Hey yall, remember the beach house at Cannon Beach? Again I had to try to remember how it was (or should have been) Actually there was no siding, we didn't finish it.I remember helping (we thought it was work) dad assemble this KIT home at the black house before he shipped it on a flat bed to Cannon Beach for assembly.
There was that famous chemical toilet (without chemical, as I recall the smell) that ensured we didn't stay long in the cottage.
Dad and mom stayed in the loft. I remember the barreling voice from dad above GO TO SLEEP!...I know what Abraham felt like!
I think there was a kitchen, although I don't think it ever did any kind of kitchen thing, no water and no drainage and no electricity. We sort of lived out of grocery bags and usually ate before we got too far from the store. I remember plastic everything, day old bread, devils food spread, bologna, bananas, apples, peanut butter. Several years later the orientals (which ones I don't know) gave us Rahman noodles, which required hot water. Not easy to get when you don't even have water.
I remember the toilet trips, very very cold water and usually no toilet paper. If you didn't eat too much bread there wasn't any problem going to the bathroom.The sand was everywhere, in the shoes, in the bed, the car, clothes, hair in the nose and ears and also in the peanut butter sandwiches.
There was a small porch, probably filled with shells and rocks. It was a great design.
When I went down to Cannon Beach a few years ago I noted the beach house was gone. I guess whoever bought it couldn't finish it either.
2 comments:
I think it's Ramen noodles, dad. Rahman noodles are something very different. I'm sure Rahman would tell us if we asked him, but we might not want to know.
Uncanny! Your memory, I mean. The drawing of the cabin is spot on.
Once again, you boys all lucked out with your anatomy, as once again, I had to rely on the world's largest bladder!
I do remember that our address was 'at the corner of First and Pacific', or at least that's what Mom or Dad wrote in permanent ink on our beach ball.
One of the big treats was driving from Cannon Beach over to Seaside for a bowl of clam chowder. All six of us kids wearing our red hooded sweatshirts; lined up like little gnomes, sitting at the diner counter. No doubt we were whirling on the stools, kicking our feet and dropping our flip flops on the gritty, sandy, worn linoleum floor. Back then we called them 'thongs', not flip flops, but I didn't want to confuse anyone!
Somewhere along the way, I remember a passerby saying to me, "Well, I'll bet all of your little brothers just treat you like a princess." (Maybe that happened in Key West, Florida.) Anyway, I wondered what in the world made them think THAT!
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