We finished puzzle number 6 about twenty-four hours after we began it…almost.
Six pieces are missing.
Six!
It’s an outrage, I tell youse, an outrage.
My wife suggested that we need to pace ourselves. We only have two jigsaw puzzles left.
Puzzle #6 Is Begun
“This will be an easy one,” my wife assures me. On our personal JS (Jigsaw Scale), she thought that “Casablanca” (our last puzzle) was a nine on the JS. (I thought it was a seven, as I’ve seen puzzles with thousands and thousands of pieces, but never mind.) She believes “Cats in the Bag” is a four. We’ll see.
“Cats in the Bag” was loaned to us by a friend. The pieces are large, and have quirky shapes. There aren’t many small pieces. Progress has been swift, so far. Our local cats are showing less interest in this puzzle. Each visited it, but have not stayed.
I think they believe the puzzle is floofcist, continuing a stereotype that cats like bags. Their opinion would hold more water if they weren’t so interested in the bag that the puzzle was in.
Puzzle #5 Is Finished
We finished puzzle number five, the Casablanca movie poster (and also known as Schrödinger’s puzzle) this evening. We’d started it back around Feb. 11. Fifteen hundred pieces, it took us some time, but we’re pleased.
We thought two pieces were missing, and it bugged us. We’d bought the puzzle at the Goodwill; plots about hunting down the previous owners festered in me. Once we finished, though, we got down on our hands and knees to confirm pieces weren’t on the floor. We have an oriental rug under the dining room table where we worked on the puzzle. This Ravensburger puzzle’s pieces have a blue backside. And, yeah, the pieces were there.
Casablanca is considered a classic American film. One of the stars is Humphrey Bogart. He happens to star in the movie that’s definitely in my top ten list, African Queen, with Katherine Hepburn. Directed by John Huston, it’s based on a terrific E.M. Forester novel of the same name. I always worry that they’re going to remake African Queen, because a remake (or a reboot) will soil my memory. That’s petty and selfish, of course, but it’s my nature.
On to puzzle number six. Don’t know if we’ll devote as much time to it. Longer days of sunshine are arriving. Travel plans are in the air. So is yard work, and hanging around outside, which isn’t as fun in the cold weather. We’re warm weather people at heart.
I’ll let you know when we begin.
The Missing Piece
A piece was missing. The scowl hardening in his mind crossed boundaries, cementing his face into a likeness of dark irritation. A piece was missing! He’d tried every damn piece that he could find. None fit. None.
Well, that just ruined the jigsaw puzzle. Ruined it. It could never be finished. That meant it was ruined.
He clenched his fists. That’s why he despised buying used puzzles. They set you up for the chance, like this, that you would fail. (Well, it wasn’t him that failed — the piece was missing, so he didn’t fail), but it subverted any pleasure he could achieve, stealing the tangible joy of solving a puzzle. That wasn’t to be this time, which wasn’t fair. In fact, it was cruel.)
Vignettes of how this travesty may have come about began quiet visits. The people who’d donated the puzzle had lost the piece. They found it later, after giving the puzzle away. “Oh, look,” the husband said, picking a piece up off of the floor. “We missed a piece.” He looked around. “One of the cats must have been playing with it.” (Of course a cat had been involved.)
“Oh, no,” his wife said, hand to mouth. Reality sank into place. They’d taken the puzzle to the Goodwill over a month before. Maybe two. Nothing could be done now.
He would hunt them down. All he needed to do is get their DNA — probably some on the puzzle pieces, wasn’t there? — and access to a DNA database that had their DNA (hmm…that might be trickier, but he would find a way), and then —
“Found it.” His wife applied the piece with a flourish, pressing it down until it clicked solidly into place.
“How? Where was it?” Disbelief waxing like a warm sun, he stared at the piece. He’d literally tried every piece in the box, taking them out one by one, trying each piece, and then putting the eliminated pieces into a bowl. There was no way…
Well, there was one way. He eyed her. “Did you hide it?”
She giggled. “I’ll never tell.”
Puzzle #5
Yeah, we did it. Yeah, we started. Yeah, it’s a difficult one. Yes, we’re starting to hate it.
