Dear Mr. C.,

Thanks for letting us buy your home. I can tell that you have taken good care of it over the years. I love that you have tracked the gas bills over the years--you know, on those yellow, lined sheets with exact handwriting hanging on the nail next to the fuse box. And I love, too, that you have written under the stairs the color of paint and dates that you painted the rooms. If I were to pick a word to describe your care of the your house, it would be 'meticulous.'

I don't know if you know what a blessing your home is to our little family. We weren't really looking to buy a house, truthfully. Well, at least I wasn't. My husband was ready, but I was holding back.

You see, C-town is a little smaller city than I imagined myself living in. I grew up in a small town and, to tell you the truth, I never really felt like I fit in there. It wasn't until I moved to Boston that I truly felt at home. Then, when I went on a study abroad to London and had the opportunity to travel around a bit, I realized that it wasn't just Boston, it was any big city. For some reason the crowds and culture and architecture call to me. I feel so at peace.

I wonder what you'd think of that. From what I've gleaned, you have grown up her in C-town. It's been home to you all your life. The home inspector said that you were probably a member of the C. family who has worked for Coke for years. So, even though I don't drink Coke, I'll probably keep the Coca Cola light fixtures you had hanging over the pool table in the basement. Just to keep the integrity of the place.



I know that you're living in a care center and that you've been sick. That's why you sold the house. I really want to meet you. It's a small enough town that I already know how to contact you. Maybe you can tell me what you love about this place.

I know the people are good. But how do you deal with the cold?