This is a prequel letter about The Whimsy Letter Society, a mail club. You may find more information here.
May 21, 2026
Sea Oak
Dearest Liv,
Thank you for sending me a picture of your new ‘do. I love it. You are radiant. And despite popular belief, I do not believe your silver hair makes you look older. But even if it did, we are women in our 60s. There is no looking twenty years younger without a hefty dose of cash and manipulation of some kind. Right? Apparently, neither of us finds this proposition appealing.
I don’t care about your hair color anyway. Dye it or don’t dye it. It makes no difference to me. What I do care about is your happiness. And in that picture, you look not only resplendent but also serene and contented. That is the secret sauce, as “they” say, not the melanin content in your hair strands.
As you well know, I have never dyed my hair. I have always been too lazy to bother with the upkeep.
Now, I need to offer you a mea culpa, as I have not mentioned the Society in any of our correspondence since last February. I know you noticed, since every one of your letters asked for an update and subsequently complained when one was not forthcoming. As a result, I can attest that older sisters remain bossy from the cradle, not matter the age or the distance. I, younger sibling that I am, did not, however, cave to the pressure.
All joking aside, I was not trying to be coy. As you know, I had decided to go ahead with the Society. Yet, there were still hurdles to overcome. One of them was that I needed a space for the Society’s headquarters. Nothing big and certainly nothing costly, since I do not even know if the Society will grow much beyond Sea Oak. While the response has been positive amongst our residents, the long-term survival of the Society depends on all of its members here and outside Renssel County.
I needed a small place at little to no cost.
I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure I could carry it out.
As you know, my Gregory loved to build models—airplanes, boats, cars, and the like. It was his pleasure and his way to disconnect from life and be in the flow. He was so talented and derived so much pleasure from tinkering in his man shed. Said man shed has remained shut tight since he passed. I could not go into his domain. So there it sat. Closed. Collecting dust and probably far worse to boot.
I decided to turn Gregory’s workshop into the headquarters of The Whimsy Letter Society. There you have it. I said it. It was easier not to speak of it until the deed was done. If I remained mute and, subsequently, changed my mind, I could still back out gracefully. No one the wiser and my pride still intact.
I went to Arthur for this task, even though he has mostly left the company to his son and prefers to work in his woodshop at the mill. But Arthur knew Gregory, and I knew he would also understand how hard the whole process would be for me. And now, the conversion is done, and I am quite pleased.
We did not change much. We chased away the vermin. Cleaned. Painted. And best of all, we made it mine while keeping reminders of Gregory throughout. I have one of his model airplanes hanging from the rafter, among other things.
Hazel insisted on plants (no surprise) and roped Walter into helping (also no surprise). While the man has communication issues—how Flora has put up with this for God knows how long, I will never know—he speaks plants fluently. That man’s blood runs green; I am convinced of it.
As a final touch, Jane Harper delivered a new doormat.
Sweet Rosy declared that the grand reopening—which had not yet occurred—deserved a treat. She baked me a batch of my favorite cookies. What a dear. I had my doubts about that girl. But I shall say no more. You know how I refuse to gossip. You knew she was back, right? And under what circumstances?
See the attached picture of the finished headquarters of the soon-to-be-reopened Whimsy Letter Society and tell me what you think.
I wanted a space that was both functional and cozy. Mission accomplished.
You know, sis, the space still smells like him, and rather than make me sad, it makes me feel that he is still with me, holding me, and watching over me. In truth, if he were still here, he would complain with great vehemence about this trespass on his territory. But now that he no longer needs it, I imagine he smiles because his beloved shed has been put to good use rather than being left as a free-for-all for bugs and pests. He would be pleased most of all that I had the strength to do it, as am I.
Give your Everett, and your brood and their descendants my love.
All my love to you as well,
Erma
P.S. You would think I would see that son of yours more often than I do since we occupy the same village. But he manages to remain elusive. That boy needs to come visit his favorite aunt more often.
P.P.S. Our spring has been glorious, and our summer promises to be delightful as well. Just out of curiosity, has anyone ever incurred second-degree burns from sitting in their car or touching the steering wheel?
A Note About Sea Oak
Sea Oak is a fictional place, although I like to imagine that somewhere it could be real. Its people, businesses, homes, and The Whimsy Letter Society are creations of my imagination. From time to time, their stories may brush against real people, places, and events from history or from my personal life. When they do, I have tried to treat the history with care, while allowing the fictional world of Sea Oak to grow around it. And with every letter received in the mail, I will always share what is fact and what is fiction.
While you will not find Sea Oak on any map, I hope that with every letter, it begins to feel a little more like somewhere you know and love.