THESE TIMES

We eventually become what we’ve left behind.

I was at a bookstore in downtown Olympia two weeks ago to buy a book for Mrs. Ericson, and I found a paperback copy from one of her favorite authors, “Bel Canto” by Ann Patchett. While standing in the fiction aisle at that bookstore — Last Word Books — I flipped through “Bel Canto” and found a lavender-colored note containing a name and a phone number.

I walked the note up to the fellow behind the counter and suggested he keep the note, in the remote chance the person returns looking for that phone number. He dropped it behind him in a box brimming...