What happens when you find something, or someone, in an unexpected place?

It’s a bit like finding your reading glasses in the freezer instead of on the nightstand. You’re still happy to find them but life is a little fuzzy as you brush away the ice.

H and I met at a grief group. He was wearing two different-colored socks and it made me laugh.

Laughing, that thing I thought I had forgotten how to do.

He’s a retired university professor, but what really got my attention was that he had danced on “American Bandstand.” A boy, albeit now a man, from my teenage fantasy was standing right in front of me.

Oh, the hours I had spent, poodle-skirted and ponytailed, in front of the TV after school trying to wish myself onto that stage with the cool kids. It had been a long wait, but looks like one of them showed up more than a half-century later.

“Do you still dance? I asked. We settled for a walk.

Many walks later found us on State Street in Santa Barbara, celebrating my birthday, when we decided to shift gears and take a drive to the surrounding wine country. As we rounded a corner, there to my surprise was the sprawling Fess Parker winery.

No one had notified me that, in addition to his coonskin cap, Fess had a winery. Taken aback, I started belting out, “Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier.” I could picture my younger brother in his coonskin cap with the tail hitting him in the face as he ran from his Davy-singing sister. I loved how cute that kid looked in his cap. In fact, it might be fun to see it again … and he does have a birthday coming up.

“Do you often burst into song like that?” H inquired, kindly not bringing up that I can’t carry a tune.

“Only when a surprise winery pops up out of nowhere.”

But it was not to be my only surprise of the day. We had dinner at the San Ysidro Ranch — I can’t write that name without mentioning it is where Jackie and John Kennedy honeymooned, and therefore was on my bucket list. Among the gourmet offerings on the menu were “signature mashed potatoes.” That is one of my favorite foods if it’s creamy like my mother used to make, but it seemed far too simple for the restaurant’s fare.

Our waiter was delighted to tell me the potatoes were the secret recipe of a well-known French chef who had granted its use to the ranch before he died. They were known to be the creamiest mashed potatoes anywhere. I tried to be ladylike when H and I shared an order but he only got about two bites.

There’s a lot to be said about what you find in unexpected places.

Email Patricia Bunin at patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her on Twitter @PatriciaBunin and at PatriciaBunin.com.