Two Degrees of Separation
It’s really not six degrees, you know. For me it’s maybe two, probably less. Don’t know if it’s because I know a lot of people, or because I’m my father’s daughter and will talk to just about anyone about just about anything, or because I can play the Mennonite game at nigh unto Olympian levels. In any event . . .
I’m in southwest Florida and work for an attorney friend of mine in Chicago, using the magic of remote access. So, I’m talking to one of Bill’s clients, whose telephone number has a “540” prefix which is the same as that of my parents. When we finished with the business end of the call, I asked him where he was and he said, “Staunton, Virginia,” a town about 30 miles from where my parents live in Harrisonburg. We laughed and he asked what my father does for a living; I replied, “He and my brothers farm half of Rockingham County.” Norb paused and then said, “What’s your last name?” I told him and he said, “And what’s your dad’s name?” I replied, “Daniel,” and he said, “Does he own land in Timberville?” Well, yes. Turns out that Norb has a friend in Timberville and remembered going out to look at the irrigation system Dad and the boys installed some 20 odd years ago, the first such doo-hicky of its type in that part of Virginia, and probably one of very few irrigation systems east of, oh, say, Ohio. We were screaming laughing . . . what a small world!
Two weeks later, another phone call to another client, a Greek lady who’s selling a small business. We’ve gotten to be friendly through our phone calls and last week she said, “Now tell Bill he’s got to call me because in three weeks I’m going to Greece for a month to help my daughter plan her wedding.” Something rang a bell. A Greek tenant in a building we once owned in Chicago, whose American-born daughter met and married a Greek man and moved back to Greece. I said, “Hey, Toni, can I ask you a question. Do you know Olga and Sam and Pete who had the fruit stand at 71st and Rockwell?” Shrieks and screams! “Olga is my very best friend. We talk several times a week on the phone. We meet for coffee and gossip every Wednesday morning. How do you know Olga?” Small, small world!
I’m in southwest Florida and work for an attorney friend of mine in Chicago, using the magic of remote access. So, I’m talking to one of Bill’s clients, whose telephone number has a “540” prefix which is the same as that of my parents. When we finished with the business end of the call, I asked him where he was and he said, “Staunton, Virginia,” a town about 30 miles from where my parents live in Harrisonburg. We laughed and he asked what my father does for a living; I replied, “He and my brothers farm half of Rockingham County.” Norb paused and then said, “What’s your last name?” I told him and he said, “And what’s your dad’s name?” I replied, “Daniel,” and he said, “Does he own land in Timberville?” Well, yes. Turns out that Norb has a friend in Timberville and remembered going out to look at the irrigation system Dad and the boys installed some 20 odd years ago, the first such doo-hicky of its type in that part of Virginia, and probably one of very few irrigation systems east of, oh, say, Ohio. We were screaming laughing . . . what a small world!
Two weeks later, another phone call to another client, a Greek lady who’s selling a small business. We’ve gotten to be friendly through our phone calls and last week she said, “Now tell Bill he’s got to call me because in three weeks I’m going to Greece for a month to help my daughter plan her wedding.” Something rang a bell. A Greek tenant in a building we once owned in Chicago, whose American-born daughter met and married a Greek man and moved back to Greece. I said, “Hey, Toni, can I ask you a question. Do you know Olga and Sam and Pete who had the fruit stand at 71st and Rockwell?” Shrieks and screams! “Olga is my very best friend. We talk several times a week on the phone. We meet for coffee and gossip every Wednesday morning. How do you know Olga?” Small, small world!
posted by Debra Hope @ 11:24 AM
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