It's a Small, Small World

Today I was talking about going home to Smalltown, ME for Christmas, and a nurse overheard the conversation and said, "Are you from Maine?"

"Yes," I said, "I am."

  "Where?"

"Smalltown?" I responded, wondering if she knew of it.

She paused and stared at me.

  "What street?"

"Wait - you're from Smalltown too?!" I asked.

  "Yes - what street did you live on?"

"Valley Street."

  "What number?"

"Wait - you're kidding, right? 

  "No - that was the street I grew up on - what number were you at?"

"43."

  "Seriously? My parents' house was 63."

So I described to her where my parents' house is, and she described to me where her parents' house was. But I still didn't have a clear picture of which house, exactly, it was. I asked her if her parents were still there. She told me they had both passed away in the past seven years. She said they had moved away from Smalltown in the mid 1990s, which means my family lived on Valley Street when they were still there. The nurse said she bet my parents probably knew her parents. 

  "My parents are the F's. I'm Meghan F."

"WHAT!?"

  "You knew them?"

Not only did I know who the nurse's parents were, but we went to the same church for a few months. 

And not only did we go to the same church, but we had Easter dinner with them one year. 

And not only THAT (here's the real kicker), but the nurse's parents - my former neighbors - were the grandparents of a guy I went to grade school with when I lived in Smalltown, NH before my family moved to Smalltown, ME.

So not only did the nurse I work with grow up in the same town as I did, she is also the aunt of a classmate of mine from grade school in NH and the daughter of my former neighbors in ME.

Crazy. 

I'm still shaking my head.