In 1987, I spent a number of days exploring Southport, England while my husband was in business meetings.  I was reminded that children can be a tool to opening conversations with strangers.  Like the woman who noticed Heidi slumped in her stroller and scolded, "Do you know your baby is asleep!"  Or to this wonderful driver of a double-decker bus, who welcomed Heidi onto the driver's seat so she could pretend to drive his bus!  He is the stranger I will remember, for his warmth and humor.  I remember him as Mr. Oz.

I learned quickly that children play a different role in England.  Some restaurants and pub owners turned us away when they saw Heidi in her stroller.  When given advance warning, Heidi was welcomed into a ritzy French restaurant.  The owner borrowed an antique high chair with velvet cushion from a shop next door.  He seemed proud to announce they had only once before accepted a child to their restaurant.  But regardless of culture, there are people who delight in children everywhere.  Above is a picture of Heidi with Peter, our waiter at the hotel.  He was one of those people.  We left after each meal with extra supplies of fruit and biscuits for Heidi to enjoy later.

Heidi and I waited at the bus stop across from our hotel until we spotted a double decker pulling up to the curb. "Where to?"  The driver asked when I stepped onto the bus.  I explained I just wanted to go a few blocks to give Heidi a double-decker experience.  I paid 22 pence and climbed the stairs to find the upper deck empty.

View From Bus
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In Banks, the bus rested and Mr. Oz stretched a bit.  He climbed upstairs and enjoyed the view with Heidi and me.  Then he asked if Heidi would like to sit in the driver's seat.  He offered to use my camera for a photo while Heidi played with the wheel.  Then Mr. Oz asked if I would mind the bus, while he ran into a stone building nearby.  He dashed off, leaving me with all the ticket money just sitting on a little tray.  A woman climbed on board and laughed at the sight of Heidi and me at the wheel. "So we ride free today, do we?" She said with an accent that matched her perfectly.  A tidy little man in a black cap laughed behind the woman.  When Mr. Oz returned I stayed with others who had gathered up near the front.  We jabbered the whole way back. Everyone had to tell me who they knew back in America.  And everyone had to tell me what I needed to do on my remaining days in Southport. 

Not only did you welcome Heidi and me to your bus, but your positive spirit seemed to spread to anyone you came in contact with.  

Heidi doesn't remember this little adventure that occurred 25 years ago. But I remember it fondly.

In the day, the viewing area looks like this.  But a year ago, I stood near the open window on a pitch black night, surrounded by murmuring voices.  The deck was swarming with curious visitors, all straining their eyes out towards the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous "Marfa Lights".

Mysterious Marfa Lights

Late on a Saturday night in April, my husband and I decided to head from our hotel in Marfa, TX to Mitchel Flat, 9 miles away. People have gathered in this open field for years in hopes of spotting the mysterious phenomena called The Marfa Lights. 
It's hard to know how many people stood out on that dark deck.  My eyes never really adjusted to see more than dark shapes, milling about...and a glow now and then of cell phones.  My ears worked much better...hearing the constant flow of cars and motorcycles entering and leaving the parking lot...and the voices.  I kept my eyes glued to the horizon and listened.  A giddy group who had probably had a few beers...some parents explaining to children where to look...a few hopeful gasps and some disappointed responses.  And so many questions swirling in the night air.  "What's that lumpy thing?"  "Are those the lights, or just a car?"  "Can we go now?"  "Where are you?"  The sky wasn't producing any excitement, but the dialogue was entertaining.
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My eyes could barely see a thing, but I heard a serious voice answering questions. I could see the shape of a man seated in a folding chair.  There seemed to be a tripod beside him, which was quietly clicking at regular intervals.  I strained to hear over the now annoying chatter, because I could tell this man knew something about these Marfa Lights.  

As it turns out, the figure seated nearby was James Burnell, a scientist and  author of a number of books about the lights.  He sat quietly in his chair, while the crowd of  impatient spectators thinned.  And before long he was the only one left on the deck besides my husband and myself.

