SEPTEMBER 27, 2022 – Lately I’ve been working on the 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle (a physical map of North America) that our daughter-in-law, Mylène, gave me innocently a year ago—knowing my interest in maps. My unanticipated diagnosis and treatment provided ample opportunity to tackle the puzzle. Not until I’d emerged from the transplant process, however, did I summon the courage to tackle the puzzle—I’m not an experienced jigsaw “puzzler.” Heretofore, I’ve been drawn to be more rewarding (i.e. easier) diversions.
Last week, I cleared our dining room table, dumped the pieces out and turned them right side up. After ceremoniously cracking my knuckles, I sorted through the chaff for straight-edged pieces. If there’s anything to know about jigsaw puzzles, I figured, it was that border assembly is the first order of business.
Two and a half days later . . .
I had my border. But upon inspecting that border, my wife found several misplaced pieces. I pretended not to care. “Whatever,” I said, as she revealed one “close but no cigar” after another. As it turned out, I did care—according to my twisted “puzzle” dreams two nights in a row.
When I took another run at the puzzle, thinking I’d acquired some brains, I segregated pieces by color. At 10:00 p.m. I tried to fit a piece or two into place. Minutes ticked by, along with an entire Beethoven piano concerto, a slug of Chopin’s Mazurkas, and James Taylor’s “Greatest Hits.” Long after the chimes struck 11:00, I had nothing to show. Nada. Zippo. Since decades have passed since I last thought I could fool my wife into believing I was smarter than was the fact, I freely announced to her that I’d just managed to waste over an hour of my “precious” time; that accordingly, I’m truly an idiot.
But I’m a stubborn idiot. Give up? Do I look like a quitter?!
Absolutely not.
First, to assuage my fear of wasting “precious” time, I found a YouTube video featuring “the news in French.” The choices were “Easy,” “Intermediate” and “Expert.” I started with “Easy,” figuring that if the puzzle proved to be a continuing bust, I’d avoid having to say, “Damn, but I could’ve become fluent in French in the time I’ve wasted at this stupid puzzle!”
Next, I closely examined the pieces for “clues” that I’d previously missed. By gosh, I detected a critical feature: every piece contained fine lines of faint dots, and the direction of these dot-lines is key to understanding the proper orientation of the piece. Previously, I’d been too focused on matching place-name lettering (the puzzle is an intricate geography test, particularly of northern Canada and Central America)—but without regard to the direction of the lettering vis-à-vis the dot-lines.
Having cracked these “codes,” I’ve convinced myself that I’m smarter than I was a day ago. And won’t Beth be surprised when a month from now I announce late some evening, “Voila la carte d’Amérique du Nord!” (with a perfect French accent).
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
