I work in an antique building situated on our town common, at
least until we move to a shiny, spanking new building a quarter of a mile away, which is slated
to happen after the first of the year.
Our current office used to be a house, and it’s got to be at
least two hundred years old, complete with heat you can’t turn off, occasional
mice infestations, and the staccato cadence of the apartment dwellers who live
overhead. But it sure is pretty. The
common itself is a historic district. If
you live in one of the homes there, you can’t modify it without permission, you
can only paint the exterior with certain colors. Every day I park my car in front of Meeting House
Pond, and on mornings when the wind is still, I catch reflections of First
Parish Church (the old Meeting House), or the town hall rippling top of the
water.
I’m a little like Cinderella most mornings, the clock on the
common is chiming the hour when I pull up, and I scamper across the street trying to get
through the door before it stops. But
there are days the clock finishes before I cross the street, because I have to fish in my purse for my I-phone and take yet another a picture of a scene that’s been the same for hundreds
of years. I know I've posted similar photos here before, so please bear with me. No matter how many
times I capture it, it hits me every time.
Stunning a view as it is, working in the historical district
means there’s no cell tower near, which guarantees lousy phone service. When we need to take or make personal calls
with our cells, we have to walk outside, plug one ear against the traffic rumbling
by and shout into the phone. I was
doing that one morning last week when I looked out to something unexpected. Usually the pond is populated with ducks.
A photo op for me, but bad news for the
goldfish. Gosh, I’m going to miss this
when we move.
