In the basement of Grandview Tower Condominium, where I live, there is a large Dumpster for newspapers into which I had placed some (well-read) Post-Gazettes. Beside it is a small table on which I placed my minuscule purse.

From there I went to the garage, but could not open my car or garage door, nor could I get back into the main buiding: All my identity (plastic cards and lip gloss) was in my missing purse.

I prayed to St. Jude, saint of impossible cases, for a knight in shining armor to rescue me from the dungeon and force open the castle gates. Lo and behold, he appeared in the person of the building manager, Mike Carrozza.

"Therese," he said, "I have your purse. You left it on my table and I threw it in the trash as people leave joke things for me on that table. But I had second thoughts and retrieved it."

I was so grateful that I drove straight to Mass at Holy Child Parish and thanked the good God, but did not stay for the prayers to St. Jude, which were said after Mass.

I got into my car -- and backed it into the passenger side of a beautiful new car parked in front of the church. I went back into the church to wait until the prayerful people came out. I told the owner of the damaged car that I was the culprit. To my astonishment and dismay, she was Mike's mother.

Moral of the story: When dispensing of your Post-Gazettes, hang your purse around your neck by the shoulder strap -- and don't forget to stay and say thank you to St. Jude. You don't fool around with the saints!

-- THERESE McKENZIE, Bridgeville

My 92-year-old mother and I just finished a late dinner at a local restaurant after her doctor's appointment. She complained that she had no strength and was slower than usual using her walker.

Normally, it takes a while for her to get into the front seat of my car. This evening, she just could not slide over enough to lift her legs into the car. I got into the driver's side and tried to lift her. I could not budge her.

There was a curb near the entrance to the restaurant. I parked next to it thinking my mother would step into the car. Unfortunately, this did not work either as I could not get close enough to the curb.

My mother noticed several men getting into their car. She told me to ask them for help. Two teenage girls stayed with my mother while I went to the men's car.

I started the conversation by saying, "You may not want to do this but, could you help me get my mother into my car?"

Without hesitation, all three came to our rescue. One man quickly got my mother in the car before I knew it. We did thank them but hope that they read this.

Thank you, guys -- and may your Guardian Angel always watch over you.

-- CHARLOTTE WLODKOWSKI, Shaler

Recently, I went to the post office in Evans City to purchase a book of stamps before the rates increased. After signing for the credit card charge, I left the stamps on the counter.

A few days later, I returned to the post office. The clerk greeted me with, "Oh,there she is," and handed me the stamps. She told me that she noted my name on the sales slip and had alerted the other clerks since she is a part-time employee. She also said that she would have notified the credit card company if I had not returned within a few days.

Hats off to Theresa, an honest and thoughtful postal clerk.

-- SISTER PATRICE HUGHES, Abode for Children, Evans City