If only I could get regular mail. Instead, I get anonymous phone calls.
This time it pointed me to an old schoolhouse near Kansas City. “Go behind the south wing, and you’ll see where there used to be a garden. Walk past it, and when you find an old compost pile, look for an envelope. I think you’ll be very interested in what’s inside.”
Curious, I pushed back a bit. “Lots of things might interest me. What’s in that envelope that’s so special that I should go looking for a pile of compost?”
The voice on the phone paused, then said “It’s a letter from one of my grandparents to Rudy Giuliani.”
“Why can’t your grandparent simply put it in the mail?” I asked.
“Two reasons. First, you need a mailing address, and we don’t have one. Second, though, and more important, is privacy. You see, my grandparent was Rudy Giuliani’s elementary school teacher. Go find that letter, please.”
I did . . .