Stepping into a new position brought along a few surprises. People I grew up with wandered into my office, smiling a bit in surprise, and content to greet an old friend. I struggled with a few meetings, laughed through others, and cried after still more. My life was dancing before my very eyes, and I struggled with the reality of facing all those years. I knew when I focused on the mass of files stacked on every bare inch of my desk that I was in for a few surprises. The surprises came with familiar faces and well-known names.

An electrician who set our barn on fire in childhood grumbled at the thought of my doing his accounting, but left smiling, trusting me with his prized numbers. Another business owner parked in front of my desk to ask me questions and later left me his accounting. A chef, ripped through my office with purpose and poise, if not grace, leaving a wake of tumbled pencil holders, only to return and ask me a favor. The peer of my parents grumbled about my presence while begging me to explain depreciation to him, and reluctantly accepted my explanation, insisting later that I take care of his taxes.

Each understood the dynamic presented, suffered the excruciating principles, and accepted the concept of meeting progress at the expense of a bit of privacy. But, there was one more.

A treasure left for a Monday afternoon, when my day had gone awry, and my life wrapped tightly around a momentary crisis, he strolled into the office slowly, appearing lost. I greeted him with a smile. An old friend, one who lived just down the street. It had been his fault I fell off the horse, nearly breaking my arm when I was 7. His curls had been a source of mass frustration when my own hair tumbled in straight lengths down my back. I can