Yesterday, Darvin and I went to a bookstore on South Street. While I flipped through their fabulous collection of post cards and letters, bought at estate sales on the Main Line, Darvin chatted with the owner. I was amazed to find all of these pieces of people's lives filed away in this one big box. It was strange to be holding these long-ago events in my hands, sorting through thank you notes from Uncle Billy and "Wish You Were Here" post cards sent from Niagra Falls. This one was sent in 1909, 15 years before my grandparents were born. As I was standing there, I kept imagining what it would be like to have someone sorting through my cards and letters almost 100 years from now. What would they do with them? Would they wonder who I was, the way I'm wondering about Miss Edith Baley, keeper of half the letters and cards I found in that box yesterday.