This is Robert.  I met Robert when I stopped to browse a Western boot and hat store in Sedona, Arizona.  Robert told me that he had originally been an accountant “not because I liked it, but because numbers were easy for me.”

Looking around the shop, I noticed a book on the counter with a small sign saying that the book was signed by the author.  Then I noticed Robert’s picture on the sign.  “You wrote this book?” I asked.  Robert’s face lit up as he began to tell me about the book.  He excitedly told me that he had received phone calls from people who were so taken with his story and it’s characters, that they asked him to write a sequel.

I asked Robert if he was a cowboy.  He smiled and answered, “Just a dime store desperado from Doodlebug Ranch.”  I liked Robert.  He was friendly, self-effacing, and kind.  He found his calling, not in numbers, but in words.

Robert is a renaissance man.  A renaissance man from Doodlebug Ranch.  BTW – check out his book at http://grasshopperflatssedona.com/index.htm

This is Roland.  Lynn and I met Roland as we were standing on the beach in Highland Beach, Florida.  He was very friendly and personable.  He said that he had been born in Egypt but moved to the United States when he was seventeen

After we talked for a while, we invited him to see our condo (as he was interested in real estate in the area).  Later he invited us over to his place and  suggested that we email him to set up a time for lunch.

I asked him for his email address, but neither of us had anything to write on.  "Just Google my name," he said.  I laughed and said that there must be thousands of Roland _________s on Google (it's a very common last name).  He responded "Well, I'm kinda famous.  I should be the first entry that comes up."  I asked what he did for a living and he told me that he was a physicist.

Later that evening, I 'Googled' Roland.  His was not only the first entry, but the second, third, fourth...!  Then I downloaded his 17 page resume.

Hmmmm....  I just met someone famous "along the way."

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This is Israel.  I met Israel as he was walking along the boardwalk of a local nature preserve. He carried a pair of binoculars and asked if I had seen a Bittern (a small bird). "I know there are a few here" he said, "but I haven't been able to see one. My eyes just aren't what they used to be."

Israel said that he was 89 years old. When I asked what he had done before retiring, he said "I used to teach advanced mathematics to graduate students." "You mean theoretical mathematics," I asked? "Yep" he said.

This piqued my interest, as some theoretical mathematicians work at defining the very boundaries of reality (at least that's my romantic interpretation of their work).

So, here is Israel who once worked at defining and looking for the limits of the physical universe.

Now he is looking for a Bittern.

This is Mike.

I met Mike when I noticed his van in a parking lot. 

On the Van door it read:  “Guitar Hospital.” 

That was enough to pique my interest. 

Mike invited me into his workshop, which was tucked into a back room of a local gift shop in Delray Beach.  On the wall were various vintage guitars in various states of repair.   “I started working for Gibson guitars in 1972,” he said.  Mike went on to say that he had played in a band in college, but now repaired and restored guitars.

Mike’s face lit up when he talked about his career choice, but he said that “I get these young kids who come to me and ask me to teach them the business, but they want to learn it all in a few weeks.  I apprenticed for eight years!” 

When I asked to take his picture he said “sure, but let me grab something and look busy.”  What you can’t see in this picture is that Mike had more than enough worked waiting to be repaired – stacks upon stacks of guitars waiting for someone to bring them back to life – someone who was willing to spend eight years learning their trade.   

This is Santa.  I met him at an outdoor event in West Palm Beach.  It was early in the day and Santa had a bit of time to speak with me before all manner of children (and surprisingly, quite a few very good looking women) began their yearly visit to his lap.

I asked him how he was able to wear such a heavy suit in our 78 degree weather, and he explained that his suit was packed with ice packets.  "Much the same technology as used by some of our troops in Iraq," he said.

Santa.. I mean Frank, told me that before he retired he worked for the Internal Revenue Service for more than 20 years, but that he began his Santa career about four years ago.

I asked him if he had ever had a sad moment as Santa, and he began to tell me about his work with children diagnosed with cancer.  He told me of a time when he was standing with a parent whose infant was being held down so the nurse could insert a needle into her vein.  "I was just standing there with this silly suit on, and holding a pathetic little gift.  And as I stood there, the child was screaming, and the mother was crying and holding on to my arm so tight.  And I thought - what can I possibly give to this child and her mother?  I'm just a man dressed in a silly red suit with a little gift, and this mother is in such pain."

Frank, I mean Santa, had a hard time resolving that moment in his own mind.  And I understand.  Life is not always kind or gentle.  A child's pain is horrific and as a parent himself, Frank had a difficult time containing his own feelings.

But, I'm glad Santa was there, and I'm sure that this mom who held on so tightly was also glad, for at that moment, Frank (or Santa) became more than a man in a red suit. He became another human being who was willing to share the pain.  He was there for her, and sometimes, just being there is enough.  I believe in you Santa.

This is Christi.  I met Christi while having breakfast at a local café that sits alongside a beautiful tidal river here in Rhode Island.  Christi told me that she had worked in Madagascar with the Peace Corps.  We talked about how different life is there as compared to here in the United States.  I recalled my own culture shock when I came  back to this country after spending some time in Central America, and joked about how she must have felt walking into a  Department Store after living in such a distant place. 

Christie said "...it's not really the shock of the materialism that was difficult for me, it was the change of relationships between people and their community."  That struck me.  Obviously, Christi looks at life through her heart.  Apparently, it's not the visual that concerned Christi as much as the relational changes that she felt. 

Having been a psychotherapist, I understand how important relationships are.  They are paramount. They are what preserves us and keeps us safe.  Christi knows relationships.  That is a special thing -- a beautiful thing.

This is Kim.  I met Kim as she was standing at the edge of Lake Erie in a small town named Vermillion.  It was a hot sunny day and Kim was looking for her children.  Kim told me that she was born and raised in Vermillion, but "never really appreciated the town."  "It's a shame," she said, "but you never really appreciate where you come from until after you move away."  Kim did move away to college, but eventually moved back.  She said "I really love it here." I asked if I could take her picture and she laughed.  "Sure" she said.

Later, I wondered how many parents have looked out over the horizon wishing that their children knew what Kim had learned -- that sometimes, coming home is a good thing, and that small-town America is home.

Tonight, Kim, your children will be in bed, exhausted and safe in your home in Vermillion Ohio -- A very small town.