Somehow I had forgotten this story until I was asked for some memories at Wayne Ostlund’s memorial this Sept of 2014.
It would begin by a good Catholic (near Jewish) guilt trip by Lee, his wife that I could stand some good Catholic immersion on the following Easter Day. NAH!
I had plopped myself down and indulged in the holy atmosphere – all in English of course, until some kids came to the pulpit and began preaching. Now I knew something was dreadfully wrong. I YELPED out in a loud voice “I’m in the wrong Church!” Yup, I was in the P.A. Baptist church not the Catholic one. Then a strong hand reached across my shoulders and the owner said “Son, you can never be in the wrong church.”
Chagrined, I agreed and proceeded to sing along with gusto a plento and when it finally ended the minister came up to me and complemented me on my enthusiasm.
Well … that was a cover up. I revved up my old truck and in good Church clothes drove East until I hit Quilcine and the Puget Sound. Always carrying a rock collecting bucket I explored what could be found. OYSTERS!!!
I collected a full bucket and raced back to Lee and Wayne. He being a shuckster took control of the booty and after steaming and shucking the two of us sat down with some dribbles of butter and juices went on to devour the entire load.
LEE, was not amused and had her commentary about the two pagans in her kitchen. It was a Burpish memory. I think my own partner was not amused either.