Time to puzzle
Well, it’s that time of year again. The holidays. From mid-November through the end of the year, the celebrations are strung together like beads. In fact, they can become a bit of a blur as they zip by. Of course, Thanksgiving is the gateway holiday for Black Friday—that all-important starting line for holiday shopping, and so named because it’s the day when retailers supposedly turn a profit—from “in the red,” to being “in the black.” But in our family, the holidays are much lower key and are certainly not focused on shopping. Instead, we puzzle together. No, I mean we REALLY puzzle.
Just getting our "Puzzle-eyes" on
We like the size and challenge of 1000 piece puzzles, and started our first one early in December. Since we were just gearing up (getting our “puzzle eyes” on), that one may have taken us a week. We’d work in the evenings, but only occasionally. Once that puzzle was finished, we immediately began another. We started picking up speed, cutting our time in half. Pretty good.
"Turn-ature" begins
Here’s our technique: a new puzzle is chosen from our selection (typically 5-7 waiting in the wings). We empty the pieces onto the table in the living room and begin turning them over, from cardboard side to picture side. You may, in all fairness, ask, “Who doesn’t?” Well you’re right, EVERYBODY does that, but what it signals to our family is the beginning of the chide. That’s right. If someone has to go to the bathroom, or chooses to give the doggies a treat in the kitchen, they’re chided for their apparent intention to evade the often dreaded process of puzzle turn-ature. This mocking goes on relentlessly for some time until the irresponsible party redeems him/herself by finding more edge pieces at a faster rate than expected.
Stake your claim
Then, we get serious and really settle in. The edges form the border and we each “claim” territories of the picture to “build.” It’s common for someone to ask, “What are you building?” If two people have inadvertently chosen the same object, there’s an agreement that the one who has built more has imminent domain, and the pieces are immediately relinquished to that person—no questions asked.
As we work amid the mutterings, outbursts of singing, and sometimes serious conversation, there can be heard spontaneous shouts of “Connect!” when portions are aligned and a bridge holds the tentative pieces together. Sometimes, “Yessss!” is called out. Then we all chime in with supportive gestures by shouting out variations on the word, like “Yesssssssss!” or “Yesssaaaahh!” or maybe “Yessiree!” And for some reason, that usually encourages another jokester to quietly add “Bob,” as in “Yessiree-Bob?”
Most unfortunate!
During the puzzle working, someone will typically ask the most fearful question in all of puzzletry, “Are all the pieces here? I think something’s missing.” I did mention the doggies, so we are quick to look at Tuesday, who enjoys gnarling a piece every once in a while. Although she’s never eaten one completely, we’re left with a barely recognizable, damp form to squish into place. She just likes to be part of the action—is that so wrong? No one ever suspects Abby, since she’s typically snoring on a nearby pillow. And Izzi-B could only find a piece if it bounced off her head. Consequently, Tuesday is the usual suspect.
I'm a box-matcher
And of course, everyone has an individual puzzle working style. Em is a shape-fitter. He examines the space and scours the table for the perfect-fitting single piece. (It takes him forever, which draws fire from fellow puzzlers on occasion.) I’m a box-matcher. Give me the box and I can locate any piece that you hand me. Of course, it’s not connected to anything and is often not very useful—but hey, it works for me. And Iris? Well, she’s the puzzle-master, master-puzzler. She goes by shape, color, texture or just plain instinct, employing every possible nuance she can think of—it’s poetry in motion and any puzzler’s dream to watch her work.
Last night we began at 10:30 pm and finished the puzzle just before 2 am. Okay. We can be a little compulsive, I admit. The standard 1000-piecer, is taking us about 1 and 1/2 days now to complete. We’d be consummate professionals, if there were such things. Tomorrow, we select the next puzzle. We’ll begin the process all over again with renewed zest and anticipation.
He arrives bearing gifts
Aaron arrives on Sunday. He told Iris to be prepared because he’s bringing puzzles. Atta boy! Every family has traditions and rituals. This is ours.
“Buone feste! Happy Holidays!”
