For over 25 years my Aunt and I conversed by email. It might be months between letters but then there would be a flurry of activity. We called each other by various names depending on the circumstances. For the latter part of our conversations, I called her “My Dear Miss Tulip” because she reminded me of Spring. Tulip taught me to read Dickens and I loved her for it. The very first book a tried to read of his was the last book he wrote, The Mystery of Edwin Drood and it made me want to throw it into a fire. I could not understand Dickens writing at all. Finally a person smarter than me told me to start at the beginning of Dickens so that I could understand his writing. Wise words. I started reading The Pickwick Papers and I was hooked.
My Dear Miss Tulip died a year and a half ago and I’ve missed her witty, kind and funny words, flung through the universe where they would land in my mail. We wrote nearly every day for the last year of her life. While I was perusing through old emails I found the following note written way back in 2006. The Jack in this story is Jack Rhoads, the man that would end up as my broker when I started selling real estate in 2015.
January, 2006
Dear Miss No More Borders,
I hope by the time you get this note that your walls are painted, and that you are happy with the result. What a job, but I know you are more than capable.
I looked at a house today that our Realtor friend has on the market. It is about 80 years old and needs a lot of work. They want $29,000 for it. Jack thinks it can be sold for around $65,000 if fixed up. It would take around $10,000 to $15,000 for repairs. I don't know if it is worth the huge amount of work that it would take. The lady that owns it had lived there for 65 years. She smoked heavily so the house reeks of stale smoke. The ceilings are a lovely tobacco brown and I can tell you with all honesty, that I did not walk on the floor in the bathroom for fear of falling through the floor. I peeked inside and noticed a mouse floating in the toilet along with several cigarette butts. A book was sitting on the counter by the toilet. I guess the mouse was reading a book and smoking a cigarette when he accidentally fell into the toilet. Maybe he was reading Dickens last book too! His cousin was found near the stove in the kitchen. A victim of suicide…,so sad, but I'm sure he couldn't bear the smell either. I was very careful not to touch anything for fear I'd end up like the two mice.
I hope you are having a good day. We are watching Little House on the Prairie.
Love you mucho,
Miss Mouse Trap