Dear Kids Who Live Downstairs,

Thanks for recruiting me into your water battle this afternoon. I confess: I had fully intended to plant my geraniums on the balcony and go inside for a nap, but combining my watering can with your battle against your dad (a.k.a. my landlord) was something akin to brilliance.

Of course, I do have reservations. Aiming a water gun at my landlord seems, shall we say, counterintuitive. He seemed okay with it, though. At least, I think that's what the dousing I got meant.

Now, though, I'm really tired, but the nap is much more earned, at least.

May we have many more of these in the summer days ahead!

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Landlord, Landlady, God, and Timing,

Thank you so much for deciding to let me stay here. I didn't want to sound petulant and childish, but the idea of moving this fall—for the fifth time in six years—made me want to cry. It, in fact, did make me cry. Especially after seeing some of the apartments available elsewhere in the city within this price range, I couldn't bear the idea of leaving my garret, this neighborhood, or your family. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Landlord,

Thanks -- deeply -- for greeting your pets the way you did when you got home from work today. You may not have realized I could hear every word, but nevertheless, it delighted me. Your high-pitched voice, your endearing nicknames, and your general jubilee worked together to send me into silent paroxysms of laughter upstairs. I try so hard to act normal so you don't think you have a crazy tenant, but then again, maybe I should just relax.

Thanks to your kids, too, for standing outside my window and holding a conversation with your cat consisting entirely of variations on "meow." I don't feel nearly as nuts now for talking to all the animals I see each day.

Hugs & kisses for pets & kids,
B

Dear Pancakes,

Thank you for being a tasty way to use up some old milk and butter last night after the Ash Wednesday service.

Of course, I'm not sure how thankful I should be that you nearly became ashes, yourselves. Why did you have to nearly burn? Why did you have to fill the entire apartment with smoke so that the alarms went off and brought my landlord upstairs to make sure his house wasn't burning down around him?

I get it. You're in cahoots with God. Shame on me for being ashamed of the ashes on my forehead from the Ash Wednesday service and being glad I hadn't seen anyone on the way into my apartment. Setting off the smoke alarms was just your little way of teaching me humility, wasn't it, Pancakes?

Well, it worked. And you were delicious, which more than made up for trouble.

Hug & kisses,
B

Dear Stephen Stills,

I never realized how much I talk to you (calling you "Steve," of course, since we're totally BFF) when I listen to your music until I lived upstairs from a landlord named Steve. Awkward.

Hugs & kisses (to you, not the landlord),
B