Title inspired by Rodgers and Hammerstein’s song from “The King and I”—which by the way, would definitely make a good puzzle!
You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:
The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime
Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E
Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art
Summer with a Chance of Smother
When my Dad was a kid, he was on the neighborhood baseball team called the Amanda Heatwaves. He has fond memories of his childhood and the many hours of fun as one of the Heatwavians. The name couldn’t have been more foretelling. Last week I went to visit my Dad in the Midwest and believe me, I felt the presence of serious Heat!
Forecast or More Blast
I arrived to find Ohio gripped by near-record temperatures. I must admit that I was shocked. But, very quickly, I remembered growing up in the Miami River Valley, where the heat hangs in the air, like being covered with a wet dishtowel—or more accurately, like a heavy wet wool blanket. Yikes! People survive, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that it’s only by virtue of air conditioning. Even if they don’t have it at home, it’s cool at the grocery stores, offices, cinemas and restaurants. Rather than picking up food at the local drive-through, people linger inside over gigantic glasses of iced drinks. They nibble tepid fries at a snail’s pace, just to cool down for a bit. But we have to be careful, because that conditioned air can be deceiving. It’s all too easy to forget that it’s 96 degrees outside in the real world, with an adjusted Heat Index of 117 degrees. And I’m not kidding—117!
Brutal
So, we just go casually about our business as if nothing unusual or horrific is actually happening. “Oh, look! There’s a deer munching on some leaves out in the backyard.” Then without thinking, you step outside to see where it wandered and hear yourself audibly gasp. Where’s the air? It’s woefully, almost painfully absent. A little deeper breath confirms that humans should not be out in this inferno. Five minutes and I’m sure I’d fall to the ground with a dull thud, since all the moisture in my body would evaporate during the free-fall. The deer don’t seem to be fainting, but I honestly don’t know why not.
Watch the red needle
On the breadbox in my brother’s kitchen is a thermometer. My Dad has one perched on his counter, too. They monitor the rise and fall of each degree. The coolest moment of the day seems to be around 6 am. From there, it just gets hotter, hotter and more humid, boiling its way straight through the night. It seems that if the clouds and everything else were put into one of those old wringer washers, the water would come pouring out like a heavy downpour. But rain doesn’t seem to appear much on the weather maps, only little squiggly lines representing HEAT. I remember a neighbor who fried eggs on the hood of his car, as the local newspaper photographer snapped pictures. Now that’s hot!
Soggy mail
During the peak heat waves, the weather has the power to actually alter decision-making. For example, only someone expecting to win the lottery would venture out to the mailbox, midday. So ordinary envelopes and fliers languish in those hot little boxes, soaking in the moist air. They cling together and sooner or later, when you finally go to retrieve them, they stain your fingertips with damp dye immediately upon contact—seemingly as punishment for leaving them outside in the caldron.
Where would we be without ice?
On my way to Dad’s place, I decided to stop for an iced coffee. There was no choice but to park and walk into the shop. Between the parked car and the door it felt like I was in a blast furnace. I picked up my pace. Then I started speed walking. Then I began alternating the walking with some strange kind of jogging. I popped through the door and rested against it, out of breath, as though the heat had been a persistent stalker that I had cleverly eluded. Whew! I brushed back some stray hairs loosened by my sort-of run and nonchalantly made eye contact with the clerk. “I know,” she greeted me with real sympathy. “How about something cold to drink, hon?” I managed a nod as I staggered away from the door. Then I lingered over the coldest coffee, the most refreshing beverage imaginable, making it one of those truly memorable moments. And for that sweet pause in my day, there was no trace of oppressive heat. No record setting temperatures. Just me and my iced coffee. Ahhh!
After my brief respite with the icey drink, I bucked up, steadied my resolve and left the coffee shop making a bee-line to the car. Next stop? A visit with Dad . . . a uniquely lovable Heatwave.
You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:
The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime
Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E
Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art
New Music—Virtual CD
Uncommon Promise Video Channel
In Touch in Tuscany
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