I’m Puzzled

Let’s take a break from politics to talk about…. jigsaw puzzles.

I love these things. I always have one going up at our cabin. My current project is simply called “America” and it’s got postage stamp size logos for each state. My technique is to dump all the pieces in the center of my table and then turn them over while simultaneously sorting for edges and colors. For this one, I’ve sorted all the pieces with letters on them and this made it relatively easy to build the names of the states. Then I’ll place them in their spots in the puzzle and, together with the frame, it should make it easier to fill in the pieces that are less identifiable. (By the way, if you’re in the north woods I recommend Grandma’s Toy Box in Eagle River for your next puzzle purchase. Best selection north of Wausau.)

But here’s the thing. What is it about people? Well, about some people, anyway? Why do they have to turn every damn thing into a competition? Like cooking and eating. All those Iron Chef competitions. And there’s actually a governing body for competitive eating. I wouldn’t be surprised if they add these competitions to the Olympics. Paris would have been the perfect place to do it.

Unless it would be the worst place to do it. Eating is sacred in France. The French might regard cooking against the clock as blasphemy. I’ve got my problems with the French, but if this is their attitude toward cuisine, well, vive la France!

Anyway, there’s now competitive puzzling. I kid you not. The world championships are bing held in Spain this summer. Competitive puzzlers can crank out a 500 piece puzzle in under an hour. Last year’s winner did one in 38 minutes. You can read about it this morning in, where else, the New York Times, where you can find all the news that’s fit to print.

For me, competitive puzzling misses the point entirely. My puzzles can go on for weeks. In the summer I work on them on my porch over-looking the lake, usually in the evening while listening to the Brewers on WRJO. Even when I’m not on my porch and I hear Bob Ueker’s voice I start thinking about puzzles.

I’ve often wondered why I find these things so soothing. I think it’s about bringing order to chaos. You start with this big pile of pieces and, when you’re done, you have something that makes sense and is pretty. It’s the beauty of orderliness.

I like order. I like tidiness. I like stability. I follow all the rules that make sense. In fact, I think stability is the platform from which all human progress is launched. I’m listening to a book right now (43 hours long — the English have a long history) called “The English and Their History” by Robert Tombs. One of the points he makes is that the English have a remarkably long run of relative political stability. No coups. Peaceful transfers of power. Not much political violence if you don’t count the Irish (and they try not to). It’s a society that reveres tradition and doing things the way they’ve always been done. A certain amount of stuffiness is good for democracy, it seems.

When Prince Harry married Meghan I watched the royal wedding. All that restraint and reserve. They even call it “the order of service.” I thought that if I took up a belief in God again I might try out the Anglicans. They seemed like my kind of people. Then the American preacher got up and ruined the whole thing. He was very expressive, very open, very warm. He was out of place. Like Oprah. I am against Oprah Winfrey and all that she stands for.

One of the competitors in the puzzle championships said that she liked competing because, until she started, puzzling had been a solitary endeavor for her and that she enjoyed the community. But solitariness is among the joys of working on a jigsaw puzzle. I don’t want community. I’ve had enough damn community in my life. Mostly, I just want to be left alone, thank you very much.

Bringing order to a jumble. Doing it yourself without need of a committee. And doing it on a pleasant summer evening with a breeze off the lake and Ueker in the background. That is what jigsaw puzzles are all about. And, under those circumstances, you don’t want it all to be over in 38 minutes.