parents bought their little country house when I was young.
It sat about ninety minutes outside the city, up a winding road in the hills.
It wasn’t luxurious.
Just a simple weekend house where we spent summers, holidays, and occasional quiet weekends away.
My parents were both in their seventies now.
Dad, Arthur, had retired from teaching.
Mom, Eleanor, had spent most of her career as a librarian.
They were practical people.
Careful with money.
Not sentimental about possessions.
And deeply committed to the belief that if something still worked,
