While on the ski trip last weekend Sarah's co-worker Tobey recognized me from somewhere in her past. We quickly rifled through some options like MIT, ChannelWave, Newton North, and friends. Toby looked back into her memory banks and recalled that we had met at temple. I am not someone with a long history of joining synagogues so the only temple that I could remember going to was one at Wheaton College that my parents used to take Lisa and me to on high holidays when we were children with a woman reform rabbi who had a choir that sang Leonard Cohen (Who by fire) and Cat Stevens songs (Morning has broken) along with spiced-up versions of traditional favorites like a song that I don’t know the name of but sounded like hashana haba-ah. We also would feed ducks on Yom Kippur near the cafeteria as we counted down the hours to dusk.

As it turned out Tobey also recalled the same choir from Wheaton and had recognized my grown face at 30 from whatever younger face she likely saw when I was a teenager or younger. While not completely miraculous that she could recognize a face from a crowd from so long ago and before I had a beard I can only wonder whether we had met or talked. Maybe she had been a girl my age at another pew that I distractedly had a fantasy crush on while hoping the rabbi would stop making me pledge my devotion to the Hebrew lord in Hebrew.

I see people everywhere who look familiar to me. Every once in a while I see them enough times that I can track them back to where I first saw them. The best example of that is the guy who sells wine at Best Cellars that I kept seeing at Red Sox games and bars. I saw two recognizable people in the past few days. One spidery woman at the rock gym who was thin with dyed orange and blond hair looked like she might have been someone who I went to high school with. Another blond short woman at the bar I met Hattie at also looked like she was familiar. It is interesting how in crowds of people you can vaguely recognize a single face and from that point on the rest of the crowd disappears as your mind goes to work on finding the relationship to them.

Speaking of being unable to recollect relationships, I met Hattie in the bar formerly known as the Good Life. I'm sure the new bar has a new and memorable name but unless I go there every day I quickly fall back to the name I know for the place. Hattie and I had some miscommunication on where and when we were meeting as she was waiting for me to call her to let her know which bar I would be waiting for her in. So I was in the bar alone.

When I am in a bar alone I usually have a book, video game on my phone, or some other distraction keeping me from looking like a single guy hunting for a new girlfriend. This time I didn't have any of these items handy so I stared blankly feigning interest in the college basketball on the 42 inch HDTV screens behind the bar. This was working fine for the first fifteen minutes I was waiting but one gnarled looking man with a stubbly face who was sitting alone and wearing a Patriots baseball cap thought I could use some companionship and was looking for some for himself. He offered me the seat next to him while I waited.

The first thing he let me know was that the brunette bartender would be really hot if she didn't have a big ass. The brunette brought me a Sam Adams. Mr. blue collar wanted to know if I had any children. I told him that I didn't yet but I was planning on it. His children must have been something on his mind. "When they are being born make sure that you are there and you film it. There is nothing like it. I loved my wife," He said as his yellow eyes grew a little watery, "but when my kids were born I loved them a lot more than I loved anything in the world. It was a whole different story how much I loved those kids than my wife. Don't get me wrong. My wife and I split about eight years ago but I pay for those kids and I have a great relationship with them. These past eight years I have been on a tear!" He looks back at the bartender's too large ass. "I grew-up poor but I want those kids to have a life like I never had. You know I could live real happy with just a roof over my head, a beer, and some clothes to keep me warm. I worry that my kids might not appreciate everything they have. That's a tough one ya' know. You want to give them things you didn't have but you don’t want them to be more needy than you are. I’m done having kids though. Last year I was with a woman and she told me when she was about four month’s pregnant with twins. I thought I was going to be a father again but then in the fifth month both them died and were born still. So I don't think I'm having any more kids."

Hattie walked in and I moved to the other bar with her to avoid finishing the conversation. I think he was glad to unload some of his thoughts on me. Maybe I’ll recognize him if I see him again?

Last night I went to see Nobody don't like Yogi with my parents. Among the malapropisms I recall one line that struck me as very smart. He was telling his wife not to worry so much that his kids spilled their drinks all the time and Yogi said – "People die, why shouldn’t milk spill?"