Puzzlement

I walked too much for my poor IT band today. It's sore.

But that's not the point, I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I'm really here to tell you about last Saturday and how it kicked off a series of run-ins with my past (and my brother's).

Everyone plus their kids and dogs and skinny jeans and sundresses and drum circles goes to Dolores Park on warm weekends. I usually avoid the crowds, but some of Cooly's friends were having a picnic, so I stopped by to say hi.

One of the guys looked familiar—not in a recent way, but in a face-from-the-ether way—and it didn't take us long to figure out that we were a year apart at Wesleyan. I also knew another friend of theirs who showed up shortly. He used to date a close friend of mine, another Wes grad (I'll see her in Seattle this weekend, just to tie it all together neatly). I'd never met classmate #2's wife, but it turns out she's a journalist with an English mom, and she used to live in Paris. We're planning to have tea soon and discuss how we're pretty much the same person.

That night, I went to dinner in North Beach and spotted a friend's ex. He came over to say hi and introduce his date, whose face rang a bell. As soon as we heard each other's names, she was instantly familiar: a childhood friend of my brother's. Hadn't seen her in at least 20 years, but we both got a big kick out of the chance meeting. We're planning to get a beer soon and reminisce about Avi's five-minute-long love affair with horseback riding.

And my college friend in Seattle? Her current boyfriend is also from my brother's toddler days. She just figured that out when they were talking about holiday traditions and he mentioned the Chanukah parties he used to go to at his buddy Avi's house.

On Monday, I ran into another Wes classmate on BART on the way home. Yesterday, I posted this Facebook status update: "Mia keeps accidentally finding little puzzle pieces from her past."

This morning, a package landed on my desk. That's normal—one of my job perks is constant delivery of free books. But this one wasn't a book. It came from an art PR firm, and inside was an unassembled puzzle.