ANDREW MALCOLM: Mysterious missives to distant strangers.

In an age of instant communications, we get annoyed if we must wait 30 minutes for a reply. I’m still awaiting replies to messages I launched decades ago – in bottles.

One day around 1950 on a ferry far off the New England coast, my father suggested we write a note, slip it into a bottle and toss it into the North Atlantic to see what might happen.

That was the first of many times we did that. We called it “doing a bottle.” It became an avocation I continue to this day.

Back at home after a bedtime story, Dad would reach to turn off the light. Just before darkness captured my room, he’d say, “I wonder where our bottle is tonight?”

Do yourself a favor and read the whole, lovely thing.