Personal snail mail at my new home warmed my heart this last weekend.
(As a quick side note, when my heart is warmed, people nearby can smell bacon cooking.)
I stopped at the house, still empty of stuff, to pick up mail and drop off some boxes that have been in my back seat for a year and I found an envelope addressed to "Rich Jackson -- editor."
Uh, oh, I thought. Someone has already tracked me down.
But when I opened the letter, money fell out.
Bertha (I'm withholding her last name to protect her privacy) said she tried to send a gift certificate from Lynn's Custom Meats & Catering here in Hayward after I linked to it on this blog. But because of a kerfuffle with the U.S. Post Office, it was sent back.
So she sent me some money to buy tubular and processed meats.
She also offered some ideas for the upcoming move that I find so painful and stressful.
The best was yet to come: " ... Looming ahead, it might be well to find female companionship to do your mowing and snow shoveling," she wrote.
Tongue firmly in cheek, I imagine, Bertha writing with a grin.
Then I counted the money which came in the form of a $20 bill, a $5 bill and the-rare-but-still-in-circulation $2 bill.
I don't understand the significance of such an amount but I assure you: I'm going to frame and hang the $2 bill in my home office as a reminder of the kindness of strangers.
Thank you, Bertha. You made my week.
Peace and $27 unto all of you my brothers and sisters.
(P.S.: Bertha wrote, "Keep the Faith and Pray for my arthritis. Please join me, friends.")
I never played much with marbles, although I had a bag as a child. Somebody must have thought I would enjoy shooting them onto a dirt circle. I guess that adult (likely my dear grandmother) enjoyed the game in their own childhood, but it was pretty much dead for kids by the 50s.ReplyDelete
What I did notice about marbles was that if you try to pick up a handful with one hand, you only get so many. If you use two hands together, you retrieve far more than the sum of two hands working alone.