Sylvie is one of the hardest working people I have ever known. Whenever I come into the Mansion, I encounter her writing her letters.

Recently, she began writing letters to me, they range in subject matter from personal observations to distant memories to religious observations.

Sometimes she is writing in the dining room, as she was today, sometimes on a sofa in the hallway. Today she was writing a letter to a car company in Europe, sometimes a letter to a blog pen pal.

Sometimes she writes checks to multi-national corporations or mail order firms. We usually catch those.

Every time I see her, she says “Hello, Jon,” and she tells me her stamps and envelopes have been stolen. She is sometimes indignant about it, assuring me the “authorities” don’t care.

She is always formal with me, greeting me, and asking how Maria is. Then she goes back to her reading. Tuesday, she said I was a “blessing.” I thanked her.

Last week, her small tote bag was stolen, she said and asked if I could replace it.  I did, for the umpteenth time. She loves dogs, but doesn’t like to touch them, my dogs remind her of the dog she lost in the Austrian alps a half century ago.

She was in a hospital there, her father was a diplomat who traveled through Europe after World War II.

Sylvie is always polite but preoccupied. Lately, I feel she has been frustrated, a little edgy.

I have a rich stash of stamps, envelopes and used tote bags I keep on hand or in the farm. I cannot count the number of stamps and envelopes I’ve purchased, or the Army Of Good has shipped from all over the country for Sylvie.

No one at the Mansion knows where they go, no one believes they were stolen. I asked her once why it is that only stamps and envelopes are stolen, nothing else. She says she doesn’t know.

I had a scheme to put a folder in the office and put stamps and envelopes there. But I dropped it, I think it might have caused trouble. Sylvie is suspicious of authority.

Once in a while, the staff uncovers a stash of stamps somewhere in her somewhat cluttered room. Sylvie is formal and is most often reading a religious tract. She doesn’t go on outings or boat rides, she is too busy.

She dropped out of my meditation class for religious reasons. She always wears a wool cap, summer or winter, many of those have been stolen also.

She is something of a mystery. You can write her c/o Sylvie, The Mansion, 11 S.Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

She won’t play Bingo on Friday because her late boyfriend played bingo with her before he died, and it is too painful for her. I am somewhat devoted to Sylvie, she is a remarkable person.