The floofs didn’t come around to supervise us. Maybe that’s our issue…
The Puzzle Dream
It was a challenge to put this dream together, which is so much like a jigsaw. Ironic, as I was making jigsaw puzzles in the dream.
Which is where memories say, this is how it started. Outside, among other people but working alone, I was making and putting together a jigsaw puzzle. When I finished, I had an operating and functional car. I don’t know what kind it was, except that it was a dark, sleek sports car. I was so pleased with it that I was emitting a little, “Yea,” as I surveyed it while circling it.
Others noticed my completed car puzzle and approached with astonishment and appreciation. Most said, “That’s amazing,” or, “That’s so cool.” I was agreeing with them. People asked if it worked, and I started it up for them, showing that it ran. Others asked if I could do it again, and if I could do it with more than cars.
Which I could. I kept producing things of all sizes and manner. I’d make something flat and one-dimensional, cut it up, and then create a real, functioning thing from it. People were amazed. I’d impressed myself, too, but my confident was rising. I thought, I can do this, then I can do so much more. My mind was spinning with the possibilities.
I ended up at a fête, a large, elaborate, but casual affair. I was one of several featured guests. Numerous celebrities were in residence. All made it a point to meet me, shake my hand, and congratulate me on my puzzles.
Several people asked if I could make them jigsaw puzzles. I found that I could. If they could give me a photograph, I’d cut it up and create a bust from them. Then I started doing it with phones. I could take a photo on a cell phone, draw it up into the air, and duplicate it as a full-sized image or bust, depending on the image.
I ended up in a white pavilion. People began settling at tables to eat. Vince Vaughn approached me. Trying to place me, he said, “That’s right, you’re that guy who makes those things.” I realized that he was drunk.
A hockey game was going on beside us. He didn’t understand the rules, because he was going by the old rules, and they’d changed. I started explaining that to him, but he walked off to another table. Watching him, I waited for him to return so I could finish explaining.
The dream ended.
Friday’s Theme Music
Weep for yourself, my man,
You’ll never be what is in your heart
Weep, little lion man,
You’re not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself
Take all the courage you have left
And waste it on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn’t I, my dear?
Didn’t I, my…
h/t to AZLyrics cuz cut and paste is easier than typing.
So it was that “Little Lion Man” by Mumford & Sons (2009) was going through my head this morning. Writing, a dream, and cats share almost equal weight in bringing the song into my stream.
The dream was about jigsaw puzzles, parties, hockey, and drunk celebrities in a brightly lit and strangely joyful montage that also seemed a bit fucked up, and left me to, well, puzzle it out. The cat was the little ginger lion that I was talking to this morning (you’re not as brave as you were at the start). Writing…well, writing is all about fixing the problems in my head. Not exactly a dark place, but not a clean, well-lighted place for enjoying life, either.
So, now, after singing the song to myself yesterday after writing, it returned to me after thinking about my dreams this morning, and gained strength when I was talking with the cat. Thus, it must be outed from my stream before it gains too much steam and stays too long.
For the record, I enjoy Mumford & Sons’ style, and its infusion of unique sounds in rock music. This video, with its intensity, and the sense of isolation and alienation that I find in it, keeps me watching. It’s like a confession that he’s making to himself but also a dialogue in his head that he imagines having, as the others play and listen. Then, they all join in, as though it was universal to the band members. Through it all flows introspection, a simmering sense of regret, and a realization.
Jigfloof
Jigfloof (floofinition) – 1. Animal who helps complete a jigsaw puzzle.
In use: “Once the pieces were put on a table, a jigfloof arrived to join the effort.”
2. An animal whose place in one’s life provides a sense of being whole.
In use: “She hadn’t been prepared for a dog, let alone a big dog, but her friend’s final words put the burden on her. He turned into a jigfloof, providing a piece to her life that she didn’t know was missing.”
Photo: Tucker, the house jigfloof, helping us put together a puzzle that came as a holiday gift. (He refused to to look up at the camera. It’s a principle thing. The first principle is that he’s a cat and doesn’t do anything asked of him. The second thing is that he can’t stand floofarazzi.)
Michael Seidel, writer 