Last weekend, we were working on a new jigsaw on the kitchen table. It was a painting of dozens of classic paperbacks, many of which I’d read back in high school. 1984. Howl. Great Gatsby. Old Man and the Sea. I remember almost every cover well. As we were well into the puzzle, a weird thing started to happen. I would pick up one of the 1000 pieces and immediately know where it went. Sometimes, I would reach across Jenny to a far corner and bloop the piece just snapped into place. Whoa. Jenny...