When I was a child — about 6, or 7 — I used to write fanciful notes and stick them behind the floor and casing moldings of my grandmother’s house, hoping that someday somebody would find them when they tore the house down and imagine some ridiculous story about who lived there.
The house (more than 125 years old) was sold out of the family about 10 years ago. I’ll have to check to see if it is still standing the next time I visit her town.
I'm still waiting to hear from one of the bottles that I threw into the water in the middle of the Pacific Ocean in the mid-60's.