You see, from time to time, when I've been busy in the kitchen (a semi-rare occurrence to begin with), the coffee pot will suddenly turn on. I chalked it up to an accidental bump of the start button, which is located in an easy-to-bump position on the front of the appliance and, seeing as I don't exactly have a lot of counter space in my kitchen, it wouldn't be at all surprising for that to happen. It did happen frequently enough to arouse some suspicion, but, really, not enough that I was concerned about it.
Well.
Today I turned on the oven, left the kitchen, and a moment later heard the telltale gurgling of the coffee pot.
Odd, right?
The best I can figure, it's got to be a wiring thing. You see, the coffee pot sits on my dishwasher (which is on wheels, but that's a whole 'nother discussion). The dishwasher is next to the stove. The stove and the coffee pot are plugged into the same outlet. The stove is a rather geriatric (by appliance standards, anyway) gas model with an electric ignition that usually clicks about a half-dozen times before the oven finally lights. And so I'm thinking that somehow the act of turning on the oven also turns on the coffee pot.
Either that or it's possessed.
Regardless, I'll just add it to the list of "old house quirks," right up there with:
- the magic floorboard that opens the closet door (a rather creepy discovery the first time that happened)
- the bathroom door that doesn't quite close properly
- the less-than-level dining room floor
- the less-than-attractive cracked plaster walls
- the "oops I almost locked myself in my bedroom" broken doorknob
- the "built by a drunk monkey" basement staircase
- and some others I'm probably forgetting!
Yes, ladies and gentlemen - my house is quite an entertaining place to be.
Sometimes, though, I wonder about who used to live here.
My house, you see, has a bit of a past.
(And by "my house," I actually mean "the rented apartment I live in which is the downstairs of an old house." Just so we're clear.)
Ahem.
When I first looked at this place last summer, the landlord explained to me that it used to be a drug house.
No, really.
The 'hood, you see, has undergone a rather radical transformation in the last couple of decades or so. Or so I've been told, anyway, seeing as I've only been back in GR for about five and a half years. Now it's a pretty trendy place to be. Lots of cute shops, restaurants, etc. Oh, and this amazing building in the center of it all. But in the past? Well, not so much.
The story my landlord told that day was that the folks who lived upstairs grew some, um, "plants" which they would water with a hose, which in turn leaked into the room below, which ended up damaging the hardwood floor pretty significantly.
The ceiling has since been re-plastered. But it's the only room in my house with carpet.
But what about before that?
When this house was built, supposedly in the 1890s, who lived here?
The GR Press is publishing a series of books containing vintage photos submitted by local residents. I think these books are awesome. I love looking old pictures and imagining what used to be, particularly pictures of a city I know.
My grandparents gave me vol. 2 as a Christmas gift, and in it is a photo of a man standing alongside his horse-drawn milk delivery wagon. The address listed on the side of the vehicle is just down the street from where I now sit. That photo really piqued my curiosity. Who were the milk man's neighbors? What was this neighborhood like when all the houses were brand-new?
Sometimes I stare at the worn woodwork and floors all around me and wonder what other hands and feet have touched them over the years.
A house with a history.
And a demon-possessed coffee pot.
I'd say it's a fair trade.
The ceiling has since been re-plastered. But it's the only room in my house with carpet.
But what about before that?
When this house was built, supposedly in the 1890s, who lived here?
The GR Press is publishing a series of books containing vintage photos submitted by local residents. I think these books are awesome. I love looking old pictures and imagining what used to be, particularly pictures of a city I know.
My grandparents gave me vol. 2 as a Christmas gift, and in it is a photo of a man standing alongside his horse-drawn milk delivery wagon. The address listed on the side of the vehicle is just down the street from where I now sit. That photo really piqued my curiosity. Who were the milk man's neighbors? What was this neighborhood like when all the houses were brand-new?
Sometimes I stare at the worn woodwork and floors all around me and wonder what other hands and feet have touched them over the years.
A house with a history.
And a demon-possessed coffee pot.
I'd say it's a fair trade.
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