As we entered the chippy, Angie was leaning a little on the counter, in intense conversation with the owner. I was startled to see her, and pleased, because here was someone I had met in Edinburgh who wasn't part of my volunteer work or introduced to me by FunkyPlaid! Someone I met on my very own. She was a captive audience in a grocery store, but I'll take it.
I greeted her and we had a nice conversation -- of which I got about 70%, "nae" and "tae" being the least of my difficulties -- and then as we parted, she hugged me, and she hugged and kissed FunkyPlaid.
We left, and I was exhilarated.
On a whim, I logged into a mush I hadn't visited in a while, and met someone new. That is uncommon, since the same people have been in the same places for at least a decade, if not two. What is even more uncommon is our intersection of experiences and interests. And she lives … about a hundred miles away from where I grew up.
Living five to eight hours ahead of my closest friends and family is inconvenient when it comes to connecting in real-time. Right about the time most people are free for a video chat is when I'm headed to bed, or at least hesitant to chat online out of respect for our neighbors.
(As I wrote that yesterday evening, Hawk appeared online and we had a nice, albeit brief, chat.)
Thinking about this, I remembered how useful I found webcams when I just wanted to peek in on how a friend was doing. We have Twitter for sharing little snippets and snaps, but oftentimes while I'm at the computer I am immersed in something I don't want to narrate. And there are times when it is enough to glance over instead of engaging someone in a conversation. So I decided to turn on the nestcam, and will have it on when I think of it.
A throwback to 1999 that maybe makes the world a little smaller.