Wally was a postal worker who worked in the dead letter office. One Wednesday afternoon, a letter arrived addressed to God in shaky handwriting. Wally opened it and read:
I am an 81 year old widow living on a very small pension. Yesterday someone stole my purse. It had $100 in it, which was all the money I had until my next pension check. Two of my dearest friends are coming to my house for dinner on Sunday, but without that money, I have nothing to buy food with. I have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope. Please help me.
Wally was deeply moved. He showed the letter to his fellow workers, and they all decided to take up a collection to help the widow. When everyone had contributed, they had $95, which Wally put into an envelope and mailed to her.
On Tuesday of the following week, another letter arrived, addressed to God in the same shaky handwriting. All of the workers gathered around while the letter was opened. It read:
I can never thank you enough for what you did for me! Because of your gift, I was able to make a wonderful dinner for my friends. We had a lovely time, and I told them about what you had done for me. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
p.s. There was $5 missing. I think it must have been those thieves at the post office.
Walt showed up late for the card party at the senior center. He blamed it on his poor memory, which seemed to be growing worse with age.
“You know, I used to have that problem too,” said his friend Stan. “But then I went to a memory clinic, and they taught us some really great techniques, like visualization and association, and I haven’t had a problem since.”
“Really?” said Walt. “That sounds like just what I need. What was the name of the clinic?”
Stan’s mind went blank. He thought and thought, and finally he said, “What do you call that flower with the long thorny stem?”
“You mean a rose?” said Walt.
“That’s it!” said Stan. Then he turned to his wife and said, “Hey Rose, what was the name of that memory clinic?”