It was an odd thing to converse without seeing a face.  It's amazing how you listen to the clues of a voice.  His voice was calm and steady.  He seemed neither annoyed by our questions or enthused.  Then, he answered our most important question.  "So, have you seen any tonight?"  "Not tonight." He answered, while his camera clicked away...just in case.   He spoke like a scientist, explaining how these mysterious orbs of light were first witnessed by the Native Americans, believing they were fallen stars.  He told us a bit about the studies he had done using automated monitoring stations...and yet there really is no explanation for some of the sightings.
Then Mr. Bunnell stopped sounding like a scientist and he talked about growing up in Marfa and how his grandfather would take him out to this spot (which was only a field) in hopes of spotting the  lights.  He mentioned that he now lives in Dallas, but occasionally makes the 9 hour drive to spend a weekend studying the sky.  "This doesn't seem to be one of the lucky nights."  He said without disappointment.

Thanks to the Expert on Marfa Lights!
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I won't remember your face, but I'll always remember your patience and passion.  It's hard to be patient about something you're passionate about.  You show that it's possible.

I had been focused on the clown.   It was a curious thing to watch...this man studying his mirror, applying shiny colors to his face...so oblivious to the city rushing by. But it was my son, Scott who alerted me to the bigger picture.  He quietly moved me to the side where I could see the man who sat behind the clown.  The men seemed so similar, bent over paper and mirror.  They both blocked out the world, before a day of work.  Their bodies were almost like statues, beside the busy street cleaner...motorbike and bus. No one seemed to take notice, except us.  Well maybe the couple, embracing across the street.  You can barely see them, peering through the decorative iron on the bench.

We headed back towards the same intersection.  Shops and businesses..more traffic now.  We spotted the clown, posed like a statue on a box.  Layers of colors and patterns now covered his white undershirt.  He held a wobbly umbrella over his head.  His clunky shoes turned outward, each with a mysterious eyeball!

He didn't speak or move, but held his mouth in a cheery smile, which  we hadn't seen earlier.

I gestured with my camera and put money in his tip container.  I stepped back and smiled before lifting the camera.  When my camera clicked, his nose blinked like Rudolph's!

Thanks, Dear Clown!

We never spoke.  I watched you on the bench and on the sidewalk.  I can only guess about the rest of your life.  I had less interaction with you than most strangers on my list, but you are an easy one to remember!

My husband and I were watching the 2011 World Series at our hotel bar  when Greg walked in.  

He juggled two trekking poles a pack, bed roll and a steel water bottle.  He had just stepped off the "Tahoe Rim Trail" and was looking for a food store before bedding down for the night.  Billy, the bartender welcomed him in and poured him a complimentary beer.  Greg moved towards the stool gratefully, but took a few minutes stretching his weary muscles before settling down.

But Greg was animated and chatty with our small group.   He paused a few times to absorb the baseball on TV.  He seemed a bit nostalgic when he mentioned how very different he and his Dad were, yet they always enjoyed watching sports together.  I had a feeling there was a lot more to that story.  

Billy offered to microwave some leftover gourmet mac-n-cheese for Greg.  After devouring the steamy dish, Greg offered to pay for the kindness by helping Billy with a furniture moving chore.   It was pretty cozy inside, as temperatures were dropping to freezing outside.  I kept wondering how it would feel to go back outside and sleep on the ground after hiking a marathon. 

Hiking Alone
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In the following days, Don and I hiked a number of trails in the area and I  couldn't stop wondering what it would be like to hike alone. 

If I didn't  have someone to chat with, would I talk to myself?  Would I sing, or write stories in my head?  Would I ever be afraid?  (yes) Would I make up games like  kick the rock or count the birds?  Would I think more of the past or the future? 
 

On our last day in Tahoe we drove I-80 towards Tahoe City.  There was a moment when Don and I both gasped to notice a figure beside the road, hitchhiking in a red shirt.  Don braked and turned the car around to greet Greg who had finished his Rim Hike.  He was heading home to Fresno, the opposite way we were going.   We wished him luck and got back on the road.

Thanks Greg!  I've done a lot of hiking since we met you 9 months ago.   There's always plenty of thinking time on a hike, and you often come to mind when my feet get into that rhythmic  mode.  You make me stop and wonder about solitude.  You seemed to appreciate it. I'm sure you've had many adventures and much to ponder, since we met you!