Picking up the mail today, I noticed one envelope standing out from the rest. Rather than a bland white business-sized envelope holding my current bill - excuse me, "statement" - it was bright red and the size that would hold a greeting card. Except it appeared to be empty, light as a feather. I examined it carefully. My husband's and my name were hand-lettered over our address. No return address. A 32 cent stamp and two 3 cent stamps were adhered carefully in the corner. I turned it over. There was a shiny band across the envelope flap. It looked somehow familiar but out of place. I realized the envelope had been turned inside out and glued shut. A few years ago, I would have ripped it open and solved the mystery at once. Today, with all the suspicion surrounding the mail, I held it up to the light. There was indeed something inside, perhaps folded, as I could see two layers of printing. After much turning of the envelope and squinting, I discovered it was my car registration, together with a handwritten note. I opened the envelope carefully. No shower of ricin. I removed the contents. It was in fact my registration, together with this note:I found this at
the library. Keep it in
your glove compartment
so you don't lose it.
You wouldn't want
to be in an accident
without it.
Sincerely,
Mary L.
I had received the registration in the mail a few weeks ago, and was at the library with the kids a few days after that. I had put it in my purse with the intent of putting it in the car. It could have slipped out, or more likely, I had let my 2 year old play with my wallet to keep him reasonably quiet while people went about their library business. Or I might have used it as a bookmark, who knows. I hadn't noticed it was missing, but I was touched by the kindness of someone who took the time to return it.
I looked again at the envelope. So thrifty, so resourceful, so environmentally conscious! I peeked inside. In large somewhat shaky block letters, the red envelope had read "DAD" before it was inverted to carry my wayward registration back home. It had been so carefully opened, and so carefully glued shut. And the stamps! How old must 32 cent stamps be? But Mary didn't throw them out, no, she was still using them, combining with the .03 centers you can buy from the machine at the post office. I love that machine, it's one of the only machines I can think of that still takes pennies! I bet Mary loves that machine too.
I looked again at the note, torn from a small yellow spiral pad, the neat handwriting, the sweet admonishment not to be so careless in the future. There are few people who would take the time to return someone's registration, and fewer still who would include a handwritten note. What would I have done? Turned it in to the library front desk, perhaps. Maybe, harried by the children, even done nothing and left there on the floor, or under the desk, or shut it back into the book. WWMD?
Mary L., I don't know you, and I am sorrowful to say I may never know you. But I thank you for the valuable lessons I learned from you today, about recycling, about saving money, about pure kindness. And, if I ever do meet you, I owe you 38 cents.
