Last night I spent a couple of hours on the phone with a friend. We had e-mailed and texted back and forth several times earlier in the day,because he was having some relationship issues and needed a bit of perspective. The Digital Couch, I called it, and I still don't know how much good I did him.

This morning I had my once a week shift with Kay, a woman who is nearish my mom's age and an absolute joy to be around on Saturday mornings. She is very soft-spoken and always in a good mood. We usually don't say a whole lot but there is enough small talk to keep things friendly. In contrast, many of the other people who work at that hour are heard loud and clear through the early morning quiet.

Today Kay told me that she had taken yesterday off from her full-time job because it was the two-year anniversary of her husband's death. She spent time going through some of her old things and came across a box of love letters from him.

"I have to get rid of a lot of stuff," she said, a little sheepishly. "I have way too much junk in my house."
"You don't mean to say that you're going to throw away those letters?" I responded, possibly with more alarm than I should have, considering the fact that we barely know each other.
"Well, I don't know why anybody else would want to read them, and I already read them again."
"I'm pretty sure your daughters and your grandchildren would want you to save them. I mean, you can edit them if there are any embarrassing details in there, but I really hope you won't throw them away."

She seemed to think about it for a second, and then changed the subject. We continued to work, exchanging tips on restaurants and movies. As she finished her shift, she said

"You're a wise woman. I think I'm going to go home and go through those letters and see if I can't find a nicer box to put them in."

I feel an inexplicable sense of relief.