I didn’t have a lot of time, but I received my complimentary passes by email, as I do every year, and felt compelled to carve out a few hours on a recent Saturday to visit the One-of-A-Kind Show at the Merchandise Mart.

The public expo features uniquely designed, often hand-made, jewelry, clothing, and decorative home accessories. The prices tend to be premium, but it’s so nice to see the inventiveness of the artisans on display and shop for special gifts you would never find at a department store.

I had barely walked down the main aisle towards a booth featuring hand-felted scarves and hats when I found myself staring at a woman who was obviously trying not to lose her friend in the crowd. She could tell I was staring at her. Her face looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it. Then it dawned on me.

“Nicki?” I muttered as I stepped forward.

“Debbie?” she said, matching my tone of amazement.

We played together as children (our parents, in fact, were close friends), but I had probably not seen her for at least 15 years. Even in high school, we knew some of the same people, but we didn’t hang out together.

We started talking, catching up as holiday shoppers buzzed around us. One of her older sisters died recently. She got divorced. She was still a signer, an interpreter for the deaf.   I told her where I was living and that I was still writing. We confirmed who from high school we still kept in touch with. We exchanged business cards.

We both agreed that the other hadn’t changed at all. We promised each other to try to get together soon. Then we parted.

She texted me during the week. “How about meeting up Saturday night?” After not getting a response right away, she texted again to ask for alternative suggestions.

Last night, after errands, I drove to her house in suburbia. Over homemade soup, bread, and chocolate mint pie for dessert, we exchanged feelings and perspectives. She had two grown children and pretty much stuck to her first profession. I was single most of my adult life and did many different things for a living. She lived past O’Hare Airport, and I made my home within the screeching sounds of the el train. What could we possibly have in common?

We commiserated on how technology was changing our work prospects, shared thoughts about growing up in our respective families (dispelling many misconceptions we had about each other), and talked about sex after 50 and our shared affection for basketball and foreign films. We discovered we both looked at the other in terms of her strengths.

Before I headed back to the highway, we saw that it was the right time for us to get re-connected. I could drag her to concerts at the Old Town School of Folk Music and she could have me over to cocoon in the glow of her projection TV. Maybe we’d watch some basketball.

It was obvious that we both wanted to spend time with people like ourselves – people who tried to be true to themselves and were willing to take some risks to accomplish this.

Was it simply chance, coincidence that we re-connected at this time? Maybe all of life is like a giant GIFT SHOW. We can either spend our time looking for what we came to find or simply looking, wandering through the experience with our eyes wide open and our hearts willing to make connections.

Recognizing the face of an old friend in a crowded exhibition hall and only days later sharing bread and soup and stories is no small thing.