old house

I learned the other day from my new next-door neighbor Gordon that some years back an eighty-one-year-old woman died of a heart attack in my bedroom.

Surprisingly, however, this doesn't creep me out. The house is perfectly at peace with itself, and the bedroom especially so. I've actually been sleeping better in the dead woman's room these past few nights than I have for the last six months at the apartment.

So I think she died at peace. Houses hold their own atmosphere, you know? There are houses that are difficult to live in, houses with strange histories of inhabitants who fought, or were unhappy; and there are houses that are delightful to live in, houses that have absorbed their previous tenants' lives and kept them well. This little house is one of the latter.

Funny thing -- a couple of weeks ago I was driving past the stretch of road where the house lies on my way to one of the Courts to file some papers, and that little stretch is so pretty, all wooded and green and sheltered, and I thought, Ohhhh I want to live here. And when someone told me about the house for rent and I went to check it out, there it was, right where I wanted to live, and something about it called me.

I think I'm going to be very happy here.