Yesterday afternoon a gentleman came to our door and introduced himself as our neighbor, John White, from up around the corner. He handed me an invitation to his "driveway picnic" which included a barbecue and, oh by the way, a seventeen piece band would perform big band music in the same driveway. He was inviting everyone so that nobody would complain about the loud music. Good move on his part, I thought.
Being the friendly type the gentleman mentioned he had admired Dave's 48 Ford and confessed he was quite a car buff himself. Naturally I invited him in to talk cars with Dave. Soon the guys were elbow grease deep in flat head engines, and all the while that de ja vu feeling kept spinning in my mind. Something kept telling me I remembered him from somewhere and his name was familiar too. Suddenly I knew and asked if he had gone on a trip to Russia on a PCC tour in…….and in unison the 3 of us said…"1985."
In 1985 Dave and I met him on a splendid unforgettable 2 week trip to Russia and enjoyed his company very much. Like Dave and I he was very brave adventuring out on his own, exchanging money with the locals in Red Square which was a huge no-no lest you be imprisoned forever to Siberia. We kept in touch with him some after our return to the U. S., but then he moved away. And now, 23 years later, he is our neighbor. And loves big band music too.
Serendipity? Synchronism? What are your thoughts?
I had a similar experience a couple years ago. While working in the yard, a woman passed by walking her dog. We struck up a conversation and somehow got talking about our hometowns. I mentioned that I was originally from a small town in Wisconsin (I’m currently in Portland, OR) and she said her mate was, too!
“Where?”
“A little town in the center of the state, called Ripon.” I said.
She looked a little shocked, “So is he!”
Well, it turns out that this man’s father had been my pastor in my growing up days, and I had known him from when he was a little boy. Now he’d lived 4 houses down the block for some 10 years and we’d never crossed paths. It is amazing how small the world can be.
A beautiful painting whoever your neighbors are.
What Grand Good Luck for all of you and does he also know what an amazing artist has moved into his neighborhood?
Another small world story: I was once hiking a trail in the Great Smoky Mountains wearing a sweatshirt that said “Oregon”. A passing hiker stopped me to ask if I was from OR. After several questions back and forth our stories met at the Milwaukie Presbyterian Church where we had mutual friends.