It was one of those unique moments, not quite in time and not quite out of time. There were three of us standing there, gathered at an ICON meeting before the program started. Suddenly there was laughter, soft melodic rich in tone and pleasing to the ear. I turned around to see who it was. The laughter captivated, invited me. It spread from the lips across the face and mirrored itself in the eyes. Like a stone casting ripples on the water, the laughter spread an aura of warmth, and those of us who were aware of that small moment in time felt richer for the moment. And I remembered the words that followed the laughter:

"I'm an ‘old soul'…."

I didn't catch the rest of it, but the term "Old Soul" remained with me.

And here I am in my little cubbyhole. There are again three of us. Grandmamma has blessed me with her presence. And there is that computer winkin' and blinkin' an invitation. And Grandmamma is tempting me.

"I know what you're thinking, so why don't you ask that Google thing? Go ahead. Type in the words."

The grand old dame was right. Once upon a time, I was familiar with the term "Old Soul." I knew a few of them. And as I thought of them and their images took shape in my mind, I heard the same compelling laughter and I felt the same joy within. But what was it that made them "Old Souls"? Exactly what was the common denominator? Was it that they carried a large portion of sua' de vivre and spread it around for everyone to enjoy?

There are those famous "Old Souls" like the Dalai Lama. He too has that smile and the warmth in that voice. And he has wisdom.

"We have to have enemies if we are to learn patience," he said. It was the kind of wisdom I lacked. But I had to admit that he was right. Unkindness was the enemy. Unkindness taught me patience. Patience is a survival skill.

"With force you can lift an ox around. But with gentle persuasion you can make him follow you!" Grandmamma always said that. I came to the conclusion that she too was an "Old Soul." She was kind and comforting and loving. Even when she applied discipline, she was still loving and caring. "Old Souls," I assume, are the people who make us feel accepted. "Old Souls" give of themselves without a thought and without asking for something in return.

Grandmamma was here, the computer was on, and the portal was open. I had summoned Google, and so I did exactly what the grand old dame said I should be doing. I typed in the words without hoping for any return. I clicked the "Search" button and the entrees tumbled out like a flood.

There were items on reincarnation, items on "Old Soul" music, poetry and psychology. There were countless Web sites. But I had only a small space for my little essay. Journalism classes had taught me the importance of being brief, concise, and correct. And there was that definition I had been searching for.

"Old Souls," I found out, know how to love. They know that true confidence is true humility. "Old Souls," it is said, simply know how to use what was learned.

Nostradamus was considered an "Old Soul." He felt that humankind was given "Old Souls" to achieve a higher level of existence.

"There is now a higher percentage of ‘Old Souls' living in this world," one Web site states. Perhaps we are desperately in need of "Old Souls." Another Web site proclaims that "Old Souls" are merely on loan to us. If my credit is good, I'd love to borrow a few.

There are also common denominators for "Old Souls." It is said that "Old Souls" have many and varied interests. "‘Old Souls' live and learn." An "Old Soul" told me that years ago. He took it one step further. The moment we stop learning, he said, we stop living. I don't know if my friend Gerry is an "Old Soul," but I do know that he is eager to learn and he makes certain that I continue learning. Clarence always insisted on lengthy periods of learning. The only time he stopped, he once admitted with a grin, was when he noticed that my eyes were glazing over.

"Old Souls," I am inclined to believe, are also very private persons. Perhaps the "Old Soul" charm is like a magic spell that shrinks away from the glaring light of publicity. Grandmamma is that way. The only way one can be aware of her presence is when that silly grin breaks out all over my face for no apparent reason.

In leaving, she has one more thought for me:

"Lieben, Leben und Lernen," she tells me in German. The three Ls. Strange that these three words translate into English ever so smoothly.

"Loving, Living and Learning." Without them, existence becomes subsistence.

Reluctantly, I close my portal to that constant stream of time, place, person and idea. Aufwiedersehn! Time to say goodbye!