Friends, I have officially contracted puzzle mania. This time of year always triggers me with its incessant ugly weather and kids still home from college (just go back already, for the love of a mom’s sanity!). And, since I can’t escape physically to Tahiti right now, I take a mental vacation with jigsaws. Far less exotic and rum soaked, true, but much more accessible.
Who cares if I spend 48 hours hunkered down over a 1,000-piece replication of rural Kentucky? Not me, though my aching shoulders beg to differ. And so, what if my eyes feel a bit crossed from examining no less than 50 shades of green to find the exact one that depicts a Lexington horse pasture? What a thrill when I finally get it! And maybe instead of cooking dinner, I lob meal suggestions like expletives at my aforementioned young-adult moochers: “Microwave! DiGiorgno! HelloFresh!” I’m teaching independent living.
The point is, when I’m working a puzzle, I’m in the groove. I’m engaged, challenged, and most important, distracted from the tedious responsibilities of marriage and motherhood. At the end of the day, or weekend in my case, I have created something. Admittedly, it’s not as productive as writing my Christmas letter (I’m currently shooting for a Valentine’s mailing), but I do experience a sense of accomplishment.
That is, until I discover a piece is missing! My jealous husband? A jilted teen? Perhaps my daughter’s cat, Mr. Crawley? After his first sabotage attempt with the Lazy Susan, I wouldn’t put it past him. Oh, wait. I found it. Stupid oriental rug.
Next up, ‘80s movies. Yippeekiyay! It’s puzzle mania, friends!