Small World

It really is a small world.

Thirty-eight years ago Bob accepted a job to open an office for a lending company for farmers in a small town. We had passed through there going to and from school, but didn't know anything about it. It was pretty and a lot like the small community that we grew up in, but that was the extent of our knowledge of it. Of course, the first thing we did was call our parents and tell them the news. This would mean that we would be only about one hour from home, which tickled them. The first thing my dad said was, "I think I know someone from there. Let me check."

Sure enough, the next night we get a call. There was a couple who lived just up the street from my parents, who had been friends with my grandparents. He had originally come from this same community and just happened to have a nephew who still lived there and was a real estate agent. Small world. I also believe in "meant to be". We called this young man, made an appointment to see some houses on a Saturday morning on the way to see my sister. We looked at three houses, talked all night and made an offer on our way back through on Sunday evening. An impulse that put us in a perfect location with great neighbors for the next 13 years. It was meant to be.

Then the small world part kicks in again. Around the corner lived a great couple with a large family. Some were grown, some still in high school. In talking to this couple I realized that one of their daughters was a friend from college. In fact, we had pledged the same sorority. For years after that, when she came home she would trot around the corner for a quick catch-up visit.

Life moves on. Our children grew up, we moved to the country, she moved to another town. We still kept in touch, sort of, through her mother, but we really lost touch. Then this morning I received a call from her mother. With a catch in her voice she said, "you know our Kate has cancer". It seems she is taking chemo and losing her hair. Her mother said that she remembered how good my wigs looked and wanted to help her daughter find a perfect one. I immediately gathered up my wig catalogs, that I keep on hand for just this reason. I took them to her house and had a long talk with her. I think she felt better. I did love my wigs. They were cheap, synthetic, and kept me from feeling that I looked sick. I was so glad that I could help in a small way with this traumatic time.

It is a small world.