Dear Leo

I often wish I could ask the man who used to live here some questions. His name was Leo. Sometimes I imagine him looking down on A and I and I wonder if he'd be happy we're here enjoying his little house, his yard, and what remains of his garden. Still, I'm puzzled about a lot of things. If I could I'd ask him . . .

Why didn't you plant more perennials in your garden? and I'd add, The tulips barely made it this year. . . I'll have to plant more this fall.

How did you cook when there's no hood fan? Did you eat out all the time?

Who did your bathroom renovations and why? Couldn't they have shifted the toilet so that you could sit on it without bumping into the sink?

Did you do all that wiring yourself? Did you think it was safe?

I'd also thank him for all the useful things left behind . . . the gardening tools, the ladder and stools, the hoses and shelves.

I think of all the things I'd leave if I were to expire . . . it would be hard for anyone to organize or understand. I hope I'll have time to deal with all my baggage before I leave it all behind.