argentinian food truck. Of course. I pull over, and find out
that the food truck came here to coincide with my own arrival, probably just
for that purpose. It’s been here 5 days to my half. There’s a woman working
there, and 3 guys sitting at a nearby table.
I chat with the woman in Russian, and then her husband pipes
up from the table.
Husband: So how long
have you been in Silverton?
Me: A day. I just
moved in today.
H: Oh! Welcome to
town. If you need a plumber, talk to this guy here, and here’s my card, I do
painting and contract work.
Me: Cool, I’ll
probably need all of the above – I just bought an old Victorian on Pine street.
Plumber: Oh, you
wrote that letter in the paper! That was really nice.
Well. My fame precedes me.
Plumber:…..and you
should know the secret, that the locals don’t have to pay the meters.
I’m skeptical. Is this some Silverton initiation rite, where
they feed new people this stuff to see if they’ll buy in?
Me: I’m skeptical.
Husband: It’s true,
the locals don’t pay.
Me: Wait, how….
Plumber: See, they
don’t enforce them – with budget cuts there’s no one to give tickets, and only
the locals know that. So the out-of-towners are the only ones paying the
meters.
Me: Aha! Well, I’d
still pay since it goes to the murals, but that’s nice to know if you’re just
dashing out for a few minutes or don’t have change.
Plumber: Yeah, they
still pick up the money – Dan collects it once a week – but no one gives out
tickets.
Well. So there you have it. Not only does writing a letter
to the paper mean everyone knows who you are (which actually reminds me of
Wharton, where I wrote so much for the Wharton Journal that people would
regularly greet me with “Oh, you’re the one who writes everything for the
paper!” Hmm.), but they know the meter-change-collector by name, and you make
instant friends.
Oh, and in a rare form of kismet or karma or what have you,
I also seem to have been magically transported to one of the last cities in the
country – if not THE last at this point – that still has penny meters.
I’m going to like it here.
(Note: As I’ve been
checking out places in downtown Silverton, I’ve been putting quarters in the
meters….just because I can. Take
that Chicago.)
