Monday, December 17, 2007
This was in our mailbox tonight.
Dane pulled it out -- two sheets of folded-up white notebook paper. No envelope. On the outside was written: "Yes, this letter is for you."
It's mysterious and odd and troubling. The letter writer left no name or contact information. She asks us to help her by helping others.
OK, sure. But I'd also help her if she wanted. Instead, she's left us with this burden, a secret of hers that I'm not sure what to do with. It's a bit like the Post Secret blog my sister clued me in to. People send their deepest secrets away to a stranger. He posts them online.
It must be cathartic.
I've been wondering -- did she drive by, window rolled down, eyes scanning houses for the perfect mailbox? Did she write other letters? Did she like our Christmas lights? Why us?
If this helped her, if it really truly did, then I'm more than happy to have gotten the letter, read it, thought about it.
But if it didn't, if it's a joke, then I'm not impressed.
It's strange either way. But I think it's real.