I was doing the third of my usual three rounds around the pond on Sat., March 10 when my granddaughter phoned. She lives on the West Coast, so the sound of her 6-year-old voice is a precious gift. She had 20 minutes she could talk to me and we were engrossed in the kind of warm chatter that only a “Bobonne” and “Ms. V” can have. By the time I arrived home, I had forgotten an errand I needed to do and I had lost my small backpack with a credit card, cash, ATM card, driver’s license, and two blank checks from different accounts.
The next hour-and-a-half my husband and I spent looking for the bag, retracing my steps around the pond and walking back down Eliot Street and past Tedeschi and all the stores adjacent, talking to merchants to see if anyone had turned it in to them. We went to the police station to see if the bag had been delivered there. I couldn’t think of any other possible spots it could be, so we returned home. There was the backpack hung on our doorknob. All was inside safely, and no note was included from the person who delivered it.
A heartfelt thank you, thank you, thank you, to you—a very kind and honest person. This is another example of the wonderful people who live in our JP village. No place else could this happen so quickly and modestly. Thank you for helping me out. I wish you had left your name.