Jigsaw Karma

It all started New Years Eve 198X.  Everyone has their traditions for the holiday.  Most people gather in large parties and clubs to celebrate with champagne and music and friends.  

In my household growing up we built a puzzle - the entire thing - all in one night.  Then we went to bed.

HOW I BUILT A PUZZLE AS A KID:

Step One:  Help mom and my siblings build the boarder.

Step Two:  Find a striking and unique part of the image.  Collect only those types of pieces.

Step Three:  Work on my area until it starts to encroach on someone else’s section.

Step Four:  Quit.

Step Five:  Periodically come back, observe my mother (who by this point is the only person who still cares about the puzzle) as she exhausts herself over a portion of the puzzle she cannot for the life of her figure out.

Step Six:  Randomly pick up a piece, study it briefly, look at the puzzle briefly, and then place the piece into its proper place without hesitations on the first try.

Step Seven:  Watch my mom die a little inside.  Simultaneously revel in my innate skill.

Step Eight:  Leave.  Come back later.  Repeat the soul-sucking procedure throughout the night on my mother one piece at a time - possibly making headway faster than she is.

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As far as I know, mom still builds a puzzle every New Years.  I don’t think she finishes it in one night anymore though.  I, on the other hand, do not build puzzles anymore.  Not regularly, at any rate; not that I’m out of college. 

There’s really nothing more pointless than a puzzle. To begin with, someone takes a fine piece of artwork.  To demonstrate their admiration, they decide it needs to be shredded into, quite literally, a thousand pieces.  Instead of recycling it afterwards, that person puts every last piece into a box, seals it, and hawks it. 

Sadly enough, some other dumb bloke (a.k.a. you, or me, or my mom) actually pays money for that box.  What do they do with it?  Take it home, and painstakingly reconstruct the thing, piece by piece, until they have restored this artwork as close to its former glory as possible.

Ah, wunderbar!  It is complete.

What do we do with it then?  Do we hang it up?  Do we display it?  NO!  We tear it apart and stuff it back into the box!  What about this is a healthy habit?!

Strangely, this process somehow provided a mindless release during college for me when I should have been…well… sleeping. 

Tonya and I use to build a puzzle at least once a week.  Not that Tonya is the reason I don’t build them anymore, but let me describe what it’s like to collaborate with her.


HOW A PUZZLE IS BUILT WITH TONYA:

Step One: Separate out the boarder pieces.  Spend an hour or two to put it together.

Step Two:  Take a break, possibly by going to bed for the night.

Step Three:  Agree to build on opposite sides of the puzzle so as not to gripe with one another.  Enjoy the experience of building something together for an hour or two.

Step Four:  Watch Tonya get up and take a break.

Step Five:  Finish 95% of the puzzle while Tonya remains “on break,” commenting occasionally about how I’m so much better at puzzles than she is, anyways.

Step Six:  Get down to the last twenty pieces.  At this point Tonya will determine that I am in great need of her help.  My blood pressure and temper flare as she quickly lays the final piece and proudly says, “There,” as though she did most of the work.

Step Seven:  Tonya will take the last piece out, hand it to me, and say “Here. You can put the last piece in,” as if step seven didn’t happen.

Step Eight:  Tonya asks me if we should start another puzzle.  I don’t remember agreeing, but we do, knowing full well I’ll do the bulk of the work, and have my thunder stolen from me by my “help.”

I feel like my mother…