Sometimes it still happens. Goodness appears without being beckoned. Last week a package arrived at my front door and it was addressed to me. I quickly racked my brain trying to recall if I had ordered anything or had been waiting for any items. Nothing came to mind. My wife encouraged me to open the box as she seemed to know what it was. So, open it, I did. The package gave no clues as to who this was from, and neither did the contents upon opening the box. It was a book. A book about the nuances and unwritten rules of our national pastime. A book on baseball, one I didn’t already own. I was happy to receive this gift but still didn’t know who it was from until I opened the front cover. There was a simple hand written note inside. The book was from a friend. A friend whom I’ve never met. A friend who I know only through correspondence. A friend with whom I share a mutual respect for many of the subtle beauties all around us, and a respect for the things that bring simple pleasures to our lives. I’m quite thankful for my new book. And something tells me that I may just read it while visiting a place of peace and quiet that this friend and I both enjoy. Thank you for the book and for your thoughtfulness. It’s good to witness something